Chapter 36: A Father’s Acknowledgement

Chapter 36: Chapter 36: A Father’s Acknowledgement

For a moment, neither of them moved. Then the shadow spoke, his voice calm and unhurried.

" You have finally fallen into my plan."

Fen’s ears twitched, and a low growl rumbled from the primordial wolf’s throat. Ifrit, however, remained completely relaxed, his arms loose at his sides.

"Do you really think," he replied softly, "that I would allow such a thing to happen?"

The shadow gave a quiet chuckle. "Allow? An interesting choice of words for someone who has already lost."

The torchlight shaked again, but the figure’s face stayed hidden beneath it, untouched by the light.

Ifrith folded his arms. "You knew this would happen from the very beginning, didn’t you?"

"Yes." The answer came without hesitation. "Why wouldn’t I? After all, I arranged every piece on this board myself."

The words hung heavy in the cold air. Lazeria stirred slightly in her sleep, but Lyra remained still, and Theon did not move at all.

Ifrith’s smile widened, though there was no real humor behind it. "Then tell me. How did you know I would figure it out?"

The shadow tilted his head slightly. "That is what interests me most."

For a few seconds, Ifrit simply studied him. Then he spoke, his voice quieter now, more deliberate.

"The emperor would never permit western assassins to enter his empire. No matter the cost. No matter the reason. He knows everything that happens within these borders, down to the smallest whisper."

The corridor seemed to grow colder with every word.

"So when assassins crossed the frontier, when they reached the capital, when they slipped into the underground passage beneath the palace itself," Ifrit continued, his crimson eyes sharpening, "I knew someone had opened the door for them."

A faint laugh drifted out of the darkness. "And who did you suspect?"

Ifrith’s gaze did not waver. "Only someone standing close enough to the throne to see exactly what the emperor sees."

The torchlight flickered violently. For the briefest instant, Theon, still lost somewhere in unconsciousness, thought he saw the outline of a smile beneath the hood. Then it was gone.

The shadow laughed softly. " So demon are not always bloodthirsty... but also intelligent."

Fen’s growl deepened, and the air trembled with suppressed thunder.

The shadow’s attention shifted, drifting toward the sleeping prince.

"Finally," he murmured, almost gently, "he has finally obtained the sword."

Ifrith’s expression darkened at once. "You know you can never lay your hands on that blade again."

The shadow looked back at him, unbothered. "Why would I seek the sword," he asked quietly, "when I can simply claim the one it has already chosen?"

Ifrith’s eyes narrowed sharply. "What exactly do you mean by that?"

The figure took a slow step closer, and the darkness around him seemed to move with him like a living thing.

"Theon," he said softly, "is a very special child." His gaze lingered on the sleeping prince. "Even from the moment of his birth, he was different. His mana was abnormal. His instincts were abnormal. He stood apart from his siblings in ways none of them ever understood."

A pause stretched between them.

"But curiosity is a dangerous flaw." The shadow’s voice turned colder. "His stubborn desire to reach beyond the palace walls will be the very thing that destroys him."

Ifrith’s tail flicked once. "You still haven’t answered my question."

The shadow was quiet for a moment. Then he smiled, a smile felt more than seen. "I never intended to answer it."

He turned toward the darkness behind him. "And you know something else, don’t you?"

Ifrith said nothing.

The shadow stopped mid step. "You cannot stop me," he said quietly, "as long as you are still bound with him."

The words struck like a blade. For once, real anger flashed across Ifrith’s face, and his crimson flames burst outward, lighting the corridor in violent red light.

"Explain yourself."

The shadow did not turn back. "Not tonight."

The flames intensified. Fen rose to his feet, thunder crackling across the stone floor. But the figure simply walked away, one step, then two, then three, until the darkness swallowed him completely and there was nothing left of him at all.

The corridor fell silent again.

Ifrith stood motionless, his jaw clenched tight, his flames slowly fading back into embers. Fen turned his massive head toward him.

"You know who that was."

Ifrith closed his eyes. "Yes."

"And you’re not telling him."

A long silence followed. Then Ifrith looked toward Theon, his expression unreadable.

"Not yet."

Deep within his unconsciousness, Theon fell. Not through darkness, but through snow, endless and white, stretching in every direction until there was nothing else left in the world.

Then the screams began.

They came from every direction at once. Men. Women. Children. An entire empire was dying around him.

Theon turned, and cities burned beneath a frozen sky. Great beasts made of ice walked through the streets, crushing people beneath crystal claws. Some were shaped like wolves. Some like serpents. Some were creatures too twisted and wrong to name. Everywhere they passed, life simply vanished, swallowed whole by the cold.

A throne floated high above the ruined world, made entirely of eternal ice. And upon that throne sat a man with silver hair and celestial ice blue eyes, Nivareth resting quietly across his lap, glowing like a fragment of winter itself.

The man looked down upon the destruction with a calm, distant expression. Not joy. Not sorrow. Something far worse than either. Acceptance.

Theon tried to move but He couldn’t.

The frozen ruler slowly raised his head, and their eyes met. For one unbearable Moment, Theon felt as though he were staring into a mirror from some distant, terrible future.

Then the man smiled, and as he smiled, frozen tears slid slowly down his face.

"You’re finally here."

Then world shattered.

Theon’s eyes flew open. He gasped for breath, cold sweat soaking through his clothes. The dungeon ceiling slowly came into focus above him. Torchlight. Stone walls. Iron bars. Reality, cold and unwelcoming.

Ifrith stood near the entrance of the cell, watching the corridor. Theon swallowed hard, his throat dry.

"Ifrith."

The demon turned immediately, his expression softening. "Master."

Theon pushed himself upright, still breathing heavily. "Where are we?"

"The dungeon."

Theon blinked, certain he had misheard. "The dungeon?" His eyes widened as the words sank in. "What do you mean the dungeon?" He looked around in disbelief, his heart beginning to race. "We were arrested?"

The word struck him harder than he expected.

"Arrested," he repeated, quieter now, almost to himself. "No one arrests me. I’m an imperial prince."

Ifrith gave a dry, humorless smile. "Your father ordered it."

Theon froze. For a moment he thought he had misheard again. Then his eyes darted around the cell, searching. "Lyra? Lazeria?"

He found them lying nearby, both still asleep, their chests rising and falling gently. Relief washed over him so suddenly that his shoulders sagged.

"They’re alive."

"They’re fine," Ifrith said quietly.

Theon exhaled slowly, some of the tension leaving his body. Then another thought struck him, and his expression hardened all at once.

"What about Archduke Raven?"

Ifrith was silent for a moment too long. Then he answered.

"He was released."

Theon stared at him. "What?" His voice rose sharply, disbelief bleeding into every word. "Released?"

He stood up too quickly, swaying for a moment before catching himself against the wall. "Why would they release him?"

The dungeon suddenly felt much colder than before. And somewhere deep in his chest, the first crack of doubt began to spread, slow and quiet, like frost creeping across glass.

"Released?" Theon repeated, his voice rising further. "Why would they release him?"

His celestial ice blue eyes flashed with disbelief. Ifrith leaned against the stone wall, arms folded, his expression calm despite the storm building in front of him.

"He is the Archduke of the empire," the demon replied evenly. "The emperor’s brother. No ordinary authority can hold him for long."

"But they arrested me!"

"Only because your father ordered it."

Theon stared at him as though trying to force the words to make sense in his head. "That means Father can imprison me."

"For a moment," Ifrith corrected gently. "Not forever."

Theon clenched his fists so tightly his knuckles whitened. "That makes no sense. He brought assassins into the underground chamber. He attacked us. He used forbidden magic in front of witnesses." His voice cracked, frustration spilling out of him. "And now he’s simply free?"

Ifrith did not answer right away, and that silence only made Theon angrier.

He turned toward the iron bars. "Guard!"

His voice echoed sharply through the corridor. A few seconds later, footsteps approached, and a palace guard appeared, dropping immediately to one knee.

"Your Highness."

Theon stepped closer, his jaw tight. "Why are we imprisoned?"

The guard kept his head bowed low. "By order of His Majesty, the Emperor."

The words struck hard than any blade could have. Theon’s chest tightened.

"Then bring me to him."

The guard hesitated, clearly unsure how to answer. Before he could speak, another voice echoed through the corridor, calm and unmistakably commanding.

"That won’t be necessary."

Theon froze in place. The guard immediately bowed even lower than before.

"Your Majesty."

Ragnar Nivaris stepped into the torchlight, and the dungeon seemed to shrink around him. He wore no crown, no ceremonial robes, only a dark coat lined with silver fur, yet the pressure he carried was enough to make the very air feel heavier.

His crimson eyes swept slowly across the cell, moving from Theon to Lyra, to Lazeria, to Fen, and finally to Ifrith. Then he looked at the guard.

"Leave."

The guard rose at once and hurried away. Ragnar’s gaze shifted to the others waiting in the corridor.

"All of you."

Without a single word, they withdrew, their footsteps fading into the distance until only the emperor and the small group remained, alone in the flickering torchlight.

Silence settled over the dungeon like a blanket.

Theon stared at his father, a hundred questions burning behind his eyes. Ragnar stepped forward and unlocked the cell himself, the iron door creaking open under his hand.

Theon did not move.

"Why?" he asked quietly.

Ragnar looked at him for a long moment before answering. "For your own safety."

Theon’s jaw tightened. "Safety?"

"Yes."

Theon let out a short, bitter laugh. "You threw us into the dungeon for our safety?"

Ragnar’s expression did not change, though something flickered briefly behind his eyes. "But I suppose that danger has passed for now." He turned and began walking down the corridor. "Come with me."

Theon hesitated, glancing back at Lyra and Lazeria, who were beginning to stir awake. Ifrith gave a single nod, and Theon finally followed his father into the dark.

The emperor did not lead them back toward the palace halls. Instead, he guided them through narrow passages rarely used by servants, then out through a snow covered courtyard hidden behind the northern towers. The wind here was quieter, the lamps fewer and further apart. It felt less like a palace and more like a forgotten corner of the world that time had simply overlooked.

At the end of the path stood a small stone residence surrounded by frost covered trees. Ragnar opened the door and gestured for them to enter. Inside, a fire burned softly, and the warmth felt strange and welcome after the cold of the dungeon.

Lyra blinked awake first, her voice groggy. "Brother?"

Then Lazeria stirred as well, both of them looking confused but unharmed.

Ragnar waited until everyone was seated before he spoke again. "You will remain here for tonight."

Theon crossed his arms. "No."

Ragnar looked at him, a faint edge in his voice. "No?"

"I’m not staying in another hidden room until I understand what’s happening." The fire crackled between them as Theon’s eyes sharpened. "Archduke Raven said something in the underground chamber."

Ragnar remained silent, watching him carefully.

"He said I should ask you what happened five years ago."

The room grew still. Lyra looked between her father and her brother, uncertain. Lazeria lowered her gaze to the floor. Ifrith stood near the wall, his expression carefully unreadable.

Theon took a step forward. "What happened?"

Ragnar did not answer immediately. He walked to the window and looked out at the falling snow, and for a long moment the only sound in the room was the wind pressing gently against the glass.

Then he finally spoke.

"Five years ago," he said quietly, "I returned from My journey after completing my cycle of the tradition."

Theon frowned. "The tradition every royal child must complete."

Ragnar nodded slowly. "By the time I returned, my Big brother had already completed his own." A faint, tired smile touched his lips. "Raven was powerful. Charismatic. Talented in ways that came easily to him. The nobles admired him. The soldiers respected him. Rumors spread through the capital that he would become the next emperor, and for a long time, even I believed it."

Theon listened without a word.

"And you?" he finally asked.

"I stepped aside."

Theon blinked, caught completely off guard. "What?"

Ragnar turned to face him fully. "I had no intention of taking the throne."

The room fell silent. Even Lyra looked stunned, her eyes wide.

"I believed Raven would become emperor," Ragnar continued, his voice steady. "And I accepted that without resentment."

"Then what changed?"

Ragnar’s gaze drifted toward the fire, watching the flames as though they held the memory itself. "My father."

A shadow passed briefly through his eyes.

"He refused."

Theon stared at him, waiting.

"He told me that Raven was strong," Ragnar said, "but not fit to rule."

Lyra whispered, "Why not?"

Ragnar closed his eyes for a moment. "He saw arrogance. A prince who bullied weaker nobles. Who treated people as tools to be used and discarded. Who believed that power alone made him worthy of a crown." He looked down at his own hands, turning them over slowly. "And he saw something else in me."

Theon waited, hardly breathing.

"Discipline," Ragnar said softly. "Patience. Restraint."

A faint, almost distant smile crossed his face. "During the coronation ceremony, everyone expected Raven’s name to be called. The entire court was certain of it."

His eyes lifted to meet Theon’s directly. "But my father chose me instead."

Theon felt his breath catch in his throat.

"I asked him why," Ragnar continued, his voice growing quieter. "I told him Raven was stronger than I was, that everyone knew it, that it made no sense."

The room then seemed to lean in around him, waiting.

"And my father looked at me," Ragnar said, "and told me something I have never forgotten. Strength can conquer a battlefield but It cannot Govern an empire."

Theon felt a chill run straight through him.

Ragnar’s gaze softened, just slightly, for once since he had entered the room. "Strategy is the weapon that decides the fate of an empire." He looked away, toward the fire again. "He placed the crown in my hands and said, I entrust this empire to you, because I believe you will lead it farther than he ever could."

Silence filled the room completely.

Theon saw something in his father he had never seen before. Not the emperor. Not the ruler everyone feared and respected. A son, remembering the only moment his own father had truly acknowledged him.

Ragnar let out a quiet, almost fond laugh. "You know, your grandfather was not a warm man." He glanced at Lyra, who managed a faint smile despite everything. "He trained us harshly. Left us in the deep forests with nothing but a single knife and told us to survive. Sometimes we spent days finding our way back home."

Theon’s eyes widened. "He did that to you?"

"He did that to all of us."

Ragnar looked into the fire, the light flickering across his tired face. "So when he finally said those words to me, in front of the entire court."

His voice softened even further, barely above a whisper.

"It became the happiest day of my life."

The room fell still once more. Theon slowly lowered his arms, understanding spreading across his face like the first light of dawn.

"So Raven didn’t lose the throne because you took it from him."

Ragnar looked at him steadily. "He lost it because Grandfather chose you instead of him."

Ragnar nodded once, confirming it.

Theon stood there, stunned into stillness. All the hatred. All the resentment. All the schemes, the assassins, the years of quiet war fought in shadows and whispers. None of it had begun with a stolen crown.

It had begun with a father’s decision, made long before Theon had ever taken his first breath.

And for once, Theon understood that the war inside his family had started generations before he was even born into it...