Paul took a cautious step forward, his voice steady yet laced with urgency.
"My lord, Noelle has finally revealed the truth. What should we do now?"

The King of the Kingdom of Cave remained silent, his gaze fixed beyond the grand windows of the throne room, as if searching for an answer in the vastness of the darkened sky. The stars blinked faintly above the silent lands, cold and distant.
Then, without shifting his eyes, he spoke.
"Do you know the difference between a fool and an intelligent person?"
Paul blinked, caught off guard by the unexpected question. He straightened his posture, answering carefully.
"I think... it's their decision, my lord."
A faint smile tugged at the king's lips as he finally turned to face him.
"No," he said. "The difference is that an intelligent person knows his weakness."
His words lingered in the air, heavy and profound, leaving Paul in thoughtful silence.

A cold, damp silence choked the prison cell, pressing against Alfred like an unseen weight. The rough stone walls, barely touched by the flickering torchlight from the corridor, felt like they were closing in tighter with every hour. It had been a week since that woman had spoken-seven days since her words tore through his world, unraveling everything he thought he knew.
His thoughts circled endlessly, a storm with no eye, refusing to let him rest. Sleep had eluded him for six nights. His body was exhausted, but his mind refused to shut down. Questions clawed at his sanity.
Am I really Gao's son?
Am I good... or evil?
Who was that woman? Why did she feel so familiar?
Why am I here?
And worst of all-Is Nicolo not my real brother?
The last thought sent a chill down his spine. He gritted his teeth and shook his head violently, as if to force it out of his skull.
No... that can't be true.
Nicolo was his brother. They had grown up together, shared the same food, fought the same battles, laughed and cried under the same roof. But if Gao truly was his father... why had no one told him?
His fingers curled into fists, nails biting into his skin. The silence of the prison made it all worse. It magnified the questions, echoed the doubts.
Then, the sound of boots echoed down the corridor.
Alfred's bloodshot eyes snapped toward the iron bars. A figure emerged from the shadows-a guard, tall and stern, his expression unreadable.
"Tomorrow," the guard said gruffly. "The King wants to see you."
Alfred pushed himself off the stone floor, his body trembling, heart racing.
"The King?" His voice came out hoarse from days of silence.
He stumbled to the bars, clinging to them.
"What about my brother? Is Nicolo alright?"
The guard said nothing. No blink, no shift in expression-just silence.
Alfred's grip tightened until his knuckles turned white.
"Tell me!" he barked, voice cracking.
Still no answer. The guard simply turned and walked away, his armor clanking softly in the shadows.
Alfred stood frozen, his breath shallow.
"Wake up."
The voice came like thunder in his ears, pulling him from a restless stupor. The same guard stood before him, now holding out a coat and a pair of pants.
"Get up. Bathe. Put these on. The King is waiting."
Alfred sat up slowly, his face pale, eyes sunken-clearly he hadn't slept at all in days. He took the clothes without a word and followed the guard down the corridor.
The prison air turned slightly warmer as they approached the bathing area. As Alfred stepped in, his eyes widened.
There, standing beneath the steam and falling water, was Nicolo.
Alfred froze. The sight of his brother, alive and real, filled him with a surge of joy-but it lasted only a second.
How am I going to face him?
He knows I'm not his real brother.
What if he thinks I'm a traitor? What if he hates me now?
No... I'm overthinking.
I need to talk to him-
Suddenly, the guard shoved him lightly forward.
"Hurry up. We've only got thirty minutes."
The voice shattered Alfred's thoughts.
Nicolo had turned. He was now looking straight at him.
Their eyes locked.
In that instant, the past, the questions, the fears-all of it swirled between them, unspoken.
Alfred didn't move. Neither did Nicolo.
Steam curled around them, the silence louder than any scream.