The moment the meeting concerning Darkskin concluded, the Viscount immediately rose from his chair and departed from the room where meeting had taken place.
Ivaan's subordinates and himself Ivaan was remained seated, silent and still.
With unreadable eyes, Ivaan watched the Viscount's retreat until the heavy doors closed behind him.
The Viscount did not check or linger around the adjoining rooms in the corridor. Without wasting a single detour, he directly retreated towards the main gate, the main exit of the bell tower.
Outside, the courtyard was already buzzing with all the high-rankers and their movements who had attended the meeting inside the chamber. Most of them had already taken their places in the cars and carriages in which they came, or where their drivers were waiting with engines ready.
The Viscount's old figure was hidden behind his stiff posture.
He moved towards his car, but instead of clutching the handle to open the door, he looked as if he was waiting for someone.
When he did not find the person he was looking for, he finally reached for the door handle and seated himself inside the car.
Yet he did not ask the driver to start the engine. He waited inside for the person he had come with.
The Viscount waited inside the car, his posture stiff, his gaze fixed on the courtyard. Minutes passed, but his son did not appear.
At first, he told himself to remain calm. Yet the longer he sat in silence, the more his hand tightened on the armrest. Finally, with a sharp breath, he pushed the door open and stepped back onto the cobblestones.
Without a word to the driver, the Viscount turned and began to search for his son himself. His eyes scanned the courtyard, the corridors, and the steps of the bell tower.
Yet he was not able to find his son. The only thought left to him was to look for a place where the moonlight shone the most, for his son Lior truly loved the moonlight.
"He often loses himself on nights like this," the Viscount muttered.
Then he followed the trail of moonlight, where the rising moon cast silver light across the courtyard and the soft sound of flowing water came from the gazebo.
At the far end of the bell tower, the Viscount slowed his steps. A faint whispering reached his ears, carried on the night air. His brows tightened. Someone was there.
He moved closer, each step echoing lightly against the stone. Then, as he reached the far end of bell tower ,the scene froze before his eye .
His son, Lior, balanced on one leg, the other lifted high, about to strike. And standing opposite him, unflinching as stone, was Ivaan.
The Viscount's breath caught, his chest tightening at the sight. For a heartbeat he stood frozen, unable to believe what he was seeing.
Then his voice rang out, sharp and commanding, cutting through the night air.
"Stop, Lior!"
Both figures turned at once. Lior's foot wavered in midair, his balance faltering, while Ivaan's eyes shifted coldly toward the Viscount.
In an instant, Ivaan caught Lior's kick, gripping his shoeless leg firmly. The boy wavered for a moment, caught completely off guard.
He would have been struck by Ivaan if not for the sharp call of his father. The Viscount's voice cut through the night, saving him from what could have been a painful blow.
The Viscount hurried toward the two dueling figures, his shoes scraping against the stone in frustration. His face showed both anger at seeing his son recklessly challenge such a mighty figure one no one else would dare to duel and deep worry for his fragile boy.
"Lior! Have you lost your mind? Do you even realize whom you are attacking?!"
Inside, the Viscount's thoughts screamed louder than his words:
"Oh, my foolish little boy… what's wrong with you? Why are you acting so recklessly?!"
Yet his command came out sharp and unyielding:
"Stop this foolish act at once!"
His chest heaved, torn half with rage and half with fear, as he scolded Lior yet also tried to shield him from Ivaan's wrath.
Lior's face turned pale, his body frozen. It felt as though he stood on the edge of a cliff on one side, his father's furious reprimand; on the other, Ivaan's cold grip on his leg, a single strike away from disaster.
As Ivaan watched, his eyes lingered on the weight crushing Lior
the scolding from his father, the panic caused by his own reckless behavior.
The boy wavered, biting his lower lip, his balance faltering as if the ground itself betrayed him.
A faint curve touched Ivaan's lips, a trace of satisfaction, though not complete. Slowly, he stepped back and released Lior's leg from his grip, leaving him standing awkwardly, one foot bare without its shoe.
When Ivaan spoke, his voice carried both a haunting smoothness and a chilling edge.
"Sir Danwal Viscount…".