Smoke curled upward, silver against the pale light slipping through the curtains. Elias stretched across his bed, every trace of fatigue draining away as if the smoke itself carried it off.
"Ahhh… best feeling ever," he muttered, burying his face in the pillow for one last stolen moment of warmth. The mattress clung to him like an embrace, whispering: stay. But work pulled harder.
"Yeah, yeah. I'll rest as much as I want after I retire," he grinned, punching the air and flashing a lazy victory sign. Reluctantly, he rolled out of bed.
The wardrobe room beside his chambers was less "closet" and more museum. Rows of silks and velvet, fine embroidery, gemstones stitched into cuffs and collars — every piece screaming status. Elias, however, reached past the parade of excess, fingers brushing toward his favorite comfort: simple robes that felt like him.
"Not yet," he told the jewelry that glimmered back at him. "I'll dress up properly… when my kids are older. They deserve a lord who looks the part."
He stopped. "Blindfold…" he muttered. His hand hovered over it. He had no need for it anymore. His eyes, clear and burning, were his own. For a heartbeat, he thought to leave it aside.
The nightstand still carried the faint scent of medicine. He remembered drinking it in the dark — no water, straight down, bitter against his throat. And yet… his skin glowed in the mirror.
"Oh my, my, my…" he teased himself, tilting his face at different angles. "A masterpiece. Truly. Someone should paint me."
The mirror only encouraged him. He picked and discarded robes in a storm — sky blue, darker blue, darkest blue. "How many shades does one man need?" he groaned. "Black? With my hair? Hmmm. Yin and Yang? No, no, too dramatic. Sky blue, maybe. Matches the eyes."
And then came the shower.
"Towel… towel… oh—damn towel!" Elias barked, dripping wet as the cold air bit at his skin. "Ajuma! Mummy! Emma!"
Emma appeared in a flurry, half-panicked. "What happened?!"
There he stood, dripping like a stray cat, silver hair clinging to his cheeks. Before he could utter a defense, Emma thrust a towel into his hands with a scolding huff.
"You forgetful child."
Elias laughed, shame coloring his face, and fled back inside while Emma chuckled at his expense.
When he emerged again, robed and calm, hair brushed and swaying with his steps, he was breathtaking. A portrait come alive — moonlight given flesh. Even he paused before the mirror, smirking. "Yep. Straight out of a novel."
---
The children stirred before he even opened their door. His steps were recognizable — the deliberate weight when he wanted them awake, the feather touch when he didn't.
Allen squinted blearily. "Am I in heaven?" he muttered, rubbing his eyes.
Beside him, Leya blinked hard, her mouth falling open. "How… how are you still single?"
Elias laughed, cheeks coloring despite himself. "I'm too busy worrying about my children."
The room filled with their laughter — until Lucien sat up.
He looked different. Eyes heavy, body slack, but his gaze sharp as it landed on Elias. He blinked once. Twice. "Am I… dead already?"
Silence. Confusion.
Then, in a low voice, Lucien said, "Because I'm seeing an angel."
Leya's lips pressed thin as she stifled her laughter. Allen wheezed. Elias flushed crimson.
"A pick-up line? From you?!" Elias snapped, voice cracking between shock and embarrassment.
Lucien froze, realizing what slipped from his mouth. "Stop laughing, or I'll make you," he warned, glaring at Leya with unexpected boldness.
Her mouth popped into an 'O'. Allen collapsed with laughter. Elias covered his face with a hand, torn between mortification and amusement. "This brat," he muttered.
But when Elias touched his forehead, Lucien's embarrassment melted. He felt lighter. The fog of pain was gone. Elias's presence had done what medicine couldn't — and he knew it.
---
Later, at the dining table, peace hung in the air. Servants glanced at the four of them — Elias with his quiet smile, Allen chattering, Leya answering with bright eyes, Lucien soft-spoken for once. They looked like a family.
Only one thing stood out: today, the twins couldn't stop glancing at Elias. Too curious, too long. Every time he caught them, they flinched away, cheeks pink.
Even Elias chuckled, embarrassed at their obviousness.
"So… anything special?" Lucien finally asked.
Elias dabbed his lips with a napkin. "You could say so."
"You always say so," Leya accused.
His laugh disarmed her completely.
"Oh, by the way," Elias said suddenly, "aren't you bored?"
"Nope."
"Not at all."
"Why would we be?"
Different words, same truth.
"I was thinking of visiting His Majesty… to thank him for the herbs. Want to come? Could be refreshing."
The table fell quiet. Leya's lips parted shyly. "It's… okay, I guess."
"Of course, why not!" Elen exclaimed.
Lucien hummed, thoughtful, but nodded.
"Good," Elias smiled. "We'll go tomorrow. And market..... today ?"
Their eyes lit up instantly.
---
Elias in his room at Noon:-
After breakfast and taking care of his pending work, Elias sat on his bed, book wide open.
"Veirdan: Hero's First Face-to-Face with the Darkness of the World."
"What a long, ridiculous title," he muttered. "Funny how every obstacle in his path just… disappears, like an invisible hand clears the road. Chosen one? Or something nastier?"
His fingers drummed the page. His eyes darkened.
"But he hurt my kids. That's minus twenty-thousand points." His voice was calm, steady. "Let's see… will I use him as a shield? A pawn? Or ...just erase him entirely?"
The candlelight flickered over his smile — not cruel, not kind, just unreadable.