Daeryon closed the study door with a muted thud, his hand lingering on the wood longer than it should have.

  The silence in the hallway pressed in, heavier than the scrolls Jarin had buried himself under.

  I floated beside him, watching the rigid set of his shoulders, the sharp line of his jaw.

  His aura didn’t flare this time. It… sank. Like a mountain crumbling from within.

  “Do you even know what that conversation meant?” I muttered, unable to hold it back. “Do you realize what it means?”

  Daeryon didn’t look at me. His eyes stayed fixed forward, like he could march away from the number hanging over him.

  “It means he has already slipped beyond reach,” He said, voice flat, cold.

  “Some bonds cannot be reforged.”

  “Bullshit.” I snapped, stepping in front of him. My voice echoed in the corridor, sharp against stone.

  “That wasn’t a son talking to his father. That was a prisoner reciting lines to his jailer. And you let it happen.”

  Daeryon’s gaze cut to me, hard enough to flay a lesser man. “Shut up Daniel.”

  “No. Not like this.” I shot back.

  “You should’ve been more careful with him. This is what happens when you confuse raising with commanding.”

  His aura surged, the air tightening around us. I felt the phantom weight of it pressing into my bones.

  But then just as suddenly it collapsed. The dragon in him folded its wings. Daeryon turned his face away.

  “You think you’re clever, Daniel,” he said, voice low, ragged at the edges.

  “You think you understand things I don’t. But you don’t carry their blood. You don’t carry the shame of failing them.”

  For the first time since I’d known him, his words sounded less like a warlord’s decree and more like a confession.

  I let the silence hang, then asked, slow and sharp:

  “Tell me, Daeryon… what do you actually know about your children?”

  His head snapped back toward me. The question cut deeper than any blade.

  Daeryon’s jaw worked, as if my question had lodged a thorn beneath his tongue. Still, he answered.

  “Giron,” he said firmly,

  “is my eldest. He seeks strength. His blade proves it. But all of this is because of his mother he's doing all of this because it's the only thing he knows how to do, he wants to be acknowledged as best for the throne.”

  I shook my head. “Wrong.”

  His eyes narrowed.

  “Most of what you said is right. Yes, it’s because of his mother. But to save this relationship, you need to know what he truly desires. Giron doesn’t crave strength for its own sake. He craves recognition. He’s ambitious, yes... but not because he loves the fight. He fights to prove himself to you. To make sure he never feels the same way again the way his mother made him feel.”

  Daeryon’s lips thinned. A muscle ticked in his cheek.

  “And Jarin?” he asked, voice quieter now. “He buries himself in scrolls. He seeks knowledge. Order. His ambition is softer, but it burns just the same.”

  I stepped closer, staring right through him. “Wrong again.”

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  His aura bristled, but I didn’t stop.

  “Jarin doesn’t care about power or the throne. He just wants a place that feels like home. Right now, he thinks no one gives a damn if he exists. You speak to him like a commander filing reports. not a father welcoming his son home. That’s why it’s worse with him than Giron. He doesn’t hate you… he just feels nothing.”

  The words landed like hammer strikes. Daeryon didn’t answer, but his silence screamed louder than denial.

  I exhaled, steadying myself. “Come on. This isn’t the end, Daeryon. I’ll help you we’ll mend this, together. But for now… let’s see the twins.”

  “Raion and Soryn,” Daeryon said.

  “Yeah. And we start with Soryn.”

  I kept the rest to myself. Raion worried me more than I expected. Better to face Soryn first.

  Daeryon hesitated, just a fraction, then nodded. “Very well.”

  We turned down the corridor, heading toward the eastern wing where the twins stayed.

  My gut twisted, already bracing for what we’d find.

  The clang of steel rang out before we even reached the wing.

  Soryn’s blade cut arcs through the air, sharp and elegant, each strike flowing into the next.

  Her stance wasn’t as rigid as Giron’s, nor as mechanical as Jarin’s quill strokes it was alive, fluid, more like a dance than a drill.

  Sweat slicked her brow, but her movements never faltered.

  Daeryon slowed. For the first time today, his eyes softened without him forcing it.

  “Soryn,” he called.

  She stopped mid-swing, chest rising and falling.

  When she turned, her eyes were wide but not afraid surprised, maybe, curious.

  “Father,” she said, lowering her blade.

  Her voice carried neither rebellion nor coldness, just a careful respect.

  Daeryon stepped closer. “Your form… it’s strong. Balanced.”

  A flicker of a smile tugged at her lips. “I’ve been practicing the sequences Raion showed me.”

  Daeryon blinked. “Raion?”

  “Yes,” she said quickly, as if defending herself.

  “He’s faster than I expected. His movements… almost unnaturally precise.”

  Daeryon let out a sound half scoff, half chuckle. Not mocking, Just… amused. “well he is very talented.”

  I scoffed “you only know that because I told you”.

  He didn't answer but shrugged his shoulders.

  Then Soryn’s smile widened, if only slightly. “Thank you father he is really talented.”

  The air between them shifted. Not warm, not fully healed... but lighter.

  For the first time, the words weren’t weighed down by silence or distance.

  Daeryon tilted his head, studying her. “You’ve grown stronger.”

  “Thank you, Father.”

  Her voice trembled, not with fear but with something closer to happiness.

  I crossed my arms, letting out a low whistle.

  “Well, this is better. Finally. At least we’ve found a bond that isn’t rusted through.”

  The blue screen flickered to life before my eyes.

  [Daeryon Kang → Soryn Kang: 50%]

  A solid leap above the others. Proof that something was still alive here.

  I grinned, glancing at Daeryon.

  “See? Not everything’s broken. You just had to stop acting like a damn statue.”

  He didn’t smile, not fully but his shoulders loosened, the faintest shift in his storm of chi.

  For Daeryon, it was the closest thing to relief.

  We left Soryn in the wing, her blade already carving its song into the air.

  For once, the silence between Daeryon and me wasn’t suffocating.

  I drifted alongside him, arms folded.

  “See? That was better. You’re better with her than with Giron or Jarin. It felt… lighter. Natural, even.”

  Daeryon’s brow furrowed, but he didn’t argue.

  “We have to start using some of that with the others,” I pressed.

  “Not the commander’s voice, not the weight of expectations. The way you spoke with her that’s closer to what they need.”

  His stride slowed. His aura flickered, heavy again, with anger this time.

  “It is easier with her,” he said finally, voice low.

  “Why?” I asked.

  Daeryon’s gaze stayed fixed on the path ahead. His fists tightened, knuckles white.

  “…Because when I speak to Giron and Jarin, I see their mother.”

  His words struck like a blade between my ribs.

  “With Soryn, it is different. She… she is herself. But the others… every word, every glance… it is like facing her again.” His face filled with anger

  For a moment, the storm around him flared, heavy with rage buried so deep it cracked through only in fragments.

  The thought hit me like a stone…

  “After talking to him for so long I thought she was gone from his mind but she's still there. Still hunting him.And the worst part? I’m the one who wrote her into his life. Ashamed doesn’t even cover it. but still this isn't an excuse”

  I exhaled slowly.

  “Daeryon… that’s exactly why they feel so far from you. You’re not even looking at them. You’re staring at someone who isn’t here anymore.”

  His jaw clenched. He said nothing.

  “Alright,” I muttered, straightening. “Time for Raion.”

  We rounded into the other part of the wing. No sound of training here no blades, no drills, no discipline in the air.

  Instead, a boy’s voice rang out.

  “Father!”

  Raion came barreling across the grass, feet pounding against the stone path.

  No sword in his hands, no scrolls in his arms just a wide grin stretched across his face.

  Before Daeryon could even brace himself, the boy crashed into him, wrapping his arms tight around his leg.

  Daeryon stiffened, caught completely off guard.

  “Raion…” His voice was soft, uncertain.

  “I didn’t think you’d come here!” Raion said, looking up with bright eyes.

  “You’re always busy in the halls or with the elders. But you’re here!”

  That smile it wasn’t obedience, it wasn’t duty,

  it wasn’t silence. It was joy. Simple, unshaken joy.

  I hovered close, stunned with joy. “Well, he is my perfect hero after all.”