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Dark-Hair laid on his bed, with his head hanging on the edge of the bed and his eyes out of focus, when the door creaked open. Even without glancing, he knew who was there.

Elliot, of course. Dark-Hair huffed. Well, whatever. He could use some noisy babbling a few minutes a day. Otherwise, he would go insane with all the silence. He had nothing else to do, anyway.

Elliot welcomed himself inside and pulled the same stool he had yesterday to the same spot he sat yesterday. “Good morning,” he greeted Dark-Hair, knowing the boy would most likely not answer.

Dark-Hair, unsurprisingly, did not even bat an eye to Elliot.

“Yesterday, we couldn’t talk much,” Elliot started, bending his head to the side in a more relaxed manner. “I was busy. But now, I have quite some time to spare. We can have all the time in the world—except, I need to go in fifteen minutes.”

Dark-Hair scoffed. All the time in the world is only ten minutes, huh? Dark-Hair resisted the urge to mock him, as it would be too easy for Elliot.

Elliot proceeded to one-sidedly talk to Dark-Hair. “Yesterday, I had dinner with the other heads of the families. It was really boring, being the only young man in a group of adults—wait, I’m legally an adult myself. Uh, that’s not what I mean. I’m still pretty young compared to them.”

Dark-Hair dropped his gaze down to his feet, playing with his toenails and acting as if Elliot was not there—even though, in fact, he was listening carefully. He found the story time quite entertaining.

“But, somehow, I couldn’t stop thinking of you. I wondered, what will I talk about to you? When will I get to see you? Will I be able to get you to talk? You’re just always in my mind.”

Dark-Hair flinched. He glared at Elliot, only to be reciprocated with an innocent smile. Dark-Hair shifted further away from Elliot. This guy is dangerous, he realized. He was odd enough to want to talk to his murderer, and now he was thinking about the murderer as if the killer himself was the one who brought joy to his life.

The door flew open again. Must be the one to pick Elliot up. However, today, it was not Charlotte. It was another girl—one that seemed elegant and high-class. Dark-Hair found her appearance friendlier and less harmful than Charlotte. As if not caring about Dark-Hair, she ran straight to Elliot. “Elliot, the car is ready.”

“That’s quick,” Elliot scoffed reluctantly.

The young lady, as if only noticing Dark-Hair now, turned her head to the boy. “You’re the one attempting to kill my brother, right?” she asked casually, as if asking someone how was the weather. “I’m Victoria, his little sister. You can call me Vic, for short. I’m not sure if it’s nice to meet you—uh, I’m not even sure why I’m introducing myself—but I need to steal my brother from you.”

Victoria took Elliot’s arm and dragged him out of the room, leaving Dark-Hair confused and stunned. What a strange turn of event, he thought. Dark-Hair let his shoulders fell and leaned against the wall, sighing. He came to conclusion that everyone in that place was weird by nature.

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The Praesidio tattoo artist—a Pittore—was waiting for Elliot in his parlor. The Pittores were a family of artists who drew tattoos for Praesidio from generation to generation, with their tattoo parlors and galleries scattered all over Swarga. As for Elliot’s case today, his tattoo artist was Axel Pittore.

“Elliot, is it?” Axel Pittore welcomed with a smile, guiding Elliot into his work studio.

Elliot nodded politely. “I am,” he answered, as he propped himself on a nearest stool. Elliot’s eyes could help wandering at his surroundings. The studio wall was covered with artworks, whether it was tattoo designs or his other artworks. Eyeing each meticulously drawn design, Elliot felt assured that his skin was in the right hand.

“Where do you want your tattoo?” Axel asked, rummaging his desk for his tattoo machine.

Elliot rolled up his sleeve and pointed at his upper right arm. “Here,” he said.

Axel—had found his tattoo machine—turned to the heir of Alskar. “I was sure you’d want something like on your back, since it’s the most invisible place,” he furrowed his eyebrows and bent his head to the side, knowing Elliot did not really like the Alskar tattoo. Though, he proceeded to pull another stool for himself and gestured Elliot to sit on the stool directly beside the table.

“No can do,” Elliot shrugged, dragging himself to the other stool. “Father told me not to do my back, so I guess it can’t be helped?”

Axel—taking Elliot’s arm onto the table and starting his machine—pursed his lips, visibly confused. “You’re really just going to sit like a baby and do whatever Duke of Alskar told you?”

“Better safe than sorry,” Elliot snickered. “Just do my tattoo already, I want to go.”

“Going back to your daddy?” Axel smirked. “Or the boy?”

Elliot rolled his eyes. He did not know how, but Axel knew almost everything within the Praesidio. Some gossip? Some mystery? Dark past of the Praesidio? Problems and clashes in Praesidio? Axel knew all of them. No wonder women within the Praesidio loved chatting with him and men loved to ask for information from him.

Axel took the heir’s silence as that he was right. “Why are you trying so hard being on his good side?”

Elliot clicked his tongue. “Why does everyone ask the same question over and over again?"

“Everyone is concerned about you,” Axel started tattooing Elliot’s upper arm. Elliot flinched as needle prickled his skin. It, indeed, hurt. “Being an Alskar is dangerous enough, let alone being near a killer.”

“I really want to believe that, too, but,” Elliot closed his eyes, immersing the pain on his arm. He recalled the face of the dark-haired boy—so vulnerable, so lost. Deep within those dangerous red eyes, Elliot could see him crying, calling for help. How could he abandon such a fragile one? Elliot just wanted to save him. “He needs me.”

Axel decided to not prolong conversation. Elliot would not listen to him—not to anyone. He did not even listen to his family, so why would he listen to a mere tattoo artist? They both stayed silent for the whole session. It did not take long, though, since Axel was already used to tattooing the Praesidio to begin with. It was a fast, easy work.

“All done,” Axel exhaled in satisfaction after it was finished, then he began cleaning up. The tattoo on his arm stung, in a strange way. Rather than a simple needle pain, it was something else. Something surged in him, as if crawling to his upper right arm.

Must be just his imagination.

Elliot took a peek at his new tattoo. He was not exactly fond of Alskar’s tattoo design, but as the heir of Alskar, he was still proud. A fleeting thought then occurred in his mind. Doesn’t this tattoo look somehow similar to the birthmark? Not that he had seen it, but as described, it seemed similar.

Well, maybe it had been decided for thousands of years that he was the Chosen One all along.

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