Nadiel’s Point of View

The morning after our prank on the visiting noble, the throne room doors opened with a slow groan — the kind of theatrical creak meant to instill fear or awe, though it will never worked on the great me.

I strolled in, hands behind my back like a general inspecting his troops. My partner in crime — Runo, the mischievous twin, the only sibling worth scheming with — bounced beside me, practically radiating smug satisfaction. She believed we hadn’t been caught this time.

She was wrong.

Standing atop the raised dais at the far end of the grand hall was our father — King Auren of Viradom — composed, silent, and terrifying in the way only a man used to absolute power could be. His violet cloak cascaded behind him like royal thunderclouds. At his side stood the two head butlers and a row of armored knights who might as well have been statues. The air felt carved from stillness.

“Your Highnesses,” said Corrin with a small bow. “His Majesty is waiting.”

We stopped in front of the dais and bowed — hers playful, mine restrained. Runo smiled with the confidence of a girl certain her trail was clean. I gave a faint nod and waited.

The king’s voice rang out, calm and clear.
“Do you know what happened in the western wing’s guest quarters this morning?”

Runo blinked and tilted her head.
“Guest quarters?” she repeated, voice as sweet and innocent as honeyed tea. “No, Father. We haven’t heard anything.”

I almost applauded. Her performance was flawless — wide eyes, gentle curiosity, and the perfect mask. If I were any less than what I am, I might’ve believed her.

The king didn’t flinch.
“A visiting noble from House Ferros was startled during his bath when the water turned into a thick, sticky blue gel. It took two mages and a court alchemist to clean it.”

Runo gasped dramatically, covering her mouth with one hand.
“That’s horrible! Who would do something like that?”

Who, indeed.

In truth, it hadn’t taken much: a flick of mana, a few runes etched beneath the plumbing, a quick disguise glyph. Her imagination had done most of the work — I just gave it form.

“And where were you both during this time?” the king asked, tone unchanged.

“I was in the aviary,” she replied, smooth as ever, “feeding the wind-feathered hawks.”

There was a pause.

“And Nadiel?”

She blinked again.
“Oh... right. Um—”

That pause was all he needed. She had no answer for me.

The room’s energy shifted. Subtle, but sharp. The air became dense.

“And you?” the king asked me directly.

I met his gaze. I said nothing.

A dragon does not lie.
But neither does he snitch.

To speak now, either way, would wound something in me — and honestly, I had no desire to explain myself to a man who spoke only in decrees to the great me.

“Answer me, boy,” Auren said, his voice gaining weight.

Still, I remained silent. My white-blue eyes stared unflinching into his gold.

The silence thickened like smoke. Even the knights stirred. Runo shifted beside me, uncertain. The butlers looked to one another.

“Nadiel!” the king barked. “Where were you?”

Nothing. I stood in the stillness like a statue made of pride.

Then —

“He was with Mom!” Runo shouted. “He was with Mother in the south garden! That’s where he was, Father!”

The pressure evaporated like steam.

The king exhaled slowly and turned back toward his throne. He ascended the platform and sat, adjusting his cloak with deliberate calm.

“You may leave.”

We bowed again, turned, and walked out in silence.

The hallway outside felt warmer. Lighter.

Runo walked beside me, lips tight. Then —

“Nad... what was that?” she asked, her voice a whisper.

I shrugged.
“That was me choosing silence over betrayal.”

“You didn’t say anything,” she muttered.

“Exactly,” I replied. “Would you rather I told the truth?”

She frowned.
“You were staring him down like a challenge. Nad, are you trying to get us executed?”

“I couldn’t lie. I couldn’t drag you down either. So I said nothing.”

She rolled her eyes.
“You’re impossible.”

“So I’ve heard.”

She was quiet again for a while, then said more softly,
“Just... don’t do that again. Not with him. If you won’t lie, then fine. But don’t challenge him like that. He’s still our father and the king.”

I didn’t agree.
But I nodded anyway.

Auren’s Point of View

Back in the throne room, after the heavy doors shut behind us, the silence lingered.

I sank into my throne and let out a sigh.
“If we didn’t already know what they’d done,” I said at last, “Runo’s lie would’ve fooled even me.”

Belmira gave a soft chuckle.
“She was flawless. The right tone, the right innocence... If I weren’t already informed, I might’ve applauded.”

“She didn’t even flinch,” Corrin added. “A noble’s bath turning into gel, and she acted like it was a story from a bard.”

I exhaled.
“She has her mother’s smile — and none of her restraint.”

Belmira smiled faintly.
“Yes, but clever lies are easier to measure than quiet defiance.”

My eyes narrowed slightly.
“Nadiel didn’t lie though.”

“He didn’t speak,” Corrin offered.

“Exactly,” I muttered. “He said nothing.”

Belmira folded her hands.
“He looked at you like it was a staring contest — with no fear.”

“And I’m his father,” I said, my voice colder now.
“What is wrong with that boy? I never treated my father like that.”

I glanced at Belmira. She stepped forward at last.

“He’s proud. Strong-willed. And far older in mind than any twelve-year-old has a right to be.”

“He’s twelve, Bel,” I repeated, as though trying to convince her.

I rubbed my temples.
“He listens to Ardelyn. Smiles at her. But with me, it’s like I’m a stranger he wants to keep at a distance.”

Belmira’s emerald eyes softened as she placed a hand on my shoulder.

“He does see you, Auren. But not the way you want him to. Right now, he sees a ruler. A man of order. He doesn’t yet know how to see you as a father.”

My expression tightened.
“He treats me like a stranger, Bel.”

“Because you act like one,” she said gently. “He doesn’t need a king. He already knows how to respond to one. What he doesn’t understand is how to reach a father who never lowers his crown.”

I stared at the floor, listening.

“You don’t have to meet him with orders,” Belmira continued. “Let him see your humanity. Your doubts. Your regrets. He’s still a child — but one who respects honesty more than authority. That’s why he’s close to his mother.”

I looked away.
“I don’t even know where to start.”

“Start with presence,” she said. “Watch him shoot. Sit with him in the garden. Say nothing. Just let him know you’re there.”

I sighed.
“All this is so hard.”

“It always is,” Belmira replied. “But if you want to bridge that gap, it has to begin now. Or it may never close.”

Nadiel’s Point of View

The air in the private training ground shimmered with stillness. Spatial magic painted the illusion of a highland pass — crisp wind, pine-scented breeze, distant birdsong. The queen had adjusted the terrain to resemble a real mountain slope, just peaceful enough to feel untouched by politics.

I stood beside her, bow in hand. I no longer needed guidance. I had known the feel of string and fletching even in my dragon years. This body required practice, but the instincts had never left me.

She believed she was teaching me. I let her believe it.

“Remember to breathe,” she said.

“I always do,” I replied dryly.

“Through your nose. Not through that ego.”

I smiled faintly and let the arrow fly. It hit the outer ring.

She nodded.
“Better.”

“I hit that spot already.”

“Then hit better again,” she said with a smirk.

We continued a few more volleys before her voice softened.

“You know,” she said, “I was never meant to be good at this.”

I glanced sideways.
“Because of the eyes?”

She nodded.
“Everyone in House Serathin was born with silver hair, Mana Sight, glowing eyes... a mark of power. I had the hair — but not the glow.”

“Did they punish you for it?”

“Not openly,” she said. “But they didn’t need to. Their silence spoke loud enough. Their praise was for others. Their expectations, for only the ones with the sight.”

I said nothing.

She continued.
“They could hit targets miles away. I struggled to see beyond the ridge. Pushing mana into my eyes only left me dizzy. I snuck into the mountains. Practiced in the dark. Burned through mana until my body gave out. I had nothing to prove — and yet everything to prove for myself.”

“And then…?” I said.

She smiled, looking distant.
“She found me. The Eye of the Storm. My cousin. She was someone everyone admired and respected. I feared her judgment when I woke up in a cave with her after collapsing in a blizzard.”

“But she didn’t laugh.”

“She didn’t.” Her voice grew warmer.
“She saw me shivering and said, ‘If they won’t see your worth, make them feel it instead.’ And so I did.”

“And you hit the beginner’s mark.”

“I did. Eventually.”

“And cried.”

She chuckled.
“Yes. I never told anyone that.”

“I would’ve mocked you Mom ... but just a little, if I was there.”
My expression on humans almost slipped out.

“I know. And that’s why I never told you.”

We both smiled.

“Funny how fate works — you inheriting Mana Sight from someone who didn’t possess it,” she murmured.

She drew another arrow, and I pretended I didn’t hear that.

She lowered her bow.
“Naddy.”

“Yes, Mom?”

“You’re strong. And I know pride lives in you like fire. But don’t let it burn down bridges you still need.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“I see it — the distance between you and your father. It’s not anger. It’s absence. You’re both too proud to close it.”

I turned to face her.
“He’s not like you. He doesn’t understand me.”

“No,” she said. “But he wants to. And if you won’t let him in, you’ll wake one day with no chances left to try.”

She stepped close and brushed a hand over my hair.

“I lost someone once because I waited too long to speak. Don’t make that mistake.”

I stood still, letting her touch linger. For once, I didn’t flinch.

“Alright,” I said.
And this time, I almost meant it.

The mountain wind curled around us.
And though the air was still...
It no longer felt cold.