Poll saluted. "Got it!"

Eryndor nodded, and the two began their walk along the capital road.

The streets bustled with life as merchants shouted about fresh produce, shiny trinkets, and exotic spices.

The scent of freshly baked bread mingled with the occasional whiff of street food, making Poll's stomach rumble despite having just eaten.

Poll's eyes darted from shop to shop, taking in the colorful banners and curious sights. But his mind was elsewhere.

Wait… Father said he's meeting with someone from the Demon Kingdom

Isn't that, like, super confidential? I know demons aren't evil incarnate or anything in this world, but… most humans hate them. So this must be some kind of secret meeting.

And I'm just strolling right into it. Classic Father, conveniently forgetting the "top secret" part.

He glanced at Eryndor, who strode confidently ahead, his expression unreadable. Poll shrugged internally. Eh, whatever. Let's see how this plays out.

The towering spires of the Royal Palace soon loomed over them, their stone facades gleaming in the morning sun.

Poll felt a twinge of excitement as they approached the palace gates, where guards in polished armor stood as still as statues.

Their eyes flicked over Poll and Eryndor, a mixture of respect and suspicion reflected in their stoic expressions.

As they entered the grand corridors, Poll felt a chill run down his spine, both from the cool air and the sheer magnificence of the place.

Chandeliers hung like glittering constellations from the high ceilings, casting intricate patterns across the marble floors. Every step echoed, making Poll feel like he was part of something far bigger than himself.

Finally,

            they reached a set of massive oak doors, carved with intricate symbols that represented the kingdom's power and heritage.

Poll's eyes traced the patterns, a mix of fascination and nervous energy building in his chest.

Poll tugged at his freshly cleaned tunic, a mix of excitement and nervousness bubbling in his chest. Today was his big day—his first real taste of "grown-up work." Sure, he'd promised to behave and not stand out.

But...!

Who was he kidding? That was like asking a dragon not to breathe fire.

He hurried to keep up with Eryndor's long strides as they walked toward the council chamber.

"Father,"

"what do demons look like? Do they have tails? Wings? Or do they all look like they just rolled out of a smoky barbecue pit?"

Eryndor sighed deeply, the kind of sigh that only a parent who's dealt with a hundred questions before breakfast could muster.

"Poll, remember what I said. Observe. Do not talk unless spoken to. This is a diplomatic meeting, not a storytelling session."

"Right, right," Poll replied with a mischievous grin. But deep down, he was buzzing with anticipation

Eryndor shot him a look that said, I'm watching you, before turning to the guards stationed by the doors. "Open the gate."

With a creak that echoed down the hall, the heavy doors swung open.

Inside was a grand chamber with a long table at its center, surrounded by high-ranking officials and advisors. At the far end of the table sat a tall figure draped in a dark cloak, their presence immediately commanding attention.

The atmosphere was tense, the air thick with unspoken words.

As Eryndor stepped inside, all eyes turned toward him. But then they noticed Poll.

A boy—no, a kid—walking confidently at his side, with an air that said, I belong here.

The silent question spread across the room like wildfire: Who is this child?

Poll, unfazed, scanned the room. His eyes landed on an empty chair near the canter of the table, and without missing a beat, he walked over and sat down.

The audacity!

The tension in the room spiked.

Advisors exchanged bewildered glances, some leaning in to whisper.

Is this… part of the plan? their expressions seemed to say.

The cloaked figure at the end of the table tilted their head slightly, their glowing red eyes narrowing ever so slightly. Even they seemed unsure of what to make of the boy.

Eryndor had warned Poll, and at this point, it was clear his son was committed to his usual brand of chaos.

Poll leaned back in the chair, spotting a stack of documents in front of him.

He casually picked one up and began flipping through it, his face a mask of intense focus.

The room grew quieter, the shuffle of paper the only sound.

The boy wasn't just sitting there—he was reading. And not in the kid pretending to be busy kind of way.

No, Poll's brows furrowed as he absorbed the contents like a seasoned diplomat.

One advisor cleared his throat, clearly struggling to maintain composure.

"Um… caption Eryndor," he began cautiously, "may I ask who—"

Poll raised a hand without looking up.

"Hold that, I'm analyzing this report. It’s Very interesting.

This report has varied harass details, but one thing it makes clear That 18% mana corruption increased along the eastern borders… Troubling! Very troubling."

The room froze.

Poll finally looked up, fixing the advisor with a serious gaze. "You were saying?"

The advisor opened his mouth, then closed it, clearly unsure how to proceed.

The cloaked figure let out a low chuckle, breaking the silence. "I see… The boy has a sharp mind. Intriguing."

Poll gave a modest shrug, as if this was no big deal. "I try my best."

Eryndor sighed deeply, muttering under his breath, Reckless and weird… every time.

Suddenly, the doors swung open once more, and a herald's voice boomed, "Announcing the arrival of His Majesty, King Varyndor Aelthor!"

The atmosphere in the room shifted instantly. Conversations died mid-sentence, and the tension in the air thickened like morning fog.

Everyone stood, their faces turning stoic as they awaited the king's entrance.

King Varyndor strode in, regal and commanding, his golden cape trailing behind him. His piercing gaze swept over the room, and in an instant, all the casual glances hardened into serious stares. Poll straightened in his chair, watching with genuine curiosity. Whoa, this guy's got presence.

***