Chapter 7 – Father and Son
It had been three months since Ignes had first opened his eyes to the morning light of Aeternum.
In the eyes of the world, his recovery was nothing short of a miracle. With the calculated application of his own magic—fine-tuning the flow of mana through his withered muscles—he had restored his body in a mere eight weeks.
Had he relied on the slow, clumsy methods of the physicians, he might have spent the next seven years learning to stand.
Now—
Ignes walked through the long, echoing corridors of the Heart estate. He had been summoned. He was on his way to meet the Duke, Alexander von Heart.
His father.
Standing before the towering oak doors of the Duke's private study, Ignes paused. He felt a small, involuntary frown pull at his features.
I truly do not understand…
He stared at the ornate handles.
Why would anyone choose to put an office inside their own home? It's unsettling.
He let out a quiet, mental sigh.
Home should be for rest… for breathing. This is just an invitation for torture.
He raised a pale hand and knocked.
"Ignes," he announced.
"Come in," a deep, resonant voice replied from within.
Ignes pushed the door open.
The moment he crossed the threshold—he froze.
Papers.
They were everywhere. Stacks and stacks of white parchment rose like jagged mountains from every available surface. Documents covered the desk, choked the bookshelves, and spilled onto the floor in a chaotic sprawl.
To Ignes, it looked like the aftermath of a particularly messy battlefield. He felt a literal chill run down his spine, goosebumps rising on his arms.
This really is a hellhole…
At the center of the paper storm sat Alexander.
The Duke did not look up immediately. His quill scratched against a report with a rhythmic, sharp sound. He finished the page, set it aside with a precision that bordered on obsession, and only then did he lift his head.
His sharp eyes fell upon his son.
He took in Ignes's horrified expression, and a flicker of amusement broke through his stern mask.
"Igna," he called out, his voice carrying a rare, dry warmth. "What is with that look? You look as though you've walked into a room full of ghosts."
Ignes recovered his composure, though his eyes remained fixed on the nearest stack of documents.
"Nothing, Dad."
He paused, his voice turning uncharacteristically blunt.
"I was just wondering… how can a being of your stature endure living in a place like this? It's a tomb made of ink."
Alexander went silent, his quill hovering mid-air.
Then, he let out a long, weary sigh.
He really does inherit my hatred for paperwork…
For a brief second, a pang of guilt touched the Duke's heart. Perhaps, he thought, I shouldn't have punished him with all those lines and essays two years ago… right before he blew up the entire East Wing.
The boy had nearly unmade himself in that explosion.
"Come," Alexander said, standing up.
He moved toward the glass doors leading to the terrace, his heavy cape sweeping over the floor.
The atmosphere shifted instantly.
The scent of dust and old ink was replaced by the fragrance of the gardens. Fresh air. Open sky. Sunlight that felt like a physical weight on the skin.
A small, elegant table was set there.
And on it—
Plate after plate of sweets.
And a tall, condensation-beaded glass of chocolate milk.
There was no tea. No bitter noble infusions. Just pure, sugary comfort.
Ignes's eyes lit up, the "psycho scientist" shadow vanishing instantly.
He walked over with a sudden spring in his step, sat down, and began to eat with a focused, happy determination.
Alexander sat across from him, picking up his own cup of tea.
For a long time, there was only the peaceful sound of the wind and the quiet clink of a spoon against a glass.
Finally, Alexander set his teacup down with a soft clack.
"The war in the North against the demons has ended," he said, his voice turning grave.
"There will be a few years of peace. Or the illusion of it."
He paused, looking out over the sprawling estate.
"But it will not last. The tides can turn in a single night. The demons are not defeated; they are merely waiting."
His gaze moved back to Ignes, turning serious.
"That war lasted almost two years. You were only thirteen when it began."
A short, heavy silence followed.
"Next time… you will go."
"Next week, you turn fifteen. A man's age in the eyes of the law."
"In a month, the Academy begins. You will need to sharpen yourself."
Alexander's voice softened, just a fraction.
"Work hard, Igna. I need to see you come back in one piece."
Ignes smiled.
It was a genuine, boyish expression, marred slightly—and hilariously—by a thick mustache of chocolate milk on his upper lip.
"Don't worry, Dad. I'll be fine. Nothing in this world can break me."
He added, almost as an afterthought, "And… I want to start sword training."
"I'll join the swordsman classes at the Academy instead of the mage track."
Alexander stared at him.
The Duke's eyes softened with a deep, fatherly affection. He reached into his pocket, drew out a silk handkerchief, and leaned forward to gently wipe the chocolate from his son's face.
"Drink slowly," he murmured. "There is no rush. Your drink isn't going to vanish into thin air."
Then, a warning tone crept into his voice.
"As long as you don't do something as reckless as you did two years ago."
He sat back.
"For the sword… ask your brother. He will be more than happy to drive you into the dirt."
"He and Prince Xavier arrive tomorrow morning."
Ignes blinked, the chocolate milk glass pausing halfway to his mouth.
"…Brother… and Xavier?"
Visibly, the gears in his head seemed to grind to a halt. A look of pure, unadulterated confusion washed over his face.
Alexander's expression shifted, a shadow of concern returning.
"…Don't tell me you've lost your memory of them, too?"
Ignes shook his head slowly.
"No… it isn't that. It's just…"
He looked down at the table, his red eyes reflecting the sunlight.
"I have been having… strange dreams. Since the coma."
"In a single night, I live through years. Decades. Lifetimes."
"It's confusing, Dad. Having too many memories… sometimes the ones from this world get buried under the rest."
He thought for a moment, his brow furrowed.
"If Will is here, I can find him in the archives of my mind. It just takes a few seconds to pull the file."
He looked back at his father.
"Will is my brother. I remember his face now."
"But Xavier…"
He frowned, his heart giving a strange, uncomfortable thump.
"I don't think… I have a file for him."
Alexander's face hardened slightly.
"Are those dreams… those lifetimes… the reason you were conducting those dangerous experiments before?"
Ignes nodded.
"Kind of, Dad."
"But you don't need to worry. Since I woke up, the dreams have stopped. The noise has gone quiet."
Alexander relaxed, the tension leaving his shoulders.
"That's good. That is a relief."
Then, he spoke clearly, leaving no room for misunderstanding.
"Xavier is your fiancé."
"His full name is Xavier von Ace."
"You haven't met him properly—not since you were children. He has been fighting in the frozen North for ten long years."
"This is the first time in a decade… that he is returning to the capital."
Silence followed.
The breeze passed softly between them, rustling the papers in the office behind them.
And for a brief, shimmering moment—
Everything felt as though it were about to change forever.