I instinctively slid behind Zyon, Art, and Freya. Cowardly? Maybe. They passed me a glance—somewhere between judgment and amusement—but didn’t comment. Thankfully.
Freya, ever the polite one, took the initiative. "Aunty," she greeted, "since when were you here? Is this... an illusion? Or are we actually somewhere else?"
Isolde chuckled softly, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "No, this is real. The moment the dragon entered Everhart, I had it trapped in here—overlayed on the forest. You were in an illusion before. But now you’re in reality."
She turned to Art. "He knew. Didn’t tell you though."
All eyes locked onto him like a firing squad.
Art raised his hands, laughing nervously. "Haha... I might’ve forgotten. Or, maybe I wanted to see the look on your faces when the truth hit. And trust me, I’m not disappointed."
I bit my lower lip to keep from saying something unfiltered. My fingers twitched with the urge to smash his nose in.
Zyon groaned. "You really are a trashy bastard."
Art winked. "Yes, sir. That’s me. Grade-A certified trash. But now, Cassius~"—he sang my name—"what do you say now, huh? We got backup. Big, scary backup. Weren’t you acting all smug five minutes ago? What now?"
Still hiding behind the others like a professional coward, I lowered my voice to a level only small rodents could hear.
"It’s a good thing you managed to call her. I’m... very impressed. Truly. You’re the crown prince. So smart, so brave. What a legend."
He clicked his tongue. "Tch. Screw you. I wanted a fight, not some sarcastic ass-kissing. Get lost."
I responded with the only universal language I knew—flashing him the middle finger as I stepped past and walked toward Isolde.
I stopped beside her, watching Leon and Amelia from a distance. Their hands were still linked, eyes closed, as Leon’s mana flowed into her. The ritual was ongoing. Her palms rested gently on the dragon’s head, and the dragon glowed a steady silver-blue.
I exhaled slowly. "I gave her permission," I said, keeping my voice even. "If this pisses you off... blame me, not her."
Isolde’s eyes softened, her mouth tugging up into the faintest smile. "Why would I be mad at her?" she said. "Shouldn’t I be mad at you instead?"
Her tone didn’t rise. It didn’t need to. It hit where it was meant to.
She placed a hand on my shoulder, then leaned in and whispered, "You’re hurting."
"You said it’s fine. That you gave permission. But deep down, watching the girl who’s been your fiancée for years... holding hands with another man... trusting him with something this intimate... it must sting."
I kept my gaze forward. Didn’t flinch.
"She wasn’t mine," I said finally. "And I wasn’t hers. We were engaged because of politics, not love. It was never about us. Amelia... she’s strong. I respect her. And I want her to be happy—even if I’m not in the picture."
She was quiet for a moment, then said, "You’ve grown. Your father wouldn’t have let go this easily."
I chuckled without humor. "Yeah, well. I’m not Lucian. Thankfully."
She looked at Amelia and Leon again, her voice barely above a murmur. "Lucian will be furious when he finds out. More than I am. That man planned your engagement the moment you two were born. The Everhart-Lancaster union was something he considered inevitable. But..."
Her voice trailed off.
She sighed. "But Amelia’s suffered more than most nobles ever will. Her father—dead. Her mother—turned into something unrecognizable. Her family is ruined, her legacy in shambles, and this might be the only shot she has at saving what’s left."
"And you still let her go."
I smiled faintly. "Because that’s what I would’ve wanted... if I were in her shoes."
She patted my shoulder once again, firm but warm. "Good answer."
I sighed, hands buried in my pockets. "What’s Lucian doing right now? And more importantly... what’s going to happen to Opalcrest? They shouldn’t be forgiven, right? They’re the root cause of all this."
She gave a single nod, arms crossed over her chest. "Lucian’s meeting with Heinau—the King of Opalcrest. But don’t mistake it for a peaceful discussion. He’s not there to negotiate. He’s there to eradicate. He already made it clear: if either Everhart or Opalcrest initiates an act of war, he’ll personally wipe Opalcrest off the map."
I finished her sentence. "And now Opalcrest, by attacking Amelia’s family, has officially declared war."
I scoffed. "You know, I’m surprised at how shameless Lucian is. He literally said that if either side made a move, only Opalcrest would be punished. That’s so blatantly biased... I like it, though."
She let out a chuckle. "Of course it is. But that’s Lucian for you. He’s openly supporting Everhart while still pretending to be a neutral enforcer of justice. He couldn’t move unless they gave him an excuse. And now? They’ve given him everything he needed. I doubt Opalcrest will live to see the next sunrise."
I let out a dry laugh. "Lucian, the justice enforcer. That title’s killing me. No offense, but he’s not the ’justice’ type. He’s psychotic—like you. I don’t usually associate ’justice’ with psychopaths."
She turned her eyes toward me, cool and unbothered. "Cassius, what is justice to you? What does it even mean to enforce it? Sure, Lucian’s a psychopath. So am I. And frankly? So are you. But being psychopathic doesn’t automatically mean we’re evil. Evil and madness don’t always walk hand-in-hand. So tell me—what do you define as evil? What do you think is just?"
The question hit harder than I expected. What did I believe in?
Killing people. Exploiting them. Hurting the innocent. All of that was evil, obviously.
So... by that definition, someone who didn’t do those things was just. Simple.
But here I was. Someone who’d done both. Who’d killed. Who’d manipulated and used others.
So by my own logic... I was evil.
I spoke, voice lacking conviction. "Killing and exploiting people is wrong. So anyone who does that is evil. The opposite would be just."
She observed me quietly for a moment. "Not a bad answer," she said. "But what if someone close to you died while you were trying to be ’just’? Would you change sides then?"
I met her gaze, a subtle smile pulling at my lips. "When did I ever say I was just?"
I shrugged. "I’m evil. I’ve accepted that. I’m not trying to act righteous or put on some hero’s mask. I never was that guy. But I do know the difference between right and wrong. I know I’m not innocent—none of us are. Anyone who thinks otherwise is a moron. But I’m not going to delude myself either. Just because I understand the difference... doesn’t mean I belong on the good side."
She stared at me for a long moment, then gave a small nod. "That’s good," she said. "At least you’re honest about what you are. Most people aren’t."
I shrugged, hands still in my pockets. "What’s the point of lying? I’ve already accepted it. I’m not the hero, and I’m not trying to be one either. I’m just... me."
Her gaze drifted back to the bound dragon. "You say that, but it’s people like you who end up doing what the so-called ’heroes’ can’t."
I scoffed. "Not in this case. That thing—" I gestured at the dragon, still trembling slightly in its chains "—even if I wanted to stop it, I couldn’t. We both know I’m not strong enough for that."
She was silent for a beat before she confirmed it. "You’re right. You can’t kill it. Neither can I."
I blinked, surprised. "Wait, seriously? I thought you—"
"No," she cut in. "Even with my current strength, I’m only capable of binding it for now. If it regains its full power, these chains will snap like threads. And if that happens, there’s no one here who can stop it. Not you. Not me. Not even all of us combined."
That was... comforting.
"So what? We just watch and hope Amelia’s little method works?"
Isolde crossed her arms. "No. We buy time. That’s what we’re here for."
I ran a hand through my hair, frustration bubbling inside. "Buy time for what?"
"For Lucian," she said flatly. "He’s on his way."
My brow twitched. "Of course he is."
"He is going to be meeting Heinau," she continued, "the king of Opalcrest. But if I call him here. He will be here in a moments breath."
I grunted. "And then what? He just vaporizes this thing?"
She didn’t answer at first. Then, "If it comes to that, yes. He will."
I stared at the dragon’s restrained form. The mana in the air was thick and volatile, like an impending storm. Amelia and Leon still hadn’t moved—they were pouring their combined mana into the creature, desperately trying to reconnect it to its humanity, or what was left of it.
"They’re running out of time," I muttered.
Isolde didn’t argue. "She’s trying. But even if she succeeds, that thing isn’t just her mother anymore. It’s something else entirely. The pain she must have gone through to be awakened as the dragon would leave her as a husk of her previous self. And if Amelia fails, Lucian won’t hesitate."
I stared at them. "She’s not ready for that."
"No, she’s not," Isolde said quietly. "But neither are we."
The weight of her words sank into me. For once, I didn’t have a sarcastic comeback.
I let out a slow breath. "So we wait, then?"
"We wait," she confirmed. "We keep the illusion stable, hold the seals, and pray that dragon doesn’t snap. And if it does... we pray Lucian makes her death painless."