The early breath of winter crept in quietly.
And on one of its cold, whispering nights, Isaac sat alone within the palace library, surrounded by scattered piles of old, fragmented tomes. His fingers glided through incomplete pages, each whispering vague allusions to The Twenty Catastrophes…"
His solitude was pierced by a voice that resonated directly within his mind—calm, yet heavy with curiosity.
— "What drives you to search for them with such fervor?"
Leaning back against the chair, Isaac's gaze traced the flat ceiling in silence before he responded in a tone cold and even:
— "Curiosity, nothing more."
He paused, then added with a near-whisper:
— "I've searched every book here. Most were useless… devoid of substance."
Lifting a worn, half-empty volume, he continued:
— "Except this one. Despite its many blank pages, it holds something rare—clear and direct references to at least one entity: The Abyss of Light… a half-human, half-demonic hybrid."
The sovereign sighed, his tone a blend of unease and disbelief.
— "I fail to see any valid reason behind your obsession."
Isaac offered no reply. Only a heavy silence remained—one that seemed to echo thoughts too dangerous to be spoken. Within the fortress of his mind, a single truth pulsed quietly:
(Everyone believes they are the sole player on the board… I want to be a player too. That, too, is a law of life.)
Then, as if addressing no one in particular, he murmured:
— "The second phase must begin… the search for the ruins of the lost civilization, Solmachai. I need a tool—one that can gather knowledge wherever I go, whenever I demand it."
Far from the quiet of the palace, beneath the stone arches of the Heavenly Peace Cathedral, hushed voices flickered like candle flames in the dark.
— "Is the prophecy true?" one priest whispered, anxiety lining his tone.
— "Will one of the Calamities truly awaken? Is war… returning?"
The murmurs danced between the marble pillars—nervous, uncertain—until the voice of the Cardinal sliced through them like the toll of a solemn bell:
— "Silence. We shall await the judgment of His Holiness, the Pope of Heavenly Peace."
And in a single breath, the congregation responded in unison, voices rising toward the vaulted heavens:
— "May the Divine light his path. May the Divine bless the Pope of Heavenly Peace."
At midnight, beneath the pale gaze of the moon, Isaac stood alone on the balcony of the palace. His eyes traced the cold arc of the sky with a stillness carved in marble.
His voice broke the silence, low and toneless:
— "Only a few months remain until I turn sixteen… I've achieved much already. The results are… satisfactory."
He raised a hand to the moonlight, as though measuring the distance between himself and the unreachable. Then, in a breath lined with thought:
— "If I can refine healing magic, it may become a seed of early immortality against injury. But this body… I must rebuild it—reshape it into a vessel capable of enduring more. Perhaps Clairvoyance will become my greatest weapon."
A deep silence followed. He lowered his gaze to the earth below, whispering inwardly as if swallowing something bitter:
(Despite my hatred for you…)
Then, his voice rose—clear, without hesitation:
— "That doesn't mean I can't thank you, Sovereign. You may have kept your reasons from me… but a deal is still a deal. The truth doesn't rewrite the past."
A response came, calm and unreadable, carried by the wind like a ghost's whisper:
— "Thank you for your understanding, my friend… You've made remarkable progress."
A faint smile flickered across Isaac's lips—brief, almost nonexistent—as if speaking once more to the voice inside his head:
(It's time I began collecting my tools. I cannot rely on an instrument I cannot control… especially one whose intentions displease me. When I wield true power, the conversation will happen… but on my terms.)
The stillness stretched, until he raised his head once more. Determination lit his eyes like a storm about to break.
— "Perhaps… it's time for a brief visit to the Extended Void."
The Sovereign's voice returned, this time as sharp as steel:
— "I do not believe this is a wise choice… my King."
Isaac raised both hands toward the sky, eclipsing the moon with his palms. And with a quiet, amused defiance, he whispered:
— "Which is exactly why… I must go."
Two days passed.
In the stillness of the palace dining hall, Isaac sat with composed grace, methodically partaking in his meal.
Opposite him sat Kray, inspecting the quality of her meat with habitual precision, a soft smile lingering on her lips—so easily pleased by the simplest things.
The silence was broken by Isaac's voice, calm and deliberate, as if he had been measuring his words for hours:
— "In the world of nobility… what does one do when they seek information?"
He paused, then continued, his tone lower, colder:
— "In a world like this, where knowledge weighs more than gold… once you possess gold, where do you go?"
Kray swallowed slowly, then rested her chin on her hand. Her eyes narrowed playfully, shifting into the gaze of a sly fox plotting something unholy. She leaned forward slightly, her voice laced with teasing mischief:
— "Hmm… I might tell you… if you sit beside me… and feed me with your own hands."
She glanced at him, searching for a reaction—but found only the same unmoving expression carved into his face. No surprise. No hesitation.
Without a word, Isaac rose and walked around the table. He sat beside her with quiet elegance, picked up the fork and knife with the poise of a noble, and carved a perfect bite-sized piece of meat. Bringing it before her lips, he said, in a voice as smooth as silk:
— "Would you open your mouth, my lady?"
In that moment—caught in the calm of his blue eyes, the soft glow of his silver hair, the subtle scent that clung to him, and the gravity of his silent presence—her mind emptied. Her body responded before thought could interfere. She opened her mouth… involuntarily.
And she wasn't alone.
Behind her, LARA stood watching in silence. Her cheeks flushed pink, her fingers trembling from how tightly she clenched her hands at her sides.
Kray, catching the girl's reaction, turned her head slightly and whispered with a smirk, just loud enough for only her to hear:
— "Tell me, Lara… would marrying my child… be considered a sin?"
Lara's eyes fell to the floor immediately, as if the mere thought had stained her soul.
As for Isaac, he withdrew his hand in silence and returned to his meal without a single word—unbothered, untouched, as though nothing had transpired.
But in the cold corridors of his mind, a quiet thought echoed:
(Even emotions… can be weaponized.)
He had long understood—
Domination does not begin with a blade. It begins with a look… a smile… a single lowered gaze that shatters the armor people wear around their minds.
He did not believe in limits—neither of man, nor of power.
Every boundary could be broken.
Every cage… redesigned.
Only the method changes.
And as laughter echoed faintly around him, Isaac continued weaving, in silence, the borders of a kingdom that would not be ruled by law—
—but by will alone.