Having somehow managed to slip away from Vincent’s watchful gaze, Zion boarded a ship as sneakily as possible.

It was the safest choice.

From there, he could reach a neighbouring country first, then enter Revhara through one of its ports. The whole journey would take at least another month.

Though ships were powered by magic, they were still bound by countless safety protocols. The captain showed no intention of rushing—nor would Zion have trusted one who did.

Once, long ago, a captain’s impatience had led to catastrophe. A massive vessel, carrying more than two thousand souls, had vanished beneath the ocean’s depths.

The sea swallowed it whole, leaving no trace behind, only its ruins in the depths of the ocean. It was only two centuries later that scholars from the Magic Tower uncovered its remains, resting silently beneath the sea—a grim reminder of what recklessness and impatience could cost—countless lives.

Zion kept that story close to heart as the ship began its slow departure. A delayed arrival was far preferable to a journey that never ended. He had a lover who awaited his return, an Emperor who awaited his discoveries in Hianshu, a country that had closed its doors to the people of Revhara.

The young man retreated into the narrow confines of his cabin once the ship had fully set sail.

The gentle hum of magic playing through the vessel blended with the distant sound of waves, a constant, almost soothing rhythm.

He sat on the edge of the bed and reached into his coat’s pockets, fingers brushing against folded parchment.

The portrait Vincent had given him.

He hesitated for a heartbeat before unfolding it.

The face in his mind was still indistinct—but the features of this portrait appeared as if the artist had deliberately wanted to grant the man a clear identity.

And yet, the longer Zion stared, the harder it became to dismiss the unease tightening in his chest.

Silver hair fell past narrow shoulders, strands cascading down in a way that felt painfully familiar. The curve of the neck, slender and fragile—unlike Zayden’s servant. The posture however, was subtle, reserved, as though the subject was accustomed to shrinking into himself.

The physique was unmistakable.

Slightly slender. Appeared too delicate. Built not for battle, but for endurance.

So unlike the Ren he recalled now but it was undoubtedly him. A mere blindfold would not make much difference to one’s face. At least, not that well.

Zion’s fingers tightened around the edge of the parchment. His mind replayed fragments he had tried to bury—the blurred image of Zayden’s silver-haired servant, the portraits lining the temple walls, the way all those memories overlapped until they became impossible to separate.

He had lied to Vincent without hesitation, but the truth clawed at him now, relentless.

It couldn’t be a coincidence.

His gaze lingered on the portrait, heart pounding, a growing certainty settling deep in his bones.

"I am sure Zayden doesn’t know. I need to tell him," he murmured to the empty cabin.

If Zayden had known the truth—if he had even the faintest suspicion—he would have never allowed Ren into his mansion. Never kept him so close. Never let him linger at his side... or near his son.

Zion’s breath caught.

The child.

His eyes widened as the thought struck him with brutal clarity.

Could the child be connected to Ren as well?

The possibility sent a cold shiver down his spine. Nothing about this was accidental. Nothing ever was, not when Hianshu was involved.

Zion clenched his jaw, fingers curling into a tight fist. Why was Hianshu’s most prized weapon in Revhara? And worse—why were they searching for him with such persistence? Was he not a spy they sent? Or perhaps, Ren had forgotten to contact them, and that was why they grew impatient and wished to see if he hadn’t died yet?

After all, it wouldn’t be shocking if a spy got killed. Be it, Zion, the ones who came to Hianshu before him but failed to return. Or Ren himself.

Whoever Ren truly was, he was valuable enough for them to wait. To comb through nations, caravans, and borders without abandoning the hunt.

Five... maybe six years.

If that silver-haired servant truly was the man in the portrait, then it could become a real issue. Mostly when Zion knew the kind of feelings Zayden harboured for the man.

***

Cradling the child in his arms, Yusha stared at Enzo as the man slipped into a light coat.

The weather was no longer cold enough for a heavy jacket, yet the wind remained unpredictable. Who knew when it might turn sharp, sudden enough to invite sickness?

"Are you just going to keep staring at me?" Enzo chuckled, glancing his way.

The violet-haired man didn’t look away. He continued to watch him, unflinching even after being caught.

"We should name her," Yusha whispered.

Enzo blinked, tilting his head slightly.

"Name? Who?"

Yusha’s brows knit together, one lifting a heartbeat later—his expression clearly asking whether Enzo was pretending to be clueless or truly was.

The other man laughed softly, covering his mouth before faking a cough, as if clearing his throat.

"Yes, yes. Ahem." He leaned closer, his voice lowering, lips almost brushing Yusha’s ear. "What kind of name do you want for her?"

The grin on his face was impossibly wide.

Yusha had never seen him smile like this before—so bright, so unguarded. He couldn’t understand what was so exciting about naming a child.

Had the neighbour not mentioned it, he wouldn’t have thought about it at all.

A name.

To Yusha, it felt like a curse.

He had preferred the time when he didn’t even know his own name. When there was nothing to be called by—neither warmly nor... coldly.

Now, sometimes, he would hear Liam’s voice calling out his name—covered in blood. Perhaps, somewhere on a battlefield, he truly was bleeding. Yet the thought alone shook Yusha to his very soul.

As cursed as it was, he worried for that cruel, horrible person.

Maybe distance was to blame.

He had begun to forget the horror he once endured. Each time that dangerous warmth stirred in his chest, he forced himself to remember the moments he had felt most miserable, most vulnerable, by Liam’s side. Most of the time, it worked.

But there were rare moments—quiet, cruel, treacherous ones—when it didn’t.

"Yusha? Did you not hear me?" Enzo waved a hand in front of the man’s face, trying to catch his attention.

Yusha blinked, snapping back to reality.

"Pardon? What did you say?"

Enzo offered a grim smile and shook his head. Yusha had been taking his medication and resting properly, yet it seemed he hadn’t fully recovered.

Every so often, he would drift away, unresponsive, as if frozen in place. The worst moments were when he wouldn’t come back even after Enzo shook him with all his strength. Even if he stumbled or fell, he would simply stare into the void, hollow and distant.

Yusha had never been the talkative type. Still, these days, he tried—made a conscious effort to speak, to express what he felt.

Whether it was disliking a certain dish or quietly pointing out something Enzo had done, he no longer kept everything locked inside.

A toxic relationship could break people in the worst ways.

He and Yusha were so different, yet so alike.

Enzo came from a noble family, while Yusha was a slave—the lowest class to exist.

Yet both had endured complicated relationships in their lives, scars carved in different ways but aching all the same.

Perhaps that was why they had chosen to heal together—away from everyone else. Within closed walls, where no one bothered to look their way, where the world could not intrude. There, at least, they had each other, both in need of saving.

Indeed, it was not only Enzo who took care of Yusha.

Yusha, when needed, dealt with any alphas who came near Enzo. He was the one who went out to get all their essentials. Mostly when the servants were not around.

That was precisely why, today, Enzo dared to step beyond the mansion’s walls.

He believed himself capable of handling it.

"I said," Enzo inhaled softly, smiling with his eyes. "I will be back soon. Start thinking about some names while I am gone."

Yusha didn’t look away. He kept staring at the man before him who wanted to face his worst fear today.

How courageous.

He was almost envious. He, on the other hand, would never dare to face Liam again. The thought alone froze him in place.

"Well then, I will be going," Enzo said, putting on a black round hat on his head.

Just to be safe, he preferred hiding the hair colour he inherited from his family. It was a rare shade of green.

Too obvious.

He didn’t wish to draw any unnecessary attention.

Today’s goal was just to walk for ten minutes outside. He was bound to encounter alphas. He just needed to hold on for ten minutes.

Grabbing his cane, he stepped outside.

"Come back soon," Yusha whispered, watching the omega’s figure disappear into the distance.