The words hung in the air like a drawn blade. Egon frowned.
"What did I do, Adan?" Egon asked at last, his voice low and steady.
Adan only smiled, the expression half-mad, half-sad. "Ah. You really don't know."
Conall shifted beside the emperor, tension tightening his jaw. "Enough riddles. Speak plainly."
Adan just smirked and held his silence.
"Alden Haidi," Abiri spoke.
Adan's face froze as soon as he heard the name. Egon and Conall turned to her as well.
"Where did you hear that name?" Adan demanded. "What do you know?"
Abiri met his gaze evenly. "I know Alden was your closest friend—and that he died three years ago. Idris came to Yuj around that same time, loyal enough to die for you. You just spoke of revenge, so I can only assume it's tied to Alden's death. But as far as I know, he died during the riots. His Majesty had nothing to do with it."
Adan let out a brittle laugh, tears glinting in his eyes. "You really do know a lot." His voice cracked as he went on. "Alden wasn't just my friend. He was the love of my life."
He looked up at them, eyes hollow, voice trembling between grief and fury.
Adan's voice softened, the fight draining from him until only memory remained. "Do you know how I met him?" he whispered. "It was in Khaamsha – 7 years ago."
As he spoke, the prison seemed to fade—the damp stone, the flickering torches, the weight of chains all falling away. His words carried them somewhere else, to a crowded street shimmering with golden sunlight and the scent of spice and smoke.
Khaamsha – 7 years ago…
Adan Osvaldo had always been a practical man—a governor who saw the world through ledgers and margins. Profit and loss. Risk and reward. To understand his city, he often walked its markets in disguise, listening to the pulse of trade, the rise and fall of voices.
That was where he first saw Alden.
The young man stood behind a simple wooden stall piled high with glittering trinkets. He called out cheerfully to passersby, his brown hair catching the sunlight as though even the dust around him gleamed.
"I made them myself, sir," Alden said when Adan paused to look. "Finest quality. You'll get a fair deal."
Adan picked up a delicate silver ring, weighing it between his fingers. "If it's such fine work, why sell it so cheap?"
Alden grinned. "Because everyone likes jewellery—but few can afford it. I'm trying to make pieces that look exquisite without the cost. Art that even common folk can own."
Adan raised an eyebrow. "Ah, a noble heart and a poor business sense. Let me guess—you couldn't afford jewellery as a boy, and now you want to make sure no one else feels the same disappointment?"
He said it half in jest, half in cynicism. Years of dealing with merchants had made him wary of sob stories used to charm buyers.
But Alden only laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Not really."
Adan blinked, caught off guard by the honesty.
"My father owns Kholstone Jewellers," Alden continued. "I grew up surrounded by gemstones—sapphires, rubies, diamonds. I know how beautiful they can be, but I've also seen how many people walk away because they can't afford even a single piece. I wanted to change that."
Adan studied him, intrigued despite himself. "So, your father sent you here to test your theory?"
Alden's hand went to the back of his neck again—a nervous habit, Adan noticed. "No. He said it was impossible, that I was too naïve. So, I came on my own. I'll prove him wrong."
Adan chuckled. Something about the boy—his earnestness, his shining eyes—was disarming. He chose a ring to buy, but when he reached for his purse, his hand froze. It was gone.
"I seem to have misplaced my purse," he said with a frown. "I'll return another day."
Alden shook his head with a smile. "It's fine, sir. You look like an honest man. Take it now—pay me when you can."
Adan stared at him, startled. "Your father was right. You are too naïve," he said, a teasing edge in his voice as he turned to leave.
"What? You don't want the ring?" Alden called after him, genuinely puzzled.
Adan laughed quietly to himself as he walked away. That night, he found he couldn't stop thinking about the boy in the market.
A few days later, he returned—this time with his purse. He bought every piece Alden had on display.
"You want everything?" Alden asked, wide-eyed. "Even the women's jewellery?"
Adan coughed lightly. "Yes. All of it."
Alden happily packed the items into his carriage.
"Since you've sold everything," Adan said, feigning nonchalance, "you've got nothing else to do today, right?"
Alden tilted his head. "Why? Do you need something?"
Adan smiled faintly. "I don't know many shops in this district. Be my guide for the day."
It was a lie. As governor, he knew every merchant's name, every stall's income. But Alden, innocent and eager, agreed without hesitation.
They spent the day walking through Khaamsha's bustling streets—past silk stalls, spice sellers, and food vendors shouting their prices. Adan listened to Alden talk about dreams, about craft, about the beauty hidden in ordinary things.
Somewhere between the scent of roasted almonds and the sound of laughter, Adan realized something had shifted inside him. Alden's kindness melted Adan's icy heart. He looked forward to the trips and Alden looked forward to Adan's visits. And before either of them understood it, affection became love.
Adan had long wanted to tell Alden the truth about who he really was—but every time he tried, the words caught in his throat. There was always another crisis, another excuse. And then the drought came.