The doors opened with a heavy creak.
Inside, the emperor lounged lazily on a velvet chaise, half-dressed, a flushed concubine curled under one arm. He didn't rise. Didn't straighten. His gaze didn't even lift as his twin sons walked in.
He just sipped his wine and said flatly:
"Don't cause trouble. Live like you're dead."
A pause. Then a sneer curled on his lips.
"I don't care how many people you two kill—do what you want. Just don't drag the imperial name through the mud."
His voice was like iron dipped in ice. An order, not a greeting. Not even an acknowledgment.
The concubine beside him giggled, stroking his arm. He turned to her, whispering something that made her blush and cover her mouth.
He still hadn't looked at them.
Eryx stared at the man who had sired them like he might crush a fly between his fingers.
Viel's hands curled into fists at his sides.
But neither said a word.
They had learned long ago that they weren't sons to this man. Only weapons. Mistakes he couldn't kill without tarnishing his name. Demons locked in a golden cage.
No matter how many times they were summoned to this room, nothing changed.
They were not loved.
They were not wanted.
Just... tolerated. For now.
So, with voices hollow and eyes dull, they answered in perfect unison:
"We understand, Your Majesty."
The emperor waved a hand dismissively, as if swatting away a draft.
"Get out. You're wasting my time."
And that was it.
Their audience was over.
The moment the doors closed behind them, the cold in their limbs vanished—replaced by a fevered need.
To find Cael.
To see his face.
To hear his voice.
To touch him.
Because in this palace, every breath felt like poison. Every step further from Cael made their blood crawl. They didn't care about the emperor. Didn't care about politics or power.
Let the old man rot in bed with his playthings.
They ran.
Past startled servants. Past knights who bowed and backed away.
Because right now—
Only one person mattered.
The man who smiled at them like they were human.
The man who touched them like they weren't cursed.
The man who scolded them for killing bugs and kissed their foreheads when they cried.
Cael.
The one person in this world who felt like home.
They found him.
And just like that—
All the weight in their chest, all the rage simmering beneath their skin, all the suffocating cold—
Disappeared.
There he was.
Standing under the pale palace light, cloaked in a borrowed coat too big for him, hair tousled, eyes tired. But to them?
He was glowing.
The man who shone like the sun in their endless night.
Their only warmth in a world that had only ever been cruel.
"Cael!"
The twins didn't hesitate.
They ran.
No hesitation. No care for the nobles watching or the guards startled nearby. They ran like their lives depended on it—and maybe they did.
Straight into his arms.
Cael stumbled back a step, caught off-guard by the sudden weight of both boys clinging to him like drowning men, arms locking tightly around his waist and shoulders.
"Wha—?"
But the words died in his throat.
Because they were trembling.
Eryx buried his face in Cael's neck like he wanted to disappear inside him. Viel clung to his sleeve, silent, refusing to let go.
He could feel their rapid heartbeats. Feel how their breathing shook. How exhausted they were—not just from the day, but from everything.
"...You two..."
Cael sighed, quietly, fondly.
Then wrapped his arms around them both, warm and steady.
It was a soft moment.
A quiet one.
But to the twins, it was everything.
⸻
Later, once the world had calmed down just a little, Cael looked at them—really looked—and said, almost in a whisper:
"I know it's selfish to ask but... can we leave now?"
The twins blinked. Eyes narrowing.
"Did something happen?" Viel asked softly.
Cael smiled—faint and forced.
"No. I just... don't want to be here anymore."
But his face was pale.
Too pale.
His hands were shaking just slightly.
And that was enough.
They didn't need to hear more.
They didn't need to push.
Because if he asked—
If he even whispered a desire—
They would listen.
If he wanted them to burn this entire city to ash, they would.
If he wanted to disappear into the wind and never be found again, they'd follow.
If he wanted their lives, they would hand them over, smiling.
Because he—
He was everything.
Cael was worth more than any kingdom. Any crown. Any bloodline.
So they nodded.
And without a word, they began to prepare to leave the capital.
Because if Cael wanted to run—
Then the whole world could burn behind them.
They were gone.
No warning.
No formal goodbyes.
Not a whisper left behind.
The twin princes and their mysterious knight vanished from the capital under the cover of night—like a shadow fleeing before the flame.
⸻
The Crown Prince stood quietly by a palace window, still dressed in his ceremonial attire, eyes fixed on the dark horizon.
Far beyond the gates, torches flickered briefly—carriage wheels cutting through moonlit stone as they disappeared into the night.
Not a soul tried to stop them. Who would dare?
He exhaled.
A slow, quiet sigh of relief.
"Good..." Aurelian murmured. "Run fast, Cael."
⸻
Elsewhere, just before dawn, the polished corridors of the east wing echoed with hurried footsteps.
A knight in black and silver—one of Duke Rowan's most trusted men—stood in front of the grand chamber doors of the twin princes.
"I come under direct order of His Grace the Duke of Ashthorne," he said stiffly. "The mute knight who accompanied Their Highnesses—he is to present himself before the Duke. Immediately."
A beat of silence.
Then the door cracked open.
A pale, shaken maid peeked out.
"I-I'm sorry, Sir. Their Highnesses left."
The knight stiffened. "Left? What do you mean?"
"They departed in the middle of the night. No escort. No notice. Just... gone."
His eyes narrowed. "With the knight?"
"Yes. The brown-haired one. He left with them."
The knight stood still for a moment, then turned on his heel.
"I'll inform His Grace."
And when Rowan heard the words—"He's gone."
He didn't blink.
Didn't speak.
But something cold and ancient stirred in his eyes.
Rowan's eyes narrowed, mind quietly racing—he wasn't certain the mute knight was Cael, but something about him twisted like a thorn in his gut. His instincts screamed that the man was hiding more than a name—and Rowan had never been wrong before.