After the meeting concluded, Eryndor roamed the palace grounds, his stride brisk and his expression a stormy mix of relief and exasperation. His eyes darted across the manicured gardens until they landed on a familiar figure—Poll, perched on a bench near a grand fountain, looking like he had all the time in the world. Rows of colorful flowers framed the scene, an idyllic contrast to Eryndor's simmering frustration.

Huh..!!

"Poll!" Eryndor approached

"What was that back there? Do you have a death wish?"

Poll glanced up, a faint smile tugging at his lips. He rose to meet his father, his movements unhurried, as if he hadn't just stirred the metaphorical hornet's nest. "Father" he said softly, his tone disarmingly steady, "thank you… for everything."

Eryndor faltered mid-stride, his frown softening as confusion clouded his features.

huh …!

"No, no—don't start thanking me now. That's not how this works. We need to figure out how to fix this.

And more importantly—why in the hell did you say all that in the meeting? Didn't it cross your mind it was dangerous?"

Poll shrugged, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. "Honestly, I don't know. I just… said it. It felt like the right thing to say at the time."

Eryndor pinched the bridge of his nose, letting out a groan that spoke volumes. "Poll, do you hear yourself right now? You walked into a room full of nobles and the king, spoke up like you owned the place, and now you're telling me it was some kind of gut feeling?"

Poll flashed an apologetic grin. "Pretty much, yeah."

Eryndor sighed, his shoulders slumping in resignation. "Well, right or wrong, the King want to meet with you… alone."

Poll's smile faded slightly, but his calm confidence quickly resurfaced. "Yeah, I figured as much. Don't worry, Dad—I've got a plan."

Eryndor narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "A plan? Care to elaborate? Or should I just brace myself for whatever 'gut feeling' you're planning to follow next?"

Poll's grin turned mischievous. "Oh, I've got more than a gut feeling this time. Just wait and see—I think you'll be impressed."

"Impressed, huh?" Eryndor crossed his arms, his brow arching skeptically. "Let me guess, your plan involves sweet-talking the King into forgetting this whole debacle?"

"Not exactly," Poll replied, his tone playful yet cryptic. "Let's just say I've got something up my sleeve."

Eryndor studied his son for a moment, then let out another sigh—this one tinged with reluctant pride. "Alright, just… be careful. Here." He handed Poll a folded map. "The King's waiting in this meeting room. You've got about half an hour before he's free. Think you can handle it?"

Poll tucked the map into his pocket, nodding. "Got it. But what about you? Where will you be?"

"I'll be in the training hall," Eryndor replied, his tone firm. "If you need anything, find me there. And Poll?" His voice softened slightly. "The palace might be the safest place in the capital, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't stay on guard."

Poll gave his father a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, Dad—I'll be fine."

Eryndor nodded, a rare flicker of trust in his eyes, before turning and walking away. Poll watched him go, then turned his attention to the map, tracing the route with his finger. As he moved through the palace halls, he couldn't help but marvel at the grandeur surrounding him. Towering columns rose toward ceilings adorned with intricate murals, while sunlight filtered through stained-glass windows, casting kaleidoscopic patterns across the marble floors.

Despite the beauty of his surroundings, Poll couldn't shake the weight of anticipation pressing on his chest. Staff bustled quietly about their duties, their footsteps soft against the polished stone, but otherwise, the halls were eerily silent, amplifying his thoughts. Alright, Poll. Big moment ahead. No pressure. Just the King, your future, and possibly your life on the line. Piece of cake.

Finally, he reached the door to the designated meeting room—a grand, ornately carved entrance that looked more like the gateway to a treasure vault than a simple office. Poll paused, taking a deep breath to steady himself. Confidence. Calm. Cool. You've got this. Probably.

Straightening his posture, he placed a hand on the door and gave it a gentle push. As it swung open, Poll stepped inside, ready to face whatever awaited him—or at least, that's what he told himself.

***