In the corner, the headmaster stood beside King Alexander, speaking in a low, unreadable tone. Something shifted in his eyes as he they talked. The anger from earlier disappeared. First, it had been grief—but even that was gone now.
It was replaced by nothing.
As if the storm inside him had died all at once, leaving behind only silence. Sylas had seen that look countless times—on the faces of mothers, fathers, and siblings of those who had fought and died by his side.
That man wasn't angry anymore. He wasn't mourning. He just… didn't know what to feel.
It was that moment when a parent thinks, 'That could never happen to my son.'
That was a man who had lost a part of his heart.
He hugged the headmaster. Sylas gripped his sword, trying to fight 'this feeling, damn it,' he thought. 'I didn't want to. I had no other choice.' He gritted his teeth.
Even during his time as King Arthur, he had never gotten used to seeing parents lose their children. And he could never bring himself to say, "Your son died in battle, and he is a hero."
He looked at the title card they gave him.
Then he crushed it between his fist.
Ray wasn't a good person, but guilt still clung to him. His chest tightened the more he thought about it. In the end, he had still taken someone's son.
Sylas drifted into a haze, not hearing a word anyone said. His sister snapped her fingers in front of his face.
"Hello? Sylas, you there?" she asked, snapping him back to reality.
Behind his parents stood the families of the others Ray had killed. He didn't know how to tell them, "Sorry, but Ray killed your child."
He approached them, his tone soft yet steady.
"Your child died with honor… not as a victim, but as a warrior. They stood their ground. They chose courage when they could've run. That's not something I'll ever forget."
He pulled out the crumpled card.
"This doesn't mean anything," he said, voice gentler now. "The real heroes are the ones who die trying to protect their people… their country."
He gripped one of the fathers' hands with both of his.
"And your child did just that."
They broke down. Tears flowed uncontrollably. It was messy. Raw. One by one, they embraced him. Each hug felt heavier than the last. His heart felt like it was going to drop. He let them. And in the back of his mind, a thought whispered: 'If I'd only pushed them harder… maybe they'd still be here.'
They left the stage. His father watched him silently. His sister's eyes welled up too—like she knew how those families felt. She looked at Sylas like she was thinking, 'What if Sylas had been one of the ones who didn't come back?'
He turned toward Elizabeth, Ryan, and Liz. They were surrounded by their families, smiling through tears. The sight gave him a sliver of peace.
Then he turned to King Alexander.
The headmaster was gone, but the king hadn't stopped staring at him. He wore the same look Ray had when he tried to kill him—wide, blazing eyes filled with something dangerous. He started walking toward Sylas.
Each step made the air heavier.
Sylas' father felt it too—the killing instinct.
'Did he tell him I killed his son?'
Sylas' hand tightened on his sword, ready to draw.
When the king finally stood in front of him, he spoke.
"I'm sorry."
It wasn't harsh. It wasn't loud. It came out warm. Gentle.
He looked at Sylas' father.
"At least your son came back."
Then at Elizabeth and the others.
"It's sad those weaklings returned, but my son didn't."
"What do you mean?"
The words barely escaped Sylas' mouth.
"Us royals—our lives are more valuable than theirs," the king said, like it was just a fact.
His stepmother jumped in.
"Yes." She looked at Luis. "If something happens to my boy, I don't know what I'd do."
She hugged Luis like he was already heading off to war. They muttered things between themselves, but none of it reached Sylas. All sound disappeared—replaced by one voice, echoing in his head: 'Cut their heads off like you did to Ray. Do it.'
He clenched his jaw. His whole body trembled. His hand moved on its own, gripping the hilt of his sword. He wanted to swing it. He wanted to wipe those smug looks off their faces forever.
But his sister grabbed his arm—tight. Grounding him.
"That's enough," his father muttered. He saw it too—how close Sylas was to losing it.
King Alexander left the stage.
A few moments passed.
"So, Sylas," his father asked, "what would you like for this accomplishment?"
He blinked.
'What can I even ask for?'
"I'd like a ship," he said after a moment. "And I want to travel the world."
"Is that all?"
"Yes," he said.
His stepmother and Luis exchanged a quick look. Smug. Satisfied. Like everything was going exactly the way they wanted.
"Who else will go with you?" his stepmother asked, her tone light and motherly.
"No one," Sylas replied with a smile. "It'll be just me."
Her smile grew.
His father said nothing. Just turned and walked away with her.
When it was all over, Sylas returned to his room. Elizabeth was already there, waiting.
He told her the plan.
She didn't like it. Her face said it before her words could.
"You're going alone?"
He nodded.
"I don't want to be left behind." The words came out cracked.
"I know," he said quietly. "But I need you here. Train with your mother. Stay sharp."
"And then?"
"I'll come for you," he promised. "In Lioraen."
She didn't respond—not at first.
But she didn't argue either. She knew there was no changing his mind.
Those who survived the Veil were given time off from the Academy. Time to recover. To breathe. Or at least try to. What they had accomplished was rare.
That night, Elizabeth didn't say a word.
She just lay there—quiet, distant. Her back to him.
Sylas tried to speak. Tried to lighten the mood. Tried to make her smile.
But she didn't answer.
Not once.
Only silence—and the sound of her soft, sniffled breathing.
She wasn't fine. And he knew it.
He stared at the ceiling, unsure of how to begin.
"I need you to become the Queen of Lioraen," he finally said, his voice low.
Silence.
"I need to be stronger," he continued. "But I can't build this world alone. I need you—to help me shape it."
He let the words hang in the air.
"That's why I want you to train with your mother. Outdo your siblings. Take the throne."
His voice was steady. Certain.
Elizabeth didn't say anything. She simply gave him a small thumbs-up.
Then she turned over, her back still facing him.
Sylas closed his eyes.
But sleep never came.
Only the silence remained.