Something had felt wrong that night.
The air was heavy. The silence—too quiet.
Like the calm before a storm.
Ray sat alone, the faint glow of the device in his hands reflecting dimly in his eyes. The air felt… unnatural.
A faint orange glow flickered in the distance.
He didn't look up.
Not yet.
"Is this that terminal kid?"
An unfamiliar voice cut through the silence.
Ray lifted his gaze slowly.
Two young men stood only a few steps away.
Both were drenched in blood. It dripped lazily from their blades—dark and fresh.
…Troublesome.
"Judging from his icy-blue hair," one of them said casually, "that's definitely him."
The man's fiery red hair caught the dim moonlight, almost unnatural in its brightness.
Ray barely paid it any attention.
But the other man—
His hair was deep cobalt blue.
…Impossible.
Every shade of blue marked royal blood.
And as far as Ray knew, no one in the imperial family had hair like that.
Ray let out a quiet breath.
Of all things to deal with tonight… it had to be this.
"So…" the red-haired man drawled lazily, glancing at Ray as if he were nothing more than an object.
"Are you going to kill him?"
The question came without hesitation—without concern.
The man beside him shifted his gaze toward Ray.
His eyes were cold.
Empty.
He looked at Ray the way one might look at a broken tool—something without value.
Ray met his gaze quietly.
They could kill him.
That much was obvious.
Ray exhaled softly.
Running would be pointless.
Fighting... would be worse.
So he stayed where he was.
Not out of laziness—
But because there was no outcome worth the effort.
They were no ordinary men.
Their composure—their complete lack of reaction to the device in his hand—said enough.
To most, such things were nothing more than rumors whispered among nobles and scholars.
Yet these two didn't even spare them a glance.
"No."
The man finally spoke.
"There's no need to kill someone who's bound to die soon."
A faint smile touched his lips.
Ray let out a quiet breath.
Not relief—
Just… less trouble than expected.
While he didn't particularly care whether he lived or died, there were still things he had yet to finish.
The two men left just as suddenly as they came.
Ray remained seated, watching them disappear into the darkness.
Silence returned.
For a moment, everything felt… still.
Then the glow at the edge of his vision brightened.
Ray finally turned his head.
At first, he thought it was lantern lights.
Then he looked closer.
It was fire.
The imperial palace was burning.
Flames climbed the walls, devouring everything in their path.
For a few seconds, he simply watched.
…That looks serious.
He exhaled slowly.
Which meant things were about to get annoying.
"Your Highness!"
The voice came from nearby.
Ray turned slightly.
Orven, his butler, was running toward him—breathless, unsteady.
"Your Highness!"
He collapsed to his knees the moment he reached him.
"You—you have to—"
"Calm down," Ray said.
"You're going to pass out before you finish that sentence."
His tone was steady.
Almost bored.
"Breathe first. Then talk."
"You have to run, Your Highness," Orven said urgently.
"You have to run away—as far as possible."
Ray blinked once.
Running.
That already sounded exhausting.
"Why?" he asked.
Orven hesitated, his voice shaking.
"There has been a rebellion, Your Highness."
A pause.
"…The Emperor… and your siblings… have all been killed."
Silence.
Ray didn't move.
For the first time that night—
He paused.