Chapter 30: All knowing Emperor

Chapter 30: Chapter 30: All knowing Emperor

The walk to the emperor’s study felt longer than usual.

Theon moved through the palace corridors with Lazeria beside him and Ifrith resting on his shoulder. Servants bowed as they passed, but Theon noticed something he’d never paid attention to before—the guards’ eyes followed him. Not with suspicion, but with awareness, as if they’d always known exactly where he was. The thought unsettled him.

Lazeria stayed close, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. Even in clean clothes, she drew occasional glances from the palace staff. The small black horns hidden beneath her orange hair were easy to miss unless someone looked carefully, but she still carried herself like someone expecting to be rejected.

"Relax," Theon said quietly.

She gave him a nervous look. "Easy for you to say."

"You’re walking beside a prince."

"That’s exactly why I’m nervous."

Ifrith snorted. "Reasonable."

Theon rolled his eyes.

They turned into the eastern corridor, where the emperor’s private offices stood. The atmosphere shifted at once—fewer servants, more guards, and a silence that pressed in from every side. Two royal guards stood before the large black doors of the study, their eyes widening slightly at the sight of Theon approaching with a girl and a cat.

One stepped forward. "Your Highness, His Majesty is currently in discussion with Duke Aldric."

Theon paused. Duke Aldric Ravenhart—the emperor’s most trusted right hand. For a moment he considered turning back. Then he remembered Raven’s conspiracy.

"No," he said firmly. "This can’t wait."

The guards exchanged a glance. Before either could answer, a calm voice came from behind the doors.

"Let him in."

The guards stepped aside immediately.

Theon pushed the doors open. The emperor’s study was vast, lined with bookshelves and maps of the empire. A large window overlooked the palace gardens, and the faint scent of ink and burning cedar hung in the air. Emperor Ragnar sat behind his desk, Duke Aldric standing nearby with several documents in hand.

The moment Ragnar’s eyes fell on Lazeria, the temperature in the room seemed to drop. His crimson gaze sharpened instantly, and Lazeria froze. Theon felt the weight of the emperor’s mana spread through the study like an invisible storm.

"A demon," Ragnar said quietly. Not surprise—recognition.

Theon stepped forward at once. "She’s not here to attack anyone."

Ragnar’s eyes shifted to him. "Explain."

No anger. No panic. Just a command.

Theon took a breath and started from the beginning: the chase, the balcony, finding her beneath his bed, the slave crest, Raven’s involvement, the conspiracy, Lazeria’s power, the Heartstone. Ragnar listened without interrupting the entire time. Duke Aldric stayed silent too, though his expression darkened with every revelation.

When Theon finished, the study fell into complete silence.

Ragnar leaned back in his chair and studied Lazeria for several long seconds before finally asking, "What is your name?"

She swallowed. "Lazeria, Your Majesty."

"Daughter of Veldoria?"

Her eyes widened. "You know my father?"

"I knew of him," Ragnar said with a faint nod.

Lazeria looked stunned. Theon glanced between them—even the emperor knew the former Demon Lord of Pride. How far did these connections go?

Ragnar’s gaze returned to his son. "You removed the divine slave crest?"

Theon hesitated. "Yes."

Duke Aldric finally spoke. "That should not have been possible."

Theon felt Ifrith’s eyes on him. "Careful." He chose his words with care. "I used a special mana technique."

Ragnar studied him for a long moment. Theon had the uncomfortable feeling his father could see straight through the half-truth, but the emperor didn’t press further. Instead he looked toward the window.

"So my brother has finally crossed the line."

Theon blinked. "You already knew?"

"I knew Raven was gathering influence. I knew he was dissatisfied," Ragnar said, his expression calm. "But I did not know he’d begun using a demon with soul-affecting abilities."

Duke Aldric’s jaw tightened. "This is treason."

"It is," Ragnar agreed.

Lazeria lowered her head. "I’m sorry."

"For what?"

"For helping him."

Ragnar was quiet for a moment before he spoke. "You were a slave." She stared at him, clearly not expecting that answer. "A chained hand does not carry the same guilt as the hand holding the chain."

Theon saw her eyes tremble slightly, and, since entering the study, some of the fear on her face had eased.

Ragnar turned to Duke Aldric. "Place this matter under the highest level of secrecy."

Aldric bowed. "It will be done."

"No arrests yet," Ragnar added.

The duke looked surprised. "Your Majesty?"

"If Raven realizes we know, he will destroy the evidence and accelerate his plans."

Aldric’s expression turned thoughtful. "Understood."

Theon frowned. "You’re letting him continue?"

Ragnar’s crimson eyes met his. "I am letting him believe he is unseen."

Theon fell silent. That answer sounded less like a father speaking and more like an emperor playing a long game, and suddenly he remembered Ifrith’s words. *Ragnar knows far more than you realize.*

After a few more instructions, the emperor dismissed Duke Aldric, who bowed to both men before leaving the study. When the doors closed, only four remained: Ragnar, Theon, Lazeria, and Ifrith. The mood shifted again, growing more personal, more dangerous.

The emperor looked at his son for a long moment. "You have a question."

Theon blinked. "What?"

"You’ve been carrying it since you walked in."

Theon hesitated, then asked what had been growing in his mind since Ifrith forced him to notice it. "Why?"

Ragnar raised an eyebrow. "Why what?"

"Why have you never questioned me about where I go? I leave the palace. I disappear for hours, sometimes days. I get into dangerous situations, and somehow the punishment is always light." His eyes narrowed. "You always know, don’t you?"

Ragnar didn’t answer right away. Then, quietly: "Yes."

Theon’s breath caught. "You always knew where I was?"

"Yes." The answer was simple. Absolute. No denial, no excuse.

"Then why didn’t you stop me?"

Ragnar’s expression turned unreadable. "Because some cages are built from protection."

Theon frowned. "I don’t understand."

"You’re not meant to yet." His voice softened slightly. "Theon. Live your life freely while you still can."

The words hit harder than any scolding could have. *While you still can.* Not because I allow it. Not because I trust you. As if that freedom had an expiration date. A chill ran through him.

Lazeria looked confused, sensing the conversation carried a weight she didn’t fully understand.

Ragnar leaned back. "This matter is now under my authority. Lazeria will remain under palace protection."

Her eyes widened. "You’re... protecting me?"

"For now." It wasn’t warmth, and it wasn’t kindness—it was a decision. Yet for someone who’d spent months being treated as property, even that felt almost unbelievable.

Theon opened his mouth to ask something else, but Ragnar raised a hand. "That is enough for today."

A clear dismissal. Theon hesitated, then slowly nodded. "Come on," he told Lazeria.

She bowed quickly to the emperor. "Thank you, Your Majesty."

Ragnar gave a slight nod. Theon turned toward the door, and as he reached it, he noticed something strange—Ifrith hadn’t moved. The small black cat still sat calmly on the edge of the table, watching the emperor with unreadable dark-crimson eyes.

"Ifrith?"

The Flame Lord demon didn’t look at him. "Go ahead, Master. I’ll join you shortly."

Theon hesitated. Something in Ifrith’s tone made him pause, but Ragnar’s expression gave nothing away. Lazeria tugged lightly at his sleeve, clearly eager to escape the oppressive atmosphere of the study.

After a moment, Theon nodded. "Don’t take too long."

He opened the door, and Lazeria followed him out. The doors closed behind them, and the moment the latch clicked shut, the silence inside the study grew far heavier than before.

Warm light stretched across the floor, touching the edge of the desk and the small black cat sitting upon it. Ragnar and Ifrith stared at each other for several long seconds before either spoke.

Then Ifrith opened one of his dark-crimson eyes halfway. "Did you really have to be that hard on him?"

Ragnar’s brow lifted. "Rude?"

"You gave the boy answers that created three new questions."

"That is usually how truth works," the emperor said, leaning back in his chair.

Ifrith let out a dry chuckle. "Still as irritating as ever."

Ragnar’s gaze sharpened. "Duke Aldric."

The doors opened at once, and the silver-haired duke stepped back inside and bowed. "Your Majesty?"

"No one is to come in."

Aldric’s eyes flickered briefly toward Ifrith—Theon’s right-hand man—as though he sensed something far beyond ordinary politics was about to unfold. But he asked no questions. "As you command."

The doors closed again, leaving only the emperor and the Flame Lord demon. The room grew very still.

Ragnar looked directly at the black cat. "Ifrith." The name carried ancient weight.

Ifrith’s tail flicked once. "Ragnar."

A faint smile touched the emperor’s lips. "Or should I say the Frost Monarch, First Emperor of the Glaciara Empire?"

The smile widened. "So you already knew."

"I would always recognize the one man who managed to capture and seal me for over a thousand years," Ifrith said flatly.

A low, surprisingly genuine laugh escaped Ragnar. "Most people remember me less fondly."

"You sealed me inside an ice frost beneath the northern mountains, which you have built your palace on. Forgive me if nostalgia is limited."

Ragnar laughed again, and for the first time in a long while, the emperor no longer looked like the cold ruler of the empire. He looked older. More tired. More dangerous.

Ifrith watched him carefully. "You’ve changed."

"Have I?"

"You laugh more."

Ragnar’s gaze drifted toward the window. "Age has a way of teaching which battles are worth carrying."

Ifrith was quiet for a moment before asking, "Do you hold no fear that I might still resent you?"

"And do you?"

The Flame Lord demon considered it. A thousand years ago, the answer would have been immediate—burning hatred, humiliation, rage. But now he thought of Theon, the boy who treated him as a teacher, argued with him, laughed at him, and trusted him without understanding what he truly was. Ifrith’s expression softened.

"No. I received a better master in exchange."

Ragnar studied him for a long moment, then nodded once. "That is good."

The silence that followed was different this time—not hostile, not peaceful, but the quiet of two ancient beings measuring each other after centuries apart.

Finally, Ragnar spoke again. "You already know what’s coming, don’t you?"

Ifrith’s dark-crimson eyes narrowed. "So you’ve confirmed it."

"I asked first."

The demon chuckled low. "Very well. Yes. I know."

The temperature in the study seemed to drop. "The prophecy has begun."

"At last," Ragnar said, his gaze darkening.

Ifrith stared at him—not with mockery this time, but something closer to concern. "You’ve been waiting a very long time."

Ragnar was quiet for several seconds. "Do you know when I first heard the prophecy of the Frost child? It was during my first reign." A faint red glow surfaced deep within his eyes. "I was still young by my standards. The empire had only recently been founded. The northern tribes were rebelling, the eastern kingdoms were preparing for war, and the world believed the Glaciara Empire would collapse within a generation. Then the goddess spoke of a child who would be born with the power to awaken the Primordial authority and stand at the center of the coming calamity."

Ifrith listened without interrupting.

"I searched for that child," Ragnar continued. "For centuries."

A chill ran through the room. "Centuries," Ifrith repeated softly.

"When my first body began to fail, I placed a fragment of my soul into my heir. Then the next. And the next."

Ifrith’s eyes widened. "You ruled through your descendants."

"Yes." The emperor’s voice held no pride, only exhaustion. "Generation after generation, I remained. Waiting."

The weight of those words settled between them. How many kings had worn Ragnar’s face? How many emperors had carried fragments of the same soul?

Ifrith exhaled slowly. "And after all that time... you believe he is the one."

Ragnar looked toward the closed doors his son had walked through. Something unreadable crossed his face—not certainty, but hope. "Yes."

The single word carried the weight of a thousand years.

Ifrith was silent for a long moment. "You are aware you will die one day."

Ragnar smiled faintly. "Everyone dies."

"Not everyone waits a millennium for a prophecy."

His smile didn’t fade. "Before I die, I must complete my mission."

Ifrith studied him—the old fire was still there, buried beneath the calm, the same will that had once united warring lands, fought demons and kings, and built an empire from frozen ruin. At last he shook his head. "Suit yourself."

He turned and walked toward the door, his paw touching the handle. Then he paused, and without looking back, spoke.

"Your children are already making their moves."

The room went very still. A faint crimson light bloomed in Ragnar’s eyes. "I know."

Ifrith glanced over his shoulder. "You’ve known for a while."

"Yes."

"Then why haven’t you done anything?"

The emperor met his gaze. For a heartbeat he looked impossibly old. Then he answered with quiet certainty. "You know why."

Ifrith stared at him, and understood—not completely, but enough to see that Ragnar wasn’t merely allowing events to unfold. He was waiting. For the prophecy. For the right moment. For a choice that hadn’t yet arrived.

A slow smile spread across the demon’s face—not mocking, not amused, but respectful. "Still playing the long game, Monarch."

"It is the only game worth playing," Ragnar said, his lips curving faintly.

Ifrith chuckled softly, then opened the door and stepped out into the corridor. Behind him, the emperor sat in silence, crimson eyes fixed on the fading sunlight beyond the window—and somewhere deep within the palace, unseen by all but a few, a huge Titan’s door began to glow.