Sage Arkon's footsteps made no sound along the corridors of the castle's east wing. They glided over the cold stone as though the elder did not truly rest his weight upon the floor, like a phantom guiding a condemned man toward his gallows.
Behind him, by contrast, Wilder's march was a heavy, disharmonious symphony of metal, leather, and labored breath. The captain of the Royal Guard moved forward with his head slightly bowed, his arms stiff at his sides, the fingers of his right hand still trembling imperceptibly, brushing now and then against the fabric of his tunic over his breastplate. His heart continued to hammer with an erratic, dull violence a drum of panic echoing straight into his temples.
They passed through the imposing oak and wrought-iron doors guarding access to the restricted tower. The passage grew steadily narrower, its rough stone walls draped in ancient, time-faded tapestries depicting forgotten battles and kings whose memory was now ash. The air within was different: denser, stagnant, permeated by a pungent smell of burning incense, old parchment, and a metallic edge akin to the scent of rust or dried blood.
At last, they reached the entrance to the Council Chamber of the Sages. The massive dark wood doors swung open without anyone touching them, revealing the vast circular room.
The hall was plunged into near-total darkness. Only three massive wrought-iron candelabras, positioned around the large inlaid wooden table at the center of the room, cast a flickering, uncertain reddish glow.
The high arched windows, narrow as arrow slits, looked out upon the black and tempestuous night outside, but the wind could not penetrate within; a spectral silence reigned, so absolute that even the sound of Wilder's breathing felt tangible.
Arkon entered first, taking three measured steps before coming to a stop near the head of the long table. He turned slowly, folding his hands over the jade rosary hanging at his belt. The dark green stone beads slid against one another with a sharp, faint click.
Wilder crossed the threshold, staying a few paces behind. His gaze drifted for a moment toward the darkest, most impenetrable corner of the room, where the shadows seemed to gather with unnatural density. He knew someone was in there. He felt the hooded figure's presence like a blade of ice driven between his shoulder blades, even as the silhouette remained entirely motionless, almost devoid of life.
Arkon made no acknowledgment of the intruder in the gloom. His face, lined with fine, noble wrinkles, was illuminated by the flickering candlelight. His pale eyes settled on Wilder with an almost disarming gentleness. There was no trace of anger, severity, or suspicion. The Sage appeared merely as a concerned father before a visibly shaken son.
"Sit down, Wilder," Arkon said. His voice resonated quietly, warm and enveloping like a woolen blanket on a winter night. "Please. Look at you... you're trembling like a leaf in the wind. I have never seen you in such a state."
Wilder remained standing, his head barely held high, his jaw clenched to the point of pain. "I am fine standing, Sage Arkon."
Arkon offered a small, understanding smile, letting out a soft sigh. He took a step to the side, resting a hand gently on the edge of the wooden table.
"As you wish, my boy," the Sage murmured in a quiet, immensely kind tone. "I do not wish to strain you. But you must admit that what I just witnessed in the courtyard was quite an unusual sight. In fact, I would say almost... bewildering."
Wilder did not answer. His breathing grew slightly deeper, and his hand tightened into a rigid fist at his side.
Arkon tilted his head slightly, observing the now-dried tears that had left two dull trails down the captain's face. "Why did you say those things to him, Wilder?" the old man asked, and in his voice was only sincere, quiet curiosity. "Why did you humiliate yourself like that before that boy? Why did you beg him to flee this castle?"
Silence descended upon the room once more, broken only by the faint crackle of a candle flame fighting an unseen draft.
Wilder swallowed hard. His throat burned, dry as a desert. He searched Arkon's eyes, finding only that imperturbable calm which, rather than reassuring him, began to stir a subtle, visceral nausea within him.
"Because I don't want to do it anymore," Wilder said. The words left his mouth dry, direct, stripped of any hesitation.
Arkon did not flinch. He did not even blink. He continued to stare at him with the exact same amiable expression, sliding another jade bead between his fingers.
"You don't want to do what, exactly?" the elder asked, with all the calm in the world.
"All of this," Wilder replied, making a vague gesture with a hand slick with cold sweat. "This path... this scheme. This manhunt. I don't want any part of it anymore. I will no longer participate in this madness."
Arkon remained silent for a couple of seconds, as if pondering Wilder's answer with the painstaking care of a scholar facing an ancient text. Then he moved slowly, rounding the corner of the table and taking a couple of steps toward the captain.
"I see..." Arkon murmured, his voice low and caressing. "But tell me, Wilder... why? Why this sudden decision? Why refuse now?"
The elder paused, locking eyes with him with almost hypnotic intensity.
"That boy... Hayjin... what does he represent to you?" Arkon continued with profound gentleness. "He is little more than a stranger, is he not? An outsider who came from nowhere, a strange, unpredictable individual who has brought chaos ever since he set foot in Castle Opes. Why refuse to do what was asked of you? Why do you persist in wanting to protect a stranger?"
Wilder closed his eyes for a moment. In his mind, there was no image of a mysterious boy or a dangerous intruder. There was the image of Hayjin collapsed on the gravel, hands covering his face, consumed by tears so genuine, so desperate and defenseless as to leave no doubt about his shared humanity. And then, deeper still within his memory, lay another image.
The image of a grave dug into the dark earth, beneath the pouring rain of eight years ago.
When Wilder reopened his eyes, his voice was no longer an uncertain murmur. It was steady, imbued with an ancient, unyielding grief.
"After my father died..." Wilder began, the mere mention of the man tightening the muscles in his neck, "...as I watched him lowered into the pit, I made a promise to myself. A solemn one. I swore I would dedicate every single second of my life to protecting this realm. That I would protect the people I love from any possible threat, whatever the cost."
Arkon listened with his head slightly tilted, his face unmoving.
"And I have watched Hayjin," Wilder continued, taking a step forward and planting his feet firmly. "I watched him for days. I trailed him, provoked him, studied him with the paranoia of someone who sees an enemy behind every corner. And do you know what I realized, Sage Arkon? I realized that Hayjin is not a threat. Not in the slightest."
The captain took a deep breath, exhaling sharply through his nostrils. "That boy is terrified, he is lost, he carries a weight on his shoulders that none of us can even begin to comprehend... but he does not have a single ounce of malice in his body. If we stopped viewing him as a danger, if we stopped hunting him down like a beast to be slaughtered... Hayjin could prove to be a crucial ally for this realm. He could be one of the greatest assets we have ever had!"
Wilder paused briefly, his tone suddenly growing more intimate, almost pleading.
"And there is another thing, Arkon... I cannot do this to Wren."
The young princess's name echoed in the hall like a discordant note, heavy with deep, protective affection.
"Do you have any idea how Wren speaks of him to me?" Wilder said, a flash of vivid emotion gleaming in his eyes. "Wren... that girl has never had real friends in her entire life. She has always been alone, locked away in her world, crushed by the weight of her title and her duties. And ever since Hayjin arrived... Wren has changed. She talks about him with her eyes shining. She told me... she told me she considers Hayjin her very first, true friend. How could I look Wren in the eye after tearing away the only person who ever made her feel understood? How could I live with myself knowing I destroyed my princess's happiness over ruthless paranoia?"
Arkon did not respond right away. The Sage remained staring at him, growing thoughtful. He slid another bead of his rosary, then let out a slow, quiet breath, as if weighing Wilder's words with genuine compassion.
"Wren is young and naive, Wilder," Arkon said in a calm, fatherly voice. "She sees the world through the eyes of a child desperately searching for a hero to cling to. But you... you are no child. You are the captain of the Royal Knights. You are a grown man."
Arkon took another step toward him, closing the distance between them to little more than an arm's length.
"Tell me the truth, Wilder..." the Sage asked, gazing at him with an expression so penetrating it seemed capable of reading his soul. "Do you truly trust Hayjin? You... who have always been the most distrustful, suspicious, and unyielding person in this entire palace? You who didn't even trust your own shadow? You who didn't even trust yourself? Do you trust a boy who has always treated you poorly, who has shown you coldness, arrogance, and open contempt from the very first day he crossed Opes's threshold?"
The question hung suspended in the air, heavy as a condemnation. It was a logical trap, a subtle attempt to leverage the doubts that had tormented Wilder for weeks.
But Wilder did not hesitate.
"Yes," the captain replied. The word left his mouth instantly, sharp and devoid of the slightest uncertainty. "Yes, I trust him."
Arkon narrowed his eyes slightly, caught off guard by that unshakeable resolve.
"And do you know why, Sage?" Wilder continued, stepping toward the elder without a trace of submission remaining. "Because before I put on this polished plate armor, before I became the captain everyone fears or respects... I was just a boy. A boy who looked at the court knights with wide eyes and a heart full of wonder. I admired them. I admired their strength, their discipline, but above all... I admired their courage. I admired their capacity for self-sacrifice. The idea that a man could put his life on the line, that he could be willing to die just to protect his home, his friends, the people he loved... to me, that was the noblest thing that could exist in this world."
Wilder's voice trembled slightly, though not from fear. It was passion a pure idealism he thought he had buried beneath years of cynicism and military duty now surging back with the force of a raging river.
"My father..." Wilder whispered, and for the first time that word carried not just bitter resentment, but a mixture of respect and melancholy. "My father was a hard man. In fact, let's call it what it was: my father hated me. He did nothing but repeat how inadequate I was, how weak I was, how I would never live up to his name or the title he bore. He treated me like a disappointment his entire life."
Wilder paused, swallowing the bitter taste of those childhood memories.
"And yet... despite his harshness, despite the fact that he despised me... I always admired him. I admired him because when battle called, when there was a border to defend or common folk to escort, he was always on the front lines. He was a true knight. A man who died with weapons in hand to protect this kingdom."
The captain clenched his fists so tightly that his leather gauntlets creaked loudly in the silence of the room.
"My father died a knight," Wilder said, looking Arkon straight in the eyes. "And I have no intention of letting his memory die in vain. I will not trample his sacrifice by turning into an assassin creeping in the shadows! I will not stain my name and my family's name by killing an innocent boy just because we fear what we do not understand!"
Wilder took another step forward, closing nearly all the distance between him and the Sage. His hands were no longer clenched in anger, but open in a gesture of desperate entreaty.
"Please, Sage Arkon..." Wilder said, his voice turning raspy, broken by sincere and devastating emotion. "I beg of you... stop. Stop entertaining the thought of eliminating him. I implore you to abandon this absurd plan! Let us try to work with Hayjin! Let us talk to him, use his strength, his knowledge, whatever he brings with him, to protect Opes together! I ask you, please... for the good of the realm, for Wren's sake... for the good of us all. Stop before it is too late!"
Silence returned to the Council Chamber of the Sages.
It was a silence different from before. It was no longer merely gloomy; it had grown heavy, dense, suffocating like a cloak of lead. The candle flames flickered ominously on the iron arms, casting long, deformed shadows that seemed to stretch across the floor until they touched the two men's feet.
Arkon remained motionless. His face betrayed no emotion. There was no anger, no surprise, no despair. Only a detached, chilling contemplation.
The elder let go of the jade rosary, which settled against the fabric of his robe with a soft thud. Then, slowly, he raised his eyes to Wilder.
His pale eyes, which until a moment ago radiated an almost paternal warmth, had transformed. They had turned cold, dull, stripped of any spark of humanity. They were the eyes of a judge who had just heard the final verdict and had no interest in hearing appeals.
"Wilder..." Arkon uttered. His voice was barely a whisper, yet it cut through the room's silence like a sharp scalpel. "I am truly... deeply disappointed in you."
Wilder froze. An icy shiver coursed down his spine, starting at the nape of his neck and spreading to his fingertips.
"I took you in when your father died," Arkon continued in the same flat, frighteningly calm voice. "I took you under my wing when you were just a lost boy, full of anger and insecurity. I fed you, guided you, taught you everything you know about strategy, power, and the meaning of duty. I raised you... exactly as if you were my own son."
The elder shook his head slowly, and for the first time, a faint, bitter undertone of contempt veiled his words.
"And now... look at what you do. You turn against me. For what? For a handful of romantic, childish ideals that your own father planted in your head before he croaked. For a boy who stumbled in here by mistake, about whom you know absolutely nothing."
Wilder felt his legs grow heavy as boulders. The sense of danger, which until that moment had been merely a creeping anxiety, suddenly turned into a primal, violent, ruthless terror.
The air in the room had turned terrifyingly cold. The captain took an involuntary step back, the sole of his boot scraping the stone with a harsh screech.
Something is wrong, a voice panicked inside his head. I have to get out of here. I have to get out now.
Wilder took another step back, retreating toward the oak door through which he had entered. His right hand slid instinctively down his side, seeking the hilt of his steel sword. His fingers tightened around the leather grip in a frantic squeeze.
With a swift motion driven by pure survival instinct, Wilder drew his sword.
The steel blade sang through the chamber with a sharp, frightening clang, catching the dim candlelight in a silver flash. Wilder held the blade leveled before him, its point trembling toward Sage Arkon's chest, as he kept backing away, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped beast.
"Don't... don't come any closer!" Wilder shouted, his voice finally betraying all the fear he was desperately trying to choke back. "Sage Arkon... I don't want to hurt you! I swear on my ancestors, I do not wish to raise my blade against you! But if you force me... if you try to stop me or harm Hayjin... I swear I will! Listen to reason, I beg you!"
The sword's blade trembled slightly between the captain's fingers, translating into visible motion all the terror and tension consuming him from within.
Arkon stared at the blade pointed at his chest. He did not move an inch. He made no defensive gesture, reached for no hidden weapon beneath his wide sleeves, and showed not the slightest hint of panic.
Then, entirely unexpectedly, Arkon did something that chilled the blood in Wilder's veins.
The Sage began to laugh.
At first, it was merely a short, amused breath a faint quiver in his throat. But within seconds, Arkon yielded to full-fledged laughter. He laughed heartily a deep, open, genuine laugh that reverberated off the high walls of the circular hall, echoing grotesquely and terrifyingly.
"Hahaha... ahahaha!" Arkon brought a hand to his chest, shaking his head in genuine amusement, as if Wilder had just told him the funniest joke of his long life. "Oh, Wilder... my boy... you would harm me? With that scrap of iron?"
Wilder tightened his grip on the hilt, taking another step back, his spine now just a few feet from the closed door. "Stop laughing! Talk to me!"
Arkon slowly stifled his laughter, wiping a tear of amusement from the corner of his eye with his fingertip. When he reopened his eyes and looked at the captain again, the laughter had vanished entirely, replaced by a flat, absolute calm.
"Calm yourself, Wilder," Arkon said, his voice returning to a frighteningly soft, almost reassuring cadence. "I will not lift a single finger against you. I won't even touch your armor."
Wilder kept his sword raised, his breath short, his eyes wide with terror. "What... what does that mean?"
Arkon regarded him with an expression blending genuine regret and absolute, relentless condemnation.
"It means I am sorry, Wilder," the Sage whispered in a soft, almost paternal voice. "I am truly sorry that this fate had to fall upon you. I cared for you, you know? I loved you like a real son. I held out hope until the very end that you would be intelligent enough, strong enough to understand the grandeur of what we are building here in Opes. I hoped you might walk beside me when the time arrived."
Arkon paused, letting his words sink into Wilder's mind like droplets of poison.
"But unfortunately..." Arkon concluded, slowly shaking his head with profound sorrow in his eyes, "...you can no longer be a part of my future."
An instant after those words were spoken, from the deepest shadow in the far corner of the room, the hooded figure took a single, silent step forward.