The heavy brass handle of the classroom door remained absolutely still. Kairo stared at the polished wood, his heart hammering a erratic rhythm against his ribs. The sharp, sudden evaporation of his headache left behind a cold clarity. One moment Daichi was the lazy, sun-dazed boy who couldn't be bothered to sit up straight, and the next, he was dropping ancient lore and reading thoughts that hadn't even cleared Kairo's teeth.
What just happened? Kairo thought, rubbing his temples where the phantom heat of the pulse still lingered. Is he moonlighting as a history teacher in the absolute middle of the night? And why the hell did I let him bring me to the academy grounds anyway?
A soft, self-deprecating laugh escaped his throat, sounding thin and hollow in the vastness of the empty corridor. It was an old flaw of his—a remnant of a life he could barely stitch together in his mind. When he was around people he trusted, his analytical armor slipped. He simply followed, blindly letting the current carry him wherever his friends went.
He turned away from the door, his boots clicking quietly as he walked back toward the high arched exit. Stepping out onto the stone terrace, the mountain air hit him like an physical slap. The sky above was a vast, velvet canvas of indigo, dusted with a thick frost of brilliant stars. The single luminous sun of the night—the true moon—hung low and heavy, casting a pale, milk-white glaze over the jagged mountain peaks. The dark route, the forest belonging to the sun of darkness, lay hidden in the valleys below like a coiled black serpent.
Kairo pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders. A lingering ache in his joints reminded him of the truth: his body was still brittle, still piecing itself back together after his agonizing brush with the void man disease. The physical toll of the infection always felt worse when the adrenaline faded.
It's getting way too late, he reasoned, watching his breath form small, silver plumes in the midnight chill. I shouldn't make them wait. If I'm gone too long, they'll think the relapse took me.
He began his descent down the winding cobblestone pathway, his eyes tracking the long, shifting shadows of the pines. The silence of the mountain was total, broken only by the rhythmic crunch of his soles against loose gravel.
A quarter-mile down the trail, where the tree line thickened and the mountain air carried the rich, loamy scent of damp earth, a rhythmic sound echoed from the dark. Clip-clop. Clip-clop. The slow, unhurried strike of horseshoes against stone.
Kairo slowed his pace, his hand instinctively dropping toward the small hunting knife at his belt. Through the shifting moonlight, a massive silhouette materialized. It wasn't an armored patrol or a rogue warlord from the borderlands. It was a single man, dressed in a plain, unadorned tunic of coarse gray wool and heavy leather trousers—the typical garb of a mountain laborer. He was walking on foot, leading two large stallions by their leather reins. One was a broad-shouldered bay; the other was a midnight-black warhorse that seemed to drink the surrounding shadows.
"Dad?" Kairo called out, his voice cutting through the crisp air. "I'm over here!"
The massive figure stopped. King Ariston adjusted his grip on the reins, his rugged face breaking into a warm, crinkling smile that completely neutralized the imposing authority of his stature. The pale light caught the graying hairs at his temples and the deep, tired lines around his eyes.
"Yeah, son. I knew I'd find you here," Ariston said, his deep baritone rumbling through the quiet evening. He patted the neck of the black horse, which let out a low, vibrating huff. "I brought Wind for you. Sorry for being late. The council lords had a mountain of ledgers regarding the southern trade routes that required my seal, or else I would have arrived alongside Lionhart."
The tension in Kairo's shoulders dissolved instantly. He broke into a light jog, the cool air burning slightly in his recovering lungs, until he reached his father. "No worry, Dad. I know how it is. You're a king—you can't just drop the realm to be with me every second. But I'm really happy you made the time to come out here tonight."
Without a word, Ariston stepped forward and wrapped his massive, corded arms around Kairo, pulling him into a powerful embrace.
Kairo let out a muffled grunt, his face buried in the rough, scratchy wool of his father's tunic. The smell of horse sweat, leather, and faint woodsmoke enveloped him. "Dad... you are so heavy," Kairo gasped, his ribs groaning slightly under the pressure. "Seriously, it feels like a literal stone wall just fell on top of me."
Ariston let out a booming laugh that shook his chest, finally loosening his grip but keeping his large hands on Kairo's shoulders. He patted the boy's back with enough force to rattle his teeth. "Oh, yeah? Well, don't worry about it. You'll become just like a wall yourself sooner or later. The bloodline demands it."
Before Kairo could protest, Ariston caught him under the arms and hoisted him cleanly into the air, lifting him as if he weighed no more than a stray sparrow's feather, before setting him firmly into the leather saddle of the black horse, Wind.
"Dad! Come on," Kairo hissed, his cheeks burning with a sudden flush of heat. He quickly looked around the dark trail, his eyes scanning the empty brush. "Even though there's literally no one out here to see it, it's still embarrassing. I am twelve years old already."
Ariston looked up at him from the ground, his hands resting casually on his hips. "Twelve years old," he repeated softly, a trace of melancholy softening his gaze. "Ah, time goes by so fast. But to me, you're still a newborn baby."
Kairo gripped the leather reins, the familiar texture grounding his thoughts. He looked down at his father, his mind slipping for a fraction of a second. "No... uh, back in my old world... people still treated twelve-year-olds like total kids. Oh, wait—I mean, compared to a hundred-and-twenty-year-old kid, yeah. That's how I should put it. Here, since people live around a thousand years or even more, a twelve-year-old is basically an infant to you people, right?"
Ariston's smile remained steady, though his sharp eyes lingered on Kairo's face for a moment longer than usual, noting the strange phrasing. He reached up, checking the cinch of Kairo's saddle with a practiced tug. "Perhaps. But you are in my world now, son. So no matter how many centuries pass, I will still treat you like my baby."
Kairo rolled his eyes, though a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Ah... okay, father. I get it."
"That's good," Ariston said, turning toward his own mount. With a fluid, remarkably light movement for a man of his size, he swung his leg over the bay stallion and settled into the saddle. He looked over at Kairo's mount, the dark coat of the animal completely blending into the shadow of the overhanging pine branches. "Tell me, Kairo... why did you choose a black color for your horse?"
Kairo patted Wind's sleek neck, feeling the powerful muscles shifting beneath the hide. "Oh, it hides perfectly in the dark," he replied, his eyes scanning the dim path ahead. "If things go bad, or if an ambush happens, a white or chestnut horse is a glowing target. Wind just disappears. Okay, then—let's head home."
Ariston let out a short, amused grunt. "Uhh... I was actually hoping for a nice, slow-paced horse ride back to the gates. A chance to clear the head. But if my son wants a race, then so be it!"
With a sharp flick of his reins and a low command, Ariston's bay surged forward. The horse's hooves tore into the dirt, sending a spray of pebbles into the brush as it bolted down the mountain path. Kairo didn't hesitate; he leaned forward, pressing his boots into Wind's flanks. The black stallion erupted into a dead sprint, its dark mane whipping against Kairo's face as they tore down the descent, the wind roaring in his ears and drowning out every lingering thought of Daichi and the genies.
They rode hard for several minutes, the powerful rhythm of the horses vibrating through Kairo's boots and up his spine. The cold air stung his eyes, forcing him to squint against the dark landscape blurring past. As the trail began to flatten out, transitioning from rough mountain terrain to a wider, gravel-lined road, the distant, warm orange glow of the town's torches came into view.
Ariston pulled back on his reins, slowing his stallion to a smooth, rhythmic trot. Kairo followed suit, bringing Wind alongside his father's horse. Their breaths came in short, synchronized gasps, the animals treading softly now.
"Well, now that we're reaching the people's houses, we will keep a slow pace," Ariston said, his voice dropping as they passed the first row of buildings. "Is that okay with you?"
Kairo looked around. The houses lining the street were modest, built from the same gray mountain stone and sturdy timber as every other structure in the lower district. Each home possessed the exact same square foundation, the same sloped slate roofs designed to shed the heavy winter snows, and the same small, warm windows glowing with tallow candlelight.
"About the houses, Dad..." Kairo began, his brow furrowing as he looked at the uniform architecture. "Why don't we live in an even bigger house? Why does everybody here have the exact same size home? It's honestly a little confusing to look at."
Ariston guided his horse closer to Kairo's, his face illuminated by the flickering light of a roadside street lamp. "Equality, son," he said, his tone turning quiet and instructional. "We only go to the grand royal palace when there is official state work to be done—when the ministries must meet or foreign delegates arrive. But for living? This home, among the people, is good. A true king should be entirely fearless, and above all, he must be accessible to his citizens. If a farmer has a problem at midnight, he shouldn't have to navigate a fortress of guards to find his ruler. He should be able to knock on my door, and I should be there to sort out their problems anytime. That is what a true king does."
Kairo went silent, his gaze drifting over the simple stone dwellings. The words struck a deep chord within him, forcing his mind to journey backward to the fragmented memories of his previous life—a world of massive glass skyscrapers, gated communities, and rulers who hid behind armies of security and insurmountable wealth, completely detached from the dirt beneath their citizens' feet.
Uhh, Kairo thought bitterly, a heavy sigh escaping his lips as they turned down the final lane toward their modest residence. I really wish the people in my old world used to follow this rule instead...