---
Evening:-
By the end, Elias's arms were buried in garments. The tailor wrapped bundles while knights entered to carry them out.
On the way to the door, Leya frowned at the heap. "This must cost so much…"
Elias bent down, meeting her eyes. His voice was calm, quiet. "No price is too much if it keeps you smiling."
Her throat bobbed; she hugged him tight. Elias stiffened, then rested a hand on her back until she let go.
The tailor bowed them out, and they left in a whirl of chatter, flower crowns bouncing on their heads. For those hours at least, they weren't heirs or warriors-in-training—they were simply children.
---
A Strange Bump
As they stepped out of the tailor's shop, a figure brushed against Elias's shoulder.
A man, dressed plainly like a merchant. Elias turned, but the man's eyes—dark, calculating—met his for a fleeting second.
"Careful," the man said smoothly, his voice calm. Too calm. "The market's crowded. You look too good to wander around alone."
Before Elias could answer, Lucien's voice cut in, sharp as a blade.
"He's not alone. Watch your tongue."
Leya shifted in front of Elias, chin tilted high, eyes blazing. "Why are you even talking to him? Move along."
Elen's gaze was colder, measured, but his words had steel. "You looked him over like you were appraising a coin. Don't."
The man chuckled softly, glancing at them with thin amusement. "Fiery guardians, aren't you?" He leaned ever so slightly toward Elias, voice dropping to a murmur only he could catch:
"Funny. I didn't expect you to live this long."
The words slid under Elias's skin like a blade. His expression didn't shift, but his eyes narrowed just slightly, catching the deliberate choice of phrasing. Live this long. Not "grow this fast." Not "be this tall." Live.
Elias held the man's gaze for a heartbeat, cold and unreadable.
The merchant's smile never faltered. Straightening, he addressed them all again, tone light and casual. "Enjoy your shopping, my lord."
And with that, he vanished into the crowd.
The children bristled, ready to tear after him. Lucien's fists clenched. "Coward. Why did you let him go?"
"Because he's not worth our time," Elias said evenly. But inside, his mind was turning. The man had known more than he should. He hadn't measured Elias like a stranger—he had measured him like someone who already knew his fate.
A butcher, watching from his stall, chuckled and gave them a thumbs-up, impressed by the transformation.
The kids only glared at him until he turned away sheepishly.
While Elias just thought about the hidden meaning behind the man's words.
---
By the time they returned home, the knights carrying bundles of new clothes, the children were exhausted but glowing with joy. They chattered about the day, flower crowns slipping from their heads, until finally they tumbled into bed.
Elias sat for a while, watching their peaceful faces. His own childishness—the way he pouted at Hema, the way he let the kids drag him around—came not from weakness, but from wounds. Trauma had taught him to hide behind small, innocent acts.
But tonight, with laughter still echoing faintly in his ears, Elias felt—for a brief moment—like he belonged.
" All' s well that ends well" Elias said to himself.
---
That night, Elias sat on his bed, book 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 will I erase him entirely?"
The candlelight flickered over his smile — not cruel, not kind, just unreadable.
There was much to uncover. But there was no rush.
---
After the play- In Elias Room:-
Elias sat cross-legged on his bed, the book spread open in front of him. The first page blared in bold letters: Chapter One.
"Hah… so it really does begin like this," he muttered, tilting his head as though the words themselves were playing tricks on him. "Does the chapter come as it happens… or after? What are you even doing, book? You trying to be clever?"
He flicked through the lines anyway, eyes darting back and forth, absorbing the tale despite himself. "Hmm… Sam, the orphan. Sylvia, the baron's daughter. Childhood friends—of course it's that trope. Predictable. Still… kinda nostalgic, isn't it? I had something like that once." His voice caught for a second, a memory tugging too close. He shook it off quickly with a soft, tired laugh. "Not human, in my case. Not exactly the same. And… yeah. I miss her."
He yawned, stretching his arms wide, then leaned back against the bedframe. "So basically, Sam and Sylvia are wandering through the market. First shock of the cruel world, blood in the dirt, beggars, whatever. Right, author, I see what you're doing here. Nice twist. Make them leave, make them struggle, then drag in some mentor figure… and oh, of course—new heroine at the next stop." Elias snorted, flipping a page. "Lucky brat. Hero badge pinned right to his forehead."
He glanced at the ceiling, thumb idly tapping the paper. "Still… hero or not, he's a walking red flag. That's what matters. He can't come near my kids. Especially Leya." His jaw tightened, the humor draining out for a moment. "She's still soft inside. Laughs too easily. Trusts too easily. She deserves… someone who won't break her."
His expression softened, though the protectiveness didn't fade.