Accession to the throne was the young king's life desire. Ever since he knew the power it could bring, where his goal was, how much he could prove the former king wrong- nothing else mattered. Despite the false pride of his magic, the young king studied well on economics, territorial laws, royal formalities. Tirelessly, nothing else mattered…

Yet the reality of his accession felt like opening a locked treasure chest after many years, knowing there was nothing inside.

It was when the elf had left that the demon had come to reflect about their bond and recognize that— ever since the demon had first betrayed the elf, he hadn’t actually felt their bond strengthen. The elf had never come to trust him. And the elf had always been planning to leave him.

For the first few weeks of Eial’s disappearance, Drokn had been in denial, sure of the elf’s return. How could he not? There’s no reason the elf would leave forever. They’re bonded, after all. The elf can’t live without him, without his bond.

Yet when the days, the weeks, had continued to pass, a boiling uncertainty clawed his mind. An emotion which, because he did not know what it was and did not wish for it to consume him, he turned into scathing rage. If the elf wishes to leave and die, so let him!

But even the rage did not satisfy him. So, instinctively within time, he forced himself to feel nothing.

Although, he only fooled himself by closing his heart when truthfully, a cauldron had slowly started to fill within him. At the tipping point, the water splashed and swayed, dribbling down the edges of the pot. Until the smallest push-

Completely spilled it over.

Light dissipated into the large room as night turned to dawn, the clamor outside the room’s door fervent, though mild. The young king woke on the floor to the side of his face flush against his bed and a red ribbon loosely draped over his fingers. Gently lifting the red fabric, he glanced, and blinked, and breathed, and then combed through his hair before tying the ribbon up high.

And it was those days where his hair swayed back and forth in its height that a loose glimmer of life started to reach the demon’s eyes yet again. His mind was filled with the elf- of when he made a jam of black berries, or when he touched his horns. Paperwork and tasks would be laid out in front of him, but his focus was amiss.

Noticeably odd the demon had acted, that when he was met with yet another advisor meeting, more blank stares than words were sent Drokn’s way, and then between K’ra and the advisor.

[So what do you think about the arrangements for the health center in Fr’okkana?] Referring to a town in the outskirts, the note from K’ra was passed over in front of Drokn, forcing Drokn to snap back into attention.

It was clear to Drokn that none of the discussion had even remotely grazed his ear. But he dare not let anyone else know of his ineptitude of current. Simply, he pushed his hands against the table to stand as he said, “I trust in your decision for this, K’ra,”

and,

“I’m going to take the day off.”

K’ra's face brightened hearing the words and immediately, they grabbed the advisor from his collar and yanked him upwards, pushing him forward and out. Returning briefly, K’ra borrowed the quill on Drokn’s desk and wrote on the parchment they had laid down earlier: [Take as much time as you need. You are well ahead in work.] With an aggressive and endearing ruffling of Drokn’s hair and a pat on his shoulders, K’ra set themselves out to leave, as well.

Finding himself flying above the demon towers under the darkened skies, a pleasant nostalgia wandered within his memories. As a younger demon, he would secretly visit the town whenever he had felt wronged, angry, insignificant. There was a freedom within the bountiful energy of the demonfolk that engulfed him and eased his mind. Feeling the same as he did back then, he breathed in deep. When was the last time he let his wings feel the wind?

Setting his foot down within one of the streets, he wandered, glancing from street shop to shop. As like the previous time he had visited, not but one spared him a knowing glance. How could they? After learning the former king had two sons, this one had stuck himself within the palace, never to be seen. Although what was a source of ire in the past, the unawareness brought peace this time as the young king walked aimlessly past the stalls, listening to the conversations and laughter.

Would Eial like this, too? Would he want that fruit? Maybe that shawl would suit him.

Oh, that’s right…

He’s not here.

His throat clenched, but before the well of emotion was brought to his eyes, he suddenly heard,

“Hey!”

“Hey, you with your hair tied up!”

Drokn hesitantly glanced to the side.

“Come over here for a second.”

A brief pause and Drokn complied, ignoring the informal way the clueless demon ordered the king.

“Why did you call for me?” Drokn asked, drifting his eyes along the wares on a wooden cart.

“Ah— I knew it, that ribbon! How much would you sell it for?”

The stranger’s gaze was set upon the red ribbon Drokn had continued to tie his hair with. “It’s not for sale,” Drokn mildly grated in a low tone.

Clicking his tongue, the stranger continued, “Damn. You must know its worth, then. I’ve been a merchant for all these years and I’d never come upon such a rarity.”

Narrowing his eyes, the demon repeated, “Rarity?” If memory served him well, the elf had said he had just found the ribbon and casually given it to him, as if it had meant nothing but a pretty little accessory.

Shocked, the merchant clicked his tongue again. “So you didn’t know its worth. Damn. How did you find it, then?”

“It was given to me.”

“Ha!” The merchant grew amused. “I’ll tell you this for the sake of the pitiful giver. That ribbon— you can’t tell at first glance because it’s dyed red, but there’s a slight translucent sheen when it’s reflected from the moonlight. It’s a rare elemental silk grown on trees far, far from here. The tree looks like any other, but the silk is almost impossible to find because like its element, it’s invisible as air.”

Tugging on one end of the knot, Drokn untied the ribbon on his hair, letting his black strands curtain down, and observed the ribbon against the moonlight.

It indeed reflected an almost glowing sheen.

“Not only is it impossible to find,” the merchant continued, “it’s impossible to handle. Only an air elementalist can carefully braid layers of the silk into a sturdy ribbon as this. It’s a ribbon that had probably taken years to find enough silk for. And such care to be braided so neatly. A pity it was given to someone clueless. I can’t imagine how much the demon who gave it to you bought it for. You must have meant a lot to them.”

Drokn stared at the ribbon against his palm.

[“I found this lying somewhere… I thought you could use it.”]

A vague recollection of the elf’s words as he had given him the ribbon drifted in his mind. The elf didn’t seem to have cared back then.

Or rather, How exactly did his face look like?

If he had just found it somewhere, why had he been carrying it in his pouch until then?

Why did he pretend it was nothing as he gave it to him? Did he not know the significance?

Perhaps…

A dreadful theory darkened his heart.

Perhaps the elf had carefully made it, crafted it for years to give to his bond he had been waiting for. Yet the same bond had rejected him back then, leaving all the elf’s efforts to waste.

{refer to Chapter Nine pt 3 of book 1 for when Eial had given Drokn the ribbon}