Third Arc (Fallen Heart) - 407. Full Moon II
The fire cracked behind him, throwing sparks into the hearth.
The air shifted—almost imperceptibly.
Then a soft knock echoed from the back door.
Silvan froze.
Not the front.
Never the back.
He turned slowly.
The back door wasn't even meant for guests. Not even royalty. Only one person had used that door in the last decade.
A traveler who came bleeding.
A king who came cursed.
Silvan reached into his robe, pulled out a long silver wand carved with bone filigree, and whispered a sigil that made the tip glow blue.
He didn't call out. Just waited.
The knock came again.
Two taps this time. Then silence.
He moved toward the back corridor, each step slow, deliberate. Not because of age—but because rushing toward anything at this hour in this part of the world was how he got turned into a footnote in a cursed tome.
He stopped just short of the heavy iron latch and whispered again—this time to the wards.
The entire house breathed, a pulse of magic running through its walls.
Nothing hostile.
No threat.
But still… pressure. Like something enormous was sitting just outside, pretending to be smaller than it was.
Silvan unlocked the door.
He didn't open it. Not yet.
He raised his voice, steady. "State your name."
No answer.
He narrowed his eyes. "This is protected ground. One step without intent, and your soul will scatter into birds."
A pause.
Then… a voice. Calm.
"I told you I'd come."
Silvan's breath hitched.
But before he could answer, a second knock echoed—this one soft, almost apologetic. Not impatient.
But behind it… something else stirred.
He opened the door wide.
The cold hit him first.
Not the usual mountain wind that whistled past the manor on sleepless nights, but something heavier. Thicker. Laced with power. Old, and quiet, and watching.
Two hooded figures stood at the threshold.
They didn't flinch. Didn't step back. Just stood there—cloaked in deep black fabric, slick with damp from the mist that clung to the hills.
One of them stepped forward and bowed his head slightly. He pulled back his hood, revealing a face Silvan had never seen before—but instantly recognized.
Not by appearance.
By presence.
The man's eyes were dark—not cruel, but sharp. The kind that held stillness like a blade held tension. He looked like someone who had been carved from stone and fire in equal measure.
But it wasn't the chill in his eyes, that caught Silvan's attention.
It was the insignia worn at his chest. Half-covered by the cloak's clasp.
The royal crest of Euphorion.
"Master Silvan," the man said, voice even, respectful, but far too calm for the hour. "Forgive the lateness. The road was… less direct than expected."
Silvan didn't answer right away. He looked the man up and down, frowning faintly. "You wear the crest."
"I do."
"You carry no herald."
"I didn't want one."
"You didn't give your name."
The man gave the faintest smirk. Not smug. "Names come with expectations. And I've already broken too many."
Silvan narrowed his eyes. Then shifted his gaze to the second figure.
The woman pulled her hood back as well.
And suddenly—time hiccuped.
Silvan stiffened.
Not from threat.
From recognition.
She had grown. Of course she had. But the eyes… gods, the eyes hadn't changed.
That same quiet fire. That same weight. The girl from the border retreat, years ago. The one who used to chase fireflies.
He exhaled through his nose. "Your Highness."
She smiled softly. "You remember."
"I remember all my guests," he replied, though something about his tone softened. "You were stubborn then, too."
"I still am," she said.
Silvan blinked once. Then looked at the man beside her again.
Then back at her.
"…This is the king?" he asked, not quite disbelief, but definitely surprise.
"Yes," she said. "This is my husband. King Angelus of Euphorion."
Angel gave a short bow this time, still unbothered by the scrutiny. "A pleasure, Master Silvan."
Silvan exhaled slowly. His shoulders finally dropped just a touch. "Well then. I suppose I should've made a fresh pot of tea after all."
"You still can," Rose said. "But… may we come in first?"
He stepped aside without another word, and the two figures crossed the threshold.
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