The streets of Velmor were quieter than he expected.

Two days had passed since Raezel’s arrival, yet the city still held its breath—as if afraid to exhale in his presence. Merchants stole cautious glances from behind their stalls. Commoners whispered behind covered mouths. Guards clutched their spears a little too tightly whenever he passed.

Raezel sighed.

So much for blending in.

He had hoped to walk through Velmor unnoticed. To experience the kingdom as it was—without the weight of his lineage smothering the air. But even with a dark cloak draped over his shoulders, concealing the finer details of his attire, his presence was unmistakable.

Perhaps it was the way he walked—effortlessly poised, yet unnervingly fluid.
Perhaps it was the green hue of his eyes, sharp and all-seeing, holding a depth mortals could never quite place.

Or perhaps... it was the man walking beside him.

Nihaga.

If Raezel’s presence unsettled Velmor, Nihaga’s froze it entirely.

Wherever they walked, the people parted instinctively, eyes flicking to the silent, dark-robed figure at his side. Nihaga did not glare. He did not speak. He simply existed—and that was terrifying enough.

His movements were precise. 

His silence is deliberate. 

His expression is unreadable beneath a hood that barely shadowed those golden, slit-pupil eyes.

If Raezel was a foreign prince, Nihaga was a specter—
A guardian spirit carved from the abyss itself.

No wonder they’re afraid, Raezel thought dryly. They think we’re here to judge them.

He adjusted his hood again. It didn’t help.
Every step forward seemed to thicken the tension in the air.

Velmor was trying to welcome him. He could see it—the merchants forcing polite smiles, the townspeople bowing stiffly as he passed, their movements unsure but well-meaning.

But beneath their strained politeness, he saw it clearly.

Fear.

Fear of why he was here.
Fear of what he could do.
Fear of what might happen if they failed to please him.

Raezel did not blame them.

Mortals were raised on stories of divine fury. Of gods and monsters reshaping the world in their wrath. Of Medusa, the Serpentine Monarch—whose very name made kings tremble.

And now, her son walked among them.

They expected a monster.
Arrogant. Cruel. Unforgiving.

Instead, they found... Raezel.

Calm. Observant. Unbothered.

He made no demands.
He did not glare.
He did not summon tempests or punish insults.

He bought bread.

He strolled the markets with quiet amusement, watching vendors haggle with customers. When one merchant, too nervous to think straight, overcharged him for a simple cloak—Raezel paid it without question.

Then handed the cloak to a shivering child.

He was not a monster.

He was... almost normal.

Almost.

Because even in stillness, there was something otherworldly about him.
Something in the way he existed.

He did not walk—he resonated.
He did not command attention—it bent toward him.

And then, of course, there was the other one.

Wherever they went, the people shivered beneath Nihaga’s gaze.
He did not speak. He did not nod.
He simply watched.

Velmor had welcomed many warriors before.

But Nihaga was not a warrior.

He was a watcher.
A predator in plain sight.

The people wanted to welcome their prince.
But how could they, when his shadow watched them as prey?

.

***

Velmor was weak.

Nihaga had seen it instantly.

From the moment they arrived, he’d cataloged every flaw: the crumbling outer walls, the broken rhythm in guard rotations, the lack of trained warriors. A kingdom that had survived too long on hope and diplomacy.

He didn’t understand why his Queen had sent Raezel here.

A test, perhaps. Or a lesson.

To walk among mortals. To understand their fragility.
This was Raezel’s choice.

But Medusa’s approval? That carried deeper meaning.

Nihaga never questioned his Queen’s will.

But Velmor...
It is not worthy. Not yet.

He walked half a step behind Raezel, ever-watchful. His eyes scanned rooftops, alleyways, shifting crowds. A trained eye might assume he was relaxed.

He was not.

He had already identified thirteen ambush points. Fourteen hidden blades among the crowd. One nervous guard whose fingers twitched toward his weapon with each step.

Pathetic.

No one in this kingdom could kill Raezel.
But someone might be foolish enough to try.

Nihaga would ensure that mistake was never made.

His duty was clear.
To protect. To eliminate. To keep his prince untouched.

Raezel, of course, had other ideas.

"You’re stiff," Raezel muttered under his breath. "Relax a little."

Nihaga did not turn. "I am relaxed."

Raezel gave him a sidelong glance. "You’re looking at that baker like he’s going to stab me with a loaf of bread."

Nihaga said nothing.

Because the baker was gripping his cutting knife far too tightly.

Raezel groaned and rubbed his temple. "You don’t need to kill anyone today."

"I am aware," Nihaga said calmly. "But if I do, you will be the first to know."

***

"Are you new?"

A voice.
Bright. Direct. Unafraid.

Raezel blinked.

A girl stood before him, arms crossed, head tilted.

She had dark black hair tied lazily behind her back, dust-streaked clothes, and a satchel slung over one shoulder. She wasn’t bowing. She wasn’t trembling.

She was looking straight at him.

"And are you a merchant?" she asked.

For the first time since his arrival, Raezel was caught off guard.

Nihaga immediately tensed beside him.

The market froze.

The people watched in horror.

A mortal girl had just spoken to the Son of Medusa as if he were... normal.

Raezel didn’t speak. 

He simply looked at her— not with anger, 

not with scorn— 

but with interest.