Darkness clung to the edges of Kazuo's vision. A chill ran through his arms — not from cold, but from the rope biting into his wrists. His ankles too. Tied. Restrained.
He blinked.
Then realized — he wasn't lying down.
He was sitting upright on the polished floor, knees folded beneath him, arms wrenched behind his back. A ceremonial prisoner's posture.
Where am I?
Polished marble ceiling. Sunlight filtered through stained-glass windows. The air smelled faintly of lavender, gold, and control.
Too clean.
Too quiet.
This wasn't a cell.
It was something worse — a cage wrapped in velvet.
Two guards stood like statues at the far ends of the chamber, armor marked with the capital's insignia: a gilded spiral wrapped in a crown.
I'm in the palace, Kazuo realized. The royal palace.
His heart kicked once, hard.
His last memory was the cold — then nothing.
And now?
He was awake.
How did we leave the Hollow Veins…?
His pulse quickened.
The Hollow Veins were easy to enter but nearly impossible to leave — layered, forgotten, a maze of death and whispers.
Even the locals swore you couldn't exit without getting lost.
I thought it was impossible…
He glanced at the floor beneath his knees, at the ropes biting into his skin.
This wasn't survival. This was delivery.
Did he carry me the whole way?
A moment later, the tall double doors opened — not with trumpets, but with a soft, deliberate groan.
The man who stepped in wasn't a noble, nor a king.
It was the Ice Magic user.
His white hair was messy and wind-blown, giving him a restless, untamed look. Icy blue eyes gleamed with sharp amusement, the kind that ignored rules and titles. Over a loose shirt, he wore a turquoise vest, its fabric worn at the edges from travel. Sleeves were rolled to his forearms, collar open, posture relaxed.
And yet… Kazuo remembered the fight.
The speed. The precision. The frost that had climbed into his lungs.
The man leaned against the nearest column, arms crossed — as if he hadn't just hunted Kazuo like prey in the dark.
"Morning, prisoner," he said, voice calm. "Or should I say… guest?"
Kazuo glared. "Still deciding?"
"Hey, I wasn't the one who tied you up."
"No. You just froze my legs and knocked me out."
The man grinned. "Hey — you threw water at me. I was just defending myself"
Kazuo narrowed his eyes. "You don't look like a knight or a guard. So are you a failed assassin?"
The man raised an eyebrow but didn't answer.
Before Kazuo could push further, the air in the chamber shifted. A dense weight pressed down from all sides, as if the walls had drawn closer. The floor seemed to bow beneath an unseen force, and each breath felt heavier, charged with something unspoken. It was the kind of pressure that announced power before it could be seen.
A second set of doors opened — slowly, cleanly, without sound.
King Cedric.
He entered alone, each step measured, his presence filling the chamber before he even reached the throne.
Draped in white and gold — sharp lines, flawless cut. His wings folded with celestial precision, their edges faintly glowing. Blond hair, smooth as poured mercury, shimmered in the stained-glass light. A silver tiara rested on his head — understated, but a reminder that he never needed to prove his rule.
He was absolute power.
Kazuo blinked, his gaze catching on the silver tiara resting on the man's brow — the mark of Yurelda's ruler. This is King Cedric? The thought struck harder as he took in the wings behind him. The King of Yurelda… is a fairy?
That… wasn't what he expected.
And the Ice Magic user — so cocky seconds ago — straightened as Cedric entered. The smirk faded, just slightly. His hands dropped from his chest.
Cedric didn't look at him.
He only stared at Kazuo.
Eyes gold and void of warmth.
"Why," Cedric said softly, "is he breathing?"
The Ice Magic user didn't blink.
"Green eye."
Cedric's golden gaze narrowed. He stepped forward, slow, deliberate — like a sculptor inspecting a flaw in marble.
"You disobeyed me."
The man shrugged, just slightly — too casual for a knight.
"Technically, I interpreted your order. You said 'eliminate the anomaly.' I thought… containing it might be smarter."
Kazuo stared, stunned.
How is he talking to the king like that? Are they… close friends?
Cedric stopped walking.
He turned, stepped up to the elevated throne, and sat with practiced elegance. One leg crossed over the other, his left elbow resting on the carved armrest, two fingers pressed lightly to his cheek. The silver tiara caught the sun.
He looked like a man about to sign a law. Or pass a sentence.
A long silence stretched — heavy, brittle.
Finally, Cedric spoke again.
"Setsuna," he said, the name low, sharp, echoing. "Knowing you, I assume you didn't bring a threat into my palace without a reason. Convince me."
Setsuna… so that's his name. The man who froze me in the dark, carried me out of the Hollow Veins, and now stands here mouthing off to the Crown like it's nothing. Who is he to speak like that — and why does the King let him?
Setsuna's tone sharpened.
"I brought you a question the world is already asking. Better we write the answer."
Kazuo's throat tightened. Fear churned into anger.
"I don't even know why I'm here," he said sharply. "What do you want from me? I haven't done anything — and you talk like I'm some disease."
Cedric's golden eyes turned toward him.
"You should not exist," he said. "A black-eyed slave with noble color. You are a crack in the mirror we've spent generations perfecting."
Kazuo held his gaze. "And yet… here I am."
Before Cedric could respond, Setsuna stepped forward. The casual humor in his voice was gone now — replaced by something colder.
"Shall I give you the truth, Highness?" Setsuna said, voice smooth and firm. "If you kill him, it won't be whispers anymore. Word will spread — fast. The nobles will question your judgment, and the lower classes won't hesitate. A green eye butchered like a criminal? That's no longer an execution. That's a spark. They won't mourn him… they'll rally. You won't silence a problem — you'll unite both ends of the kingdom against the crown."
Cedric said nothing.
He's listening…
Setsuna continued.
"He's a paradox. But paradoxes are powerful. Used right, they keep the system from collapsing. Kill him, and he becomes a banner. Keep him under your banner? Then you own the narrative."
Kazuo couldn't breathe.
What is this… a negotiation? Like I'm some deal they're trying to close?
Cedric's voice was ice. "And what exactly do you suggest?"
Setsuna smiled, just barely.
"We leash him. Publicly. Fold him into the very structure he threatens. Let them see him walk beneath your wings, not against them."
The room held stillness like a blade at the throat.
Cedric studied Kazuo — like a craftsman judging stone.
Kazuo felt it — the pressure, the silence, the future being written without him. No matter what I say, they're not listening. They've already decided what I am.
His voice was low, teeth gritted.
"Just let me be. I don't want to be anything in your games — I just want to live. This… this is inhumane—"
"You're right," Cedric cut in, voice calm and cutting. "I'm not human. I'm a king."
Then, with measured grace, he uncrossed his legs.
"But this was never about what we are."
He rested his arms on the throne.
"It's about what you are."
Then his gaze sharpened.
"So tell me, Kazuo… what are you? Are you Pawn or Player?"
Cedric stood up.