Damian woke up at noon, his purple eyes clear and alert the moment he opened them.
“Where is my mother?”
Sardin, who had been sitting by the bed, offered a practiced, soothing smile. “The lady had to leave for the capital on urgent business, little master. The road is dangerous, so she thought it best for you to stay here where it’s safe.”
“I know,” Damian said, sitting up with a sigh of resignation that looked utterly out of place on a three-year-old’s face. “My mother has always tried to protect me too much. She thinks she’s the only one with a shield.”
Sardin went still. *He sounds like a weary king,* the knight thought, a chill running down his spine. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small lemon drop. “Would the young master like a candy?”
Damian looked at the candy, then at Sardin. “Does Sadie really think I’m still a child who can be bribed with sugar?”
He snatched the candy anyway, his little fingers struggling with the wrapper until Sardin took it and opened it for him. Damian popped the lemon drop into his mouth, his cheeks puffing out.
“I’m not crying because I’m afraid,” Damian mumbled around the candy. “I’m crying because she left me with a spy.”
Sardin’s hand jerked, but he forced himself to stay calm. *He’s just a child. He’s repeating something he heard.*
“I want to go for a walk, Sadie,” Damian said, his eyes sparkling with a sudden, mischievous light. “Just the two of us. No knights. Just you and me.”
“Little master, that’s—”
“You’re a powerful Transcendent, aren't you?” Damian interrupted, tilting his head. “You can protect me better than a hundred guards. Carry me!”
Sardin couldn't say no. He hoisted Damian onto his back, and the boy directed him through the streets of the city with a series of hair-pulling tugs. Damian seemed to be searching for something, his eyes scanning the crowds with a clinical intensity.
Suddenly, Damian pointed to a tall figure in a gray cloak standing near the fountain.
“There! Sadie, hurry!”
Sardin’s gaze landed on the man. Even through the cloak, he could see the powerful build and the golden hair peeking out from under the hood. But it was the Aura that stopped Sardin’s breath—a cold, lethal pressure that felt like the edge of a blade against his throat.
*Eric Lennon Brant.*
Sardin’s mind went blank with terror. The Duke was here. In the territory. If Eric saw them... if he recognized Damian...
Sardin spun around, intending to flee back to the manor and send an urgent bird to Archduke Reinhardt. He was a spy for the rebellion, a man who had sold his soul to Reinhardt to avenge his father’s death. He had been reporting Cornelia’s movements for years, waiting for the signal to strike.
“You haven't regained your consciousness yet, have you, Sardin?”
The boy’s voice was no longer a child’s chirp. It was a low, resonant command that seemed to vibrate through Sardin’s very bones.
Sardin looked down. The ground beneath his feet was glowing with a brilliant, golden light.
*Magic?*
Magic was the province of the Tower—a rare, terrifying power that had nothing to do with the simple alchemy of the common folk.
“Put me down,” Damian commanded.
Sardin felt his arms go limp, his strength drained by a single touch from the boy’s finger. Damian didn't fall; he floated in the air, his small body enveloped in a blinding golden radiance.
“Sardin Ichaca,” Damian said, calling the knight by the full name he had hidden for twenty years. “I know why you’re here. I know about the deal you made with Adolphe Tarrant. You think the Emperor killed your father, so you’ve agreed to help the Archduke burn the capital.”
Sardin fell to his knees, his body bound by invisible golden threads. “How... what are you?”
“I am the one who remembers,” Damian whispered, his eyes burning with an ancient, Imperial power. “The Emperor didn't kill your father, Sardin. It was an Arguin arrow that took him. Reinhardt has been lying to you, just as he’s lying to my mother. He doesn't want her as a wife; he wants her as a puppet to legitimise his usurpation. And once he has what he wants, he’ll discard her like a broken doll.”
Sardin’s face went ashen. “You... you’re a regressor?”
“It doesn't matter what I am,” Damian said, his expression softening into one of tragic, cotton-candy sweetness. “What matters is that I believe in you. You could have killed me a dozen times in the last five years, but you didn't. You love my mother. You love this family. And I know that in the future, you will be the Knight Commander who dies defending us.”
Sardin’s eyes filled with tears of pure, agonizing remorse. The child knew everything—his betrayal, his lies, and the secret love he had developed for the woman he was supposed to destroy.
“Stay here and think, Sardin,” Damian said. “Decide who you really are before the Archduke’s assassin arrives. I have a father to go meet.”
With a flash of golden light, Damian vanished. *Instant Teleportation.*
***
Eric was moving through the city, his mind a whirlwind of strategic assessments.
*Countess Hurd is a genius,* he thought, looking at the schools and hospitals. *She has governed this land better than the Emperor ever could. If I didn't know better, I’d say she was trained by the Empress herself.*
But his investigation was stalled. He couldn't find a direct link to the Emperor’s secrets. He decided he would sneak into the manor tonight to search the Countess’s private study.
As he turned the corner near the marketplace, he felt a small tug on the hem of his cloak.
Eric froze. He was a Sword Master—he should have sensed anyone within ten paces. But this presence had appeared out of thin air.
He looked down.
A small boy, with golden hair and vibrant purple eyes, was looking up at him. The child’s face was like fluffy white bread, his cheeks flushed with excitement. It was the boy from his dreams. The boy who had saved him in the river.
The child smiled, a look of pure, unconditional recognition lighting up his face.
“Dad!” Damian chirped, reaching up for Eric’s hand. “You finally came!”