Weller opened his eyes, the dim light of dawn spilling faintly through the high windows. The chamber smelled of incense, the silence broken only by the muffled clatter of guards changing shifts outside. His body still ached from the journey, but something deeper than weariness stirred in him. Restlessness. That gnawing instinct that told him he didn't belong here—not in the comfort of silks and marble, even though he is the prince,he doesn't to the house of kings.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed, boots meeting the cold floor with a soft thud. He hesitated only a moment before standing. His hand brushed the hilt of his sword at the bedside. Habit. Readiness. He moved quietly toward the door, every step careful, as though he could walk past his doubts as easily as the threshold.
Before he could touch the handle, a voice broke the silence.
"Where do you think you're going?"
Weller froze. Yushi stirred in the second bed, his dark hair falling over tired eyes. His voice was groggy, heavy with sleep, but steady. Firm enough to stop Weller in his tracks.
"I wasn't going to wake you," Weller said softly, turning slightly.
Yushi sat up, rubbing his face. "Don't forget—I am your guard. If you leave, I will come too."
Weller frowned, the lines of fatigue sharpening on his face. "Yushi, you need rest. After everything we've been through, you're not in any condition to—"
"So do you," Yushi cut him off, his voice suddenly sharper. "And yet here you are, ready to walk off. Don't lecture me on rest when you don't take your own advice. I'm coming."
The silence stretched. Weller's jaw tightened as though he wanted to argue, but the look in Yushi's eyes stopped him. That steady, stubborn flame that had always burned there, no matter the circumstance.
Finally, Weller sighed and lowered his hand from the door. "…Fine. Have it your way."
---
Elsewhere, in a separate chamber of the vast palace, Kage stirred from his long sleep. He opened his eyes slowly, rubbing away the haze that clung to him. For a moment he thought he was still dreaming, because the ceiling above shimmered with golden carvings that twisted in the faint morning light.
This was no place he remembered.
Beside him, Hakari twisted and turned in his bed, his breath uneven. Sweat dampened his brow, and his lips parted in a soundless cry. He was caught in a dream that refused to release him.
Within it, a man stood in the haze of battle. His chest torn wide open, ribs exposed to the sky, blood soaking the earth. But it was not the gore that struck Hakari deepest—it was the man's expression. A face carved with unbearable sadness, as though the wound in his body was less painful than the sorrow in his heart.
"No…" Hakari whispered in his sleep. Tears slid down his cheeks as he reached out in the dream. "No, don't—!"
" Hakari!"
Kage's voice cut through the nightmare, firm and urgent. He grasped Hakari's shoulders and shook him awake.
Hakari gasped, lurching upright. His chest heaved as though he had been running for miles. He wiped his face with the back of his hand, trembling.
"You were crying," Kage said quietly.
Hakari's throat was tight. He swallowed hard before answering. "I… I think it was a nightmare."
"Of course it was," Kage replied, but his tone carried unease. He looked away, unwilling to reveal that Hakari's cries had shaken him more than he would admit.
For a moment neither spoke, only the sound of their ragged breaths filling the chamber. Then slowly, both turned their eyes to the room around them.
The walls shimmered with rich tapestries depicting battles of old. Curtains of silk flowed lazily in the morning breeze. Marble floors gleamed, polished to the point of reflection. The scents of oil lamps and incense hung heavy in the air.
Hakari's voice was hushed when he spoke again. "This… this is the royal palace."
Kage nodded grimly.
"Not just in any palace," Hakari continued. "The mainland of Koha… Murakami itself."
"They were at home".
Confusion tightened their chests. How had they arrived here? They remembered nothing of the journey, only fragments of chaos before their collapse.
"How did we even get here?" Hakari muttered, his voice breaking the silence.
There was no answer.
Together, they rose from their beds and stepped into the gilded corridor. The air was cool, the faint hum of distant voices carrying through the walls. Their footsteps echoed too loudly for their liking, each one reminding them they were intruders in halls not their own.
They searched for the others, moving with both caution and urgency.
---
In another wing of the palace, Nicolas was locked in torment. His dream was worse than a nightmare; it was a vision drenched in blood.
He saw a lone man standing at the edge of a battlefield. His body broken, both arms severed, blood streaming from open wounds. And yet—still he stood. Still he faced the army of one hundred thousand that bore down on him. His face was hidden in fog, a blur of features Nicolas could not grasp. But the wounds—the wounds were crystal clear, as though the world itself wanted him to see them.
The sound of clashing weapons thundered in his head. Screams, cries, the pounding of feet. The air reeked of iron and death.
Nicolas woke with a violent gasp, drenched in sweat. His breaths came fast and ragged, his chest rising and falling as though he had truly been on that battlefield.
"What was that…?" he whispered to himself, shaking his head. "I've never… never seen such a dream before."
He sat up, wiping sweat from his brow. His eyes darted around, drinking in the chamber. Silks draped from the walls, golden lamps flickered in every corner, and polished floors gleamed under his feet. The air was thick with the sweet burn of incense.
"A royal palace?" he muttered. "But where…?"
Shock and confusion pushed him to his feet. He stumbled toward the door and yanked it open.
The corridor outside shimmered with golden light—and there, only a few steps away, stood two familiar figures.
Hakari. Kage.
For a heartbeat, none spoke. The world seemed to hold its breath. Then Nicolas rushed forward, his voice cracking.
"You two—!"
Their eyes met. Relief washed over them like a tide, though disbelief still clung to their faces.
The three stood in the gilded corridor, staring at one another. Nicolas was the first to break the silence.
"How the hell did we get here?" His voice was edged with fear and confusion, though he tried to cover it with sharpness.
Hakari steadied himself before answering. His eyes still glistened from tears, but his voice was calm. "We are in Koha… the royal palace. The mainland of Koha—"Murakami".He looked at Kage, then back at Nicolas. "This is our house."
Nicolas froze. His mouth fell open, his gaze sweeping over the towering ceilings, the banners, the endless corridors.
"Wait—this? This palace… this is your house?" His voice cracked with awe. "Gods above, it's focking luxury!"
Kage frowned, ignoring Nicolas's marveling. Hakari's tone turned sharp.
"We don't have time to stand here gawking. We need to find Yushi and Weller."
Reluctantly, Nicolas nodded, though his eyes lingered on the gold-trimmed walls. His wonder was almost childlike, but the others tugged him forward.
The corridors stretched endlessly, each corner revealing more opulence. Whispers of guards echoed faintly, their words lost but their presence looming.
Then—it came. A sound. A muffled surge from a chamber ahead.
Kage's head snapped toward it, blood running cold. "That's… Akami's room."
Before Hakari could respond, Kage bolted. His feet pounded the floor, urgency carrying him faster than thought. Hakari followed instantly. Nicolas, startled but unwilling to be left behind, sprinted after them.
Kage didn't hesitate. His shoulder slammed into the door, splintering it open.
They stormed inside.
What they saw rooted them where they stood.
Two beds. On one, Heena lay pale and motionless, her breath faint but steady. On the other—Akami. His body writhed as though gripped by chains unseen, his eyes clamped shut. From his chest, from his palms, from the veins of his neck, a bloody red glow pulsed outward. Violent. Alive. Like a heartbeat made of fire.
"Akami!" Hakari's voice cracked, raw with desperation. He stumbled forward, reaching for his brother. "Akami, it's me—it's your brother!"
The glow surged, filling the chamber with searing crimson light. The air trembled with heat and energy, the walls groaning as if the palace itself could feel it.
Slowly—agonizingly—Akami's eyes snapped open.
They burned. Not with life, but with bloody power.
"You came…" His lips trembled into the faintest of smiles. His voice was fragile, strained. "Brother…"
Hakari's heart lurched. Relief and dread collided inside him.
But before he could touch him, Akami's strength faltered. His head slumped back, the glow flickering before dimming away. His body went limp, unconscious once more.
Hakari froze, his hand hovering inches from his brother's chest. His breath came fast, his mind spinning.
Kage stepped forward, his jaw clenched, his eyes shadowed with fury and fear. "What… happened to him. "What happened to them" while we were gone?"
The question cut through the room, sharp as any blade.
But no one answered.
Only silence remained—broken only by Heena's quiet, fragile breathing.
The four of them stood there, the crimson afterglow still staining their eyes, the weight of the unknown pressing down on their hearts.
And though the palace was filled with guards and banners and wealth, at that moment, it felt more like a cage.
A cage of shadows.