The hall fell silent the moment Nihraël stepped through the doors of the audience chamber.
The space was immense, its ceiling disappearing into the twilight of an artificial sky where even light itself seemed to bend to the will of its master.
At the center of the chamber sat His Majesty, Izanori.
Seated upon a throne carved from the purest ivory and inlaid with gold that flowed like living blood, the King appeared less like a man and more like the incarnation of divine authority. His white hair, like threads of woven ether, reflected every ray of light within the hall while simultaneously devouring them, drawing the gaze of all who looked upon him.
Every floating orb of light… every radiant beam that crossed the chamber… seemed to incline toward his throne.
His figure was almost unreal.
His eyes appeared to embody Order itself.
The world seemed to kneel before him.
He wore flowing garments of white and gold, made from a fabric that seemed to belong to no material known to existence. His face bore no scar, no mark, no imperfection. The aura emanating from him evoked life itself in its purest and most absolute form.
Beside him stood the members of the royal family — the Arcanyrus.
They observed the scene in silence.
Serenith Arcanyrus, the king's younger sister, stood with a cold and analytical gaze. Her hands rested upon a scepter of emerald crystal. Her white hair was held by delicate ornaments, while her pale eyes were enhanced by refined makeup. Numerous jewels adorned her body, each one testifying to her rank, and her magnificent gown shimmered beneath the celestial light of the hall.
Next to her stood the king's elder brother, Valther Arcanyrus.
Imposing, draped in a radiant yet restrained armor that seemed to contain its own divine power, he carried the bearing of a conqueror. His gaze was that of a warlord who had seen countless battlefields, and his aura was heavy with the weight of innumerable wars.
Around them stood several nobles from various great families.
Their faces were partially hidden behind masks of restraint and reverence.
Nihraël walked forward.
His footsteps echoed slowly across the polished floor of the audience chamber. Each step produced a clear sound that spread through the hall like a quiet ripple across still water.
And yet—
Unlike the king, no light touched him.
The rays seemed to drift away from his body, as if they refused to acknowledge his existence.
Where Izanori drew the light of the world toward himself…
Nihraël seemed to devour its absence.
A natural shadow clung to him.
Cold.
Silent.
Unyielding.
Even his black hair moved like a dark ocean, absorbing every glimmer that dared approach it.
Valther and Serenith watched their nephew with a mixture of caution and restrained hostility.
Serenith's fingers tightened slightly around the shaft of her scepter.
Her knuckles paled beneath the pressure.
Valther's already severe expression darkened further.
Around them, the assembled nobles felt a subtle chill spreading through the air — a creeping sensation crawling slowly along their spines.
The mere presence of Nihraël was enough to disturb the balance of the room.
The king, however, showed no reaction.
Seated upon his throne, Izanori simply observed his son.
His gaze was calm.
Distant.
Almost unfathomable.
When Nihraël finally stopped at a respectful distance from the throne, Izanori inclined his head slightly.
He did not smile.
The tension within the hall thickened, though no one had spoken of it.
It lived in the silence.
In the way the light gathered around the throne.
And in the way the shadows gathered around Nihraël like a second skin.
Then, with a subtle motion, the king gestured toward Valther.
Valther nodded once and stepped forward slightly.
He cleared his throat before addressing the assembled nobles.
His voice carried authority, yet remained perfectly respectful.
« Forgive the interruption. His Majesty wishes to speak privately with the prince. I ask that you kindly leave the chamber. »
No one objected.
From the moment Nihraël had entered the hall, the nobles had felt the tension pressing down upon their shoulders. Many had already been waiting for an excuse to withdraw from the royal family's private affairs.
They had heard stories about the prince.
Some had seen him from afar.
Others knew him only through rumors.
And those rumors were… troubling.
It was said he rarely appeared at the palace. That he spent most of his existence on battlefields or within the unexplored and dangerous regions of the universe.
Other rumors were darker still.
Stories born from the war spoke of a being who knew neither fatigue nor mercy.
Some soldiers whispered that he was not truly a prince…
but a demon walking among the living.
Still—
Curiosity burned behind their lowered gazes.
They all wanted to know what would happen next.
What truths might emerge from this exchange between father and son.
But none of them would dare intrude upon the affairs of House Arcanyrus.
One by one, they bowed respectfully to the king, the prince, and the royal family before leaving the chamber in disciplined silence.
Soon the vast audience hall stood almost empty.
At last, Izanori spoke.
His voice was gentle.
Yet beneath each word rolled the restrained force of distant thunder.
« Son… the battle here has ended. »
« The Kōyōjin have been pushed back. Their army has been broken… and you were the pillar of that victory. »
A brief silence followed.
« This sector of the universe owes you its reprieve. »
Nihraël did not respond immediately.
He simply looked at his father.
The king remained perfectly still.
Every line of Izanori's flawless face seemed sculpted by light and cosmos alike.
His eyes reflected everything that existed.
Everything…
Except him.
Slowly, Nihraël lifted his gaze and looked directly into the king's eyes.
His face showed no anger.
No hatred.
Yet his gaze carried weight.
Sharp.
Like a blade hidden within silence.
« I have no need for reprieve. »
A pause.
« No need for rest. »
Another pause.
« And no need for praise. »
The silence that followed deepened.
Even the floating orbs above the throne seemed to hesitate in their movement.
Izanori inclined his head slightly once more.
Still no emotion appeared upon his perfect face.
Yet some members of the royal family noticed something subtle beneath that divine composure.
A flicker.
Perhaps concern.
Serenith's grip tightened around her scepter.
Valther's gaze hardened further.
« Your role is not finished, » the king continued calmly.
« And yet… certain forces appear to avoid you. »
Nihraël remained perfectly still.
The depth of his gaze revealed nothing.
The hall itself seemed to hold its breath.
« Soon, » Izanori continued, « this war will end here. »
« This conflict will fade… and the world will rise again beneath our order. »
A pause followed.
Barely perceptible.
« But you… »
His gaze sharpened slightly.
« Your presence remains… different. »
« As if something within you escapes everything we understand. »
The words were not an accusation.
Yet the meaning behind them carried quiet suspicion.
No anger.
No rejection.
Only the caution of a sovereign who sensed within his own son a force he could neither understand nor control.
And in truth—
Everyone in the chamber felt it.
Nihraël simply inclined his head.
He did not speak.
A faint shadow crossed his features.
The whisper of a hidden truth.
The cursed nature of his existence.
The burden he carried.
A burden whose depth none present could truly comprehend.
Serenith finally broke the silence.
Her voice was low.
Careful.
Almost forbidden.
« He is… different, Izanori. »
She paused before slowly turning her gaze toward Nihraël.
A cold and carefully restrained hatred burned within her eyes.
Valther straightened slightly, his armor producing a faint crystalline sound.
« Perhaps, » he said slowly,
« that is exactly what we need. »
He paused.
« Perhaps that difference is what will change the course of things. »
His gaze darkened.
« You all know… »
« That he carries the Seal. »
At the mere mention of that word—
The atmosphere froze.
The light within the chamber dimmed slightly, as if the world itself recoiled from the truth.
The silence grew heavier.
Oppressive.
Nihraël did not react.
Izanori's brows furrowed ever so slightly.
Serenith froze completely.
Her expression darkened.
Rage.
Grief.
Hatred.
And something else.
A trace of nostalgia she struggled desperately to hide.
Slowly, Izanori lifted his gaze.
It swept across the hall before returning to rest upon his son.
Radiant light gathered once more around his throne, as though the cosmos itself acknowledged his supreme authority.
And despite the shadow that clung to Nihraël…
The king remained perfect.
Still.
The absolute embodiment of order and power.
In the solemn silence that followed, it almost seemed as though the entire universe had stopped breathing.
Suspended between light and shadow.
Between a divine father…
and a son whose nature threatened to escape the very laws of creation.