Hastened steps from woven sandals tread the smooth polished floor. The boy heaved with exhilaration and excitent as he joined the vast crowd of people as curious as him. The ceiling arches were high. However, he felt the halls were too cramped. He squeezed through the crowd of noisy people. Slipping under countless arms and between shoulders, he finally breathed out, released from the tightness.
His eyes glittered, welcoming the scene of fierce pathfinders, warriors walking steadily through the open path between two rivers of muttering heads filled with broad smiles.
Our saviors have returned!
The air is filled with joy and pride. Cheers bounced off the walls, and it filled every warrior's heart.
Nurous eyes widened at the appearance of a lovely female elf conversing quietly with a seer and a seductive-looking female fox beast who winked at every person who caught her eyes. However, a more eye-catching person caught their attention. White hair and glistening silver eyes. It was the youth whom every servant and knight spoke of within the protective walls of the towers.
"How enthusiastic are your people..." Malyana smiled. Her words are a complint, and Moulin was quick to catch on.
"Indeed, they are. Although, I haven't lived here long enough to know them." The people in the towers were a bit quieter than the rowdy crowd outside.
Malyana gave him a questioning stare. But before she could ask, another voice shouted, belonging to a figure in the distance ahead.
"Moulin!"
The people are silenced, and Moulin stops in his steps. His eyes widened in surprise. At one glance, he imdiately recognized the tall person and the older man behind him.
Lord Hercullio briefly lowers his head with a smile as he watches Moulin dash toward his eldest brother and father. The n behind Hadrian chuckled quietly as they continued to make their way toward the group of distinguished people waiting for them at the end of the hall.
The Lords are equipped with proud grins; even the ekest of them wore a smile brighter than the sun. Of course, who was never full of joy when their drying paradise that was at the brink of vulnerability recovers. Finally, they could live their lives with ease once more.
The people welcos the group of brave n and won, and a banquet is promised in less than a minute. However, Lord Hercullio declines. The effects of the portal hadn't worn off, and most of the warriors were dizzy and nauseous. Imdiately, the lords hailed people to take them to rest.
Maxille Fraunces embraced his brothers despite Emlen struggling away from his hold. The Fraunces Patriarch hurries over his youngest son and holds the white arm embellished with gold. His eyes are confused. Moulin comforted him and explained the story short with a soft smile.
"...!"
A commotion occurred when the Fraunces Patriarch, who had just recovered his sickness, collapsed into the arms of his eldest son.
..............
The sound of a closed-door entered Moulin's ears. He hurriedly untied his boots and walked out of the bedroom, breathing out from the looseness of his clothing and the sudden exhaustion that weighed on him.
"Moulin..." Maxille spoke deeply. Grey eyes softened at the sight of his brother.
"How is father?"
"He's awake and attending the eting as we speak." Maxille approached the young man enshrouded by the gentle light from the tall windows. "You told him about your incident too early. Of course, which in our family wouldn't want to faint to death from the sudden tragic news about your incident."
Moulin chuckled, "You should've seen Emlen's reaction."
"Indeed, I wish I had been with you there." Maxille's expression turned solemn as he took Moulin's white hand. "I could have prevented this..."
"You were needed here." Moulin furrowed his brows, "And fortunately, I was lucky."
"Lucky?"
"Ah, I'll tell you later, I promise." Moulin smiled and pulled his eldest brother's arm. "Right now, I'm a bit hungry. I have quite missed the food here... and the baths. And I reckon Snow and Kier are looking for . They don't find the beast tars comfortable."
A sigh escaped the Lord's lips, and he smiled helplessly as Moulin led him towards the doors. He missed the way Moulin would drive him confused and longing for answers but then surprised him with sudden urgency. Perhaps, this ti, it would be a slower relief. His brother is a mysterious person, and anyone would want to unravel him. But they couldn't if they even tried unless Moulin made a choice.
Moulin t more people after lunch. He t Pola tending the elegant gardens of the maids' courtyard. She dropped the garden water ladle and attacked the young lord with a crushing hug. Her tears soaked Moulin's chest, and he could not help but comfort her by stroking her hair. From that mont, she hurriedly dropped everything and followed him wherever he goes.
Moulin t the proud Veresyahs and the other familiar races within the tower's walls. Next, he stopped by Phuna and her father, who aided the construction of buildings near the tower. His heart swelled when Nhetecra, the earth giant who saved his life, welcod him with bright eyes despite the heaviness of the boulders on his back.
"Did it hurt?" One of Phuna's cat ears twitched as she stared curiously at Moulin's arm. "It must've hurt, right? Like really hurt."
Moulin raised in gaze, thinking. "I have forgotten already. But yes, I do rember... the pain."
"Don't remind him, Phuna." Varion, Phuna's father, spoke, observing Nhetecra, who was staring cluelessly at the frightened worker before him.
Phuna grumbled, "I was just curious."
"It's alright." Moulin chuckled and continued to tell the little cat girl exciting bits of his journey.
Phuna's eyes sparkled with delight as she absorbed word after words that ca out from Moulin's lips. Her expressions changed back in forth from horror, shock, and excitent. Soon, Pola approached them and standing behind her was a knight.
"My Lord, your father has requested your presence." She spoke.
"Ah... " Moulin nodded.
He said his goodbyes to the pair of father and daughter and waved at Nhetecra's big form. Afterwards, he turned around and followed Pola towards the gates.
......
Heavy footsteps resounded in the hallways. An expressionless man knocked twice on the tall, dark doors and entered once he received a response.
"My Lord, " Varick addressed as he approached the regal man standing before the windows, gazing silently at the vast skies.
Lord Hercullio held a delicate crystal glass, quietly swirling the red liquid sitting at the bottom. Varick lifted his gaze. Inwardly, he was thrilled to reunite with his lord again. However, he felt sothing odd about him. Varick couldn't na this oddity. The feeling seed to creep into him the longer he stared at Lord Hercullio's back.
The silence stretched, and Varick endured the stifling ominousness within the room.
"Have you found it?" A dark voice that seed to hollow out the secrets of one's mind filled Varick's ears. Golden eyes narrowed towards the glass windows as though there was sothing irkso before his eyes.
Varick furrowed his brows and lowered his head, "Not yet, My Lord. The lands shifted, and it was difficult for the cartographers to commit the patterns to mory. However, the artificers are in the throes of creating a tool to investigate the lands. For now, we have pathfinders to inspect."
"And the heart?"
Varick unconsciously shuddered, recalling the bloody grotesque lump of flesh he was forced to deliver to the seers and mages. It was still beating, pumping invisible blood.
"It has been delivered safely." Varick lets out a shuddering sigh. Once more, he had underestimated the lord's power and strength. How could he rip out a demon's heart so easily? Wasn't it impossible?
"If it's still beating, that thing must still be alive." Hadrian lifted the glass to his mouth. Ignoring, Varick's probing stare behind him. "Have the mages examine it thoroughly. I don't care what thods they use as long as it remains alive."
"Yes, My Lord."
"Go."
Varick took one last glimpse of the lord's profile before he turned around and left the room. He wasn't wrong. It felt as though a cold dark fog enshrouded Lord Hercullio's being. He was no seer or mage, but he could feel it.
Within the emptiness of air, a grim atmosphere weighed. The lone man kept his gaze straight. Oblivious of the flickering blackness in his pupils.
Suddenly, the glass shattered within his fingers. Shards flew and fell to the ground. This ti, Hadrian shifted his gaze, looking down at his wounded hand. A couple of fragnts remained embedded into his skin. Blood stread down his fingers, raining unto the carpet in ceaseless drops. He is calm, but there is chaos in his heart.
The sting is insignificant. But sohow, Hadrian found ease.
However, a particular person might yell at him if 'he' finds out what Hadrian had done. Lord Hercullio slightly closed his eyes. Golden pupils turned pure and soft, gazing at his wounded fingers.
'Better treat this...'
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