One by one, the royal convoy began to move away from the borders of Sylvian Village. Lyra leaned out from the window, waving her hand with bright enthusiasm as she said her farewell, while Lucian remained seated inside, silent and still, hidden within the shadows of the carriage.
At the village gate, Finn stood watching the dust trail left behind, taking a deep breath before speaking, "That boy… he could become a great disaster in the future, Elder. We must act before it's too late."
Elder Vyom gently stroked his white beard and shook his head slightly. "Do not worry, Finn. That time will never come… besides, the path of fate itself is beginning to blur."
Finn turned quickly to read the meaning behind those words—but froze in surprise. Elder Vyom had already disappeared. "This old man… even at this age, he never stays in one place!" Finn muttered, rubbing his head as he turned back toward the village.
Inside the carriage, Lyra sat with her mysterious grimoire resting in her lap, gazing at it with excitement. She could hardly wait to tell everyone that she had formed a contract with a dragon sprite.
On the other side, Lucian's eyes remained fixed on the passing world outside. Sylvian Village slowly faded into the distance like a forgotten dream, as if it had never truly been a part of his life.
As the royal carriage crossed beyond Sylvian's boundaries, Lucian pulled aside the curtain and looked out. This was the last village of the Ravencrest Kingdom, standing far from the brilliance of the capital, guarding the edges of the empire.
The scene here was entirely different—small stone houses with sturdy wooden roofs, narrow streets lined with modest shops, and people busy with their daily trade. Yet the moment the black and gold royal carriage passed through, the entire market seemed to freeze. Every eye turned toward it, drawn to its overwhelming presence.
At the very center of the village stood a massive stone statue of the first king of the Ravencrest family. It towered over everything around it, so immense that even the tallest four-story buildings nearby looked insignificant—like mere toys before its silent, commanding presence.
After leaving the final village behind, the real journey began. For the next three days, the grand royal carriage moved without pause, cutting across the vast lands of the Ravencrest Kingdom.
The scale of the kingdom was beyond imagination. As Lucian and Lyra traveled, they witnessed its changing landscapes—prosperous villages, structured towns, and large cities built with disciplined planning rather than chaos.
Across the empire, forty-nine well-developed villages and fifteen major cities thrived, filled with trade, stone architecture, and steady human activity. Even with the incredible speed of the divine horses, it still took them three full days to reach the capital.
As the carriage approached the heart of the empire, the atmosphere began to change. At the entrance of the capital stood massive black stone pillars, rising high like silent guardians.
Their surfaces were carved with human figures in rigid poses—symbols of law, order, and judgment. They were not exaggerated or mystical, but realistic and imposing enough to remind anyone entering that this was a place governed by strict authority.
Inside the carriage, Prince Lucian had fallen asleep during the long journey. A knock came from outside as a mounted guard rode alongside the window. "Your Highness, we are nearing the castle."
Lucian opened his eyes, letting out a quiet yawn before adjusting himself and pulling aside the curtain. The carriage had now entered the main roads of the capital city.
The scene before him was grand, yet grounded in realism rather than fantasy. Tall stone buildings lined both sides of the wide streets, their designs influenced by gothic architecture—arched windows, sharp rooftops, and strong vertical structures. Large churches stood among them, their towers rising above the rest of the city.
The roads were broad, paved with neatly arranged stone, and filled with a steady flow of people. Citizens moved with purpose, dressed in long coats, layered clothing, and formal attire suited to the kingdom's cold and disciplined environment. There was no chaos—everything felt organized, almost controlled.
Shops stood along the streets with carefully crafted wooden and metal signboards instead of flashy displays. Trade was active, with merchants speaking in measured tones, and guards stationed at intervals to maintain order.
Along the sides of the roads, iron lamp posts were placed at regular distances. Even in daylight, their polished surfaces reflected sunlight, adding a subtle brightness to the streets rather than any magical glow.
At the far end of the road stood Ravencrest's central stronghold—the Citadel. It was not a single structure, but a vast complex of gothic buildings fused together, resembling multiple fortresses joined into one. Within its walls, thousands of officials, soldiers, and administrators worked tirelessly, shaping the future of the empire. The towering black stone walls rose so high that the raven statues perched upon their peaks looked like small birds from below.
The carriage passed through the main road cutting across the Citadel, moving steadily forward. Gradually, the golden liveliness of the city began to fade behind them, replaced by a colder, heavier atmosphere. Soon, the carriage approached the edge of a massive chasm. It was so deep that its bottom was completely hidden in darkness, giving the unsettling impression that it had no end.
Stretching across it was a colossal iron bridge, supported by enormous chains as thick as pillars, anchored deep into the stone. The surface of the bridge was reinforced with heavy plates, and along its sides were carved ancient patterns—serpents coiling around armored warriors locked in battle. The designs were worn with age, yet they carried a silent weight, as if they had witnessed countless years of conflict.
Beyond the chasm, atop a high hill, stood the Ravencrest Castle. At first glance, it appeared almost obscured, wrapped in a dense layer of dark mist that clung to the cliffs and the surrounding terrain. The fog was thick enough to hide the details of the structure, making the entire stronghold feel distant and unreachable, as though separated from the rest of the world.
As the carriage rolled onto the iron bridge and moved forward, the mist began to thin gradually. The outline of the castle sharpened, and slowly, its true form revealed itself.
Smooth black stone walls rose with precision, and silver-tipped spires caught the light, reflecting it sharply against the sky. What once seemed like a shadow now stood clearly—solid, imposing, and undeniably powerful.
At the end of the bridge, the massive gates of the "Gate of Oblivion" began to open slowly with a deep, echoing rumble. Upon them was engraved the golden head of a great raven.
Hundreds of Knights of Raven stood in formation, clad in black, gleaming armor. As the royal carriage entered the courtyard, the heavy clash of their spears striking the ground in unison echoed through the air—a welcome tha felt like honor and more like a display of power.
Lucian felt the weight of the atmosphere outside. His gaze shifted beyond the carriage, where the palace courtyard seemed burdened, as if weighed down like solid stone.
All around, hundreds of Raven Knights stood like statues, unmoving and silent. Even the sunlight upon Ravencrest's land appeared dim and cold… its pale glow falling upon their dark, impenetrable armor in a way that made them appear even more fearsome. The black helmets they wore were adorned with raven plumes near the sides, swaying slowly with the icy wind. It was impossible to see the soldiers' eyes within those helmets; they stood still, like silent messengers of death.
Lucian clenched his fists. He knew that beyond the Gate of Oblivion lay not just his home, but the most difficult trial of his fate.
As the carriage came to a halt, a silence fell—so deep it could be felt. Then, one by one, the maids stepped down from the other carriages and formed a straight, unbroken line in honor of the main carriage. The mounted soldiers swiftly dismounted as well, surrounding it from all sides in a precise royal formation.
The commander of the convoy stepped forward, his heavy armor echoing with each measured step. Inside the carriage, Prince Lucian continued to observe every small movement outside with sharp, calculating eyes. He had never liked this display of "manufactured respect," yet he knew that, as a Ravencrest, he could not afford to show even the slightest hint of weakness.
He drew his gaze inward and settled his expression into a calm, unreadable mask. His fingers tightened into a fist unconsciously, though no emotion appeared upon his face.
As the commander opened the carriage's heavy, engraved door, his voice rang out—deep, disciplined, and commanding—echoing against the towering walls of the palace:
"His Highness, the Second Prince of the Ravencrest Empire, Lord Lucian von Ravencrest… and Her Highness, the Third Princess of the Empire, Lady Lyra von Ravencrest… welcome to your ancestral stronghold, Ravencrest Castle. On the occasion of your return, we stand devoted to your service. We humbly request that you step forward and accept this offering of our loyalty."
At the announcement, every soldier straightened even further. Lucian rose from his seat and took Lyra's hand. The same Lyra who had been filled with excitement moments ago now stood still and composed under the weight of the atmosphere and its rigid rules. Her heart raced, yet her face remained calm, bearing the quiet grace expected of royalty.
Holding the edges of her dress with proper decorum, Lyra stepped forward alongside Lucian. His foot touched the royal ground first, and then he gently assisted her as she stepped down. Their expressions remained still, as though carved from stone.
This was the royal etiquette instilled in them since childhood. Here, every step, every word, even the act of blinking was a carefully controlled performance. They could neither move too slowly nor too quickly. Thousands of unseen eyes watched their every motion. A single misstep, a single trace of human emotion upon their faces—and the entire empire would turn its gaze upon them in judgment.
As Ravencrests, they were bound to uphold their royal composure at all times, no matter what stirred within. Before others, they could embody nothing but power and control. Their gazes remained fixed ahead, their presence now carrying a cold, almost divine aura.
As they moved forward, the soldiers and maids surrounding the carriage dropped to their knees in unison. Their eyes remained fixed upon the ground before Lucian and Lyra. Not a single servant dared to lift their head and look upon the faces of the prince or princess—for such an act was considered an insult to the honor of Ravencrest, an unforgivable offense.
In that moment, everyone present understood the truth—This was no welcome—it was power alone that bent their knees before a prince they saw as nothing, and with every forced bow, the bitterness in their hearts only grew deeper.
Moving through the rows of soldiers and lowered gazes, Lucian walked toward the main gates of the castle, holding his younger sister Lyra's hand. Though his eyes remained fixed ahead, his attention was sharply focused on every subtle detail around him.
From the high balconies and arched windows of the castle, countless eyes watched them—some filled with envy, others with a cold curiosity.
A faint murmur escaped Lucian's lips.
"…The same as always."
They had barely taken a few steps when Lyra suddenly stopped.
Lost in observing the surroundings, Lucian felt a slight tug at his hand. He turned back. Lyra had halted, standing still as she stared ahead, her expression frozen. Her fingers tightened unconsciously around his hand. Lucian immediately shifted his gaze forward—toward the place he had not yet noticed.
Someone stood there.
A man dressed in a flawless black coat. His dark hair was neatly brushed back, slightly raised at the top. His face was completely calm—utterly expressionless. His eyes were still… so still that no trace of human movement could be seen within them. There was something about his presence that made him far more unsettling than an ordinary servant. He stood with both hands clasped behind his back, perfectly composed.
"Welcome, Prince Lucian. My heartfelt congratulations on your return."
The voice was calm… and cold as ice.
Lucian recognized him instantly—his personal butler, and the head butler of the entire castle.
"Elias…" Lucian spoke, a question in his tone.
"You came to receive me? My parents should have been here."
Elias bowed his head with measured grace.
"My apologies, if this has displeased you, Prince. His Majesty has departed the kingdom on a matter of great importance. Her Majesty, in preparation for your return, is personally overseeing the arrangements of the palace and its servants. Thus, I have been instructed to escort you inside. If you would please follow me, I shall lead you to her."
He placed one hand over his chest and gestured toward the interior of the castle with the other, still slightly bowed in respect.
Lucian studied him in silence for a few moments, his sharp gaze probing—as if trying to read whatever lay behind that unnatural stillness. But there was nothing. No hesitation. No discomfort. Only an empty, unwavering calm.
As if the man standing before him was alive… and yet not entirely living.
For a brief moment, an uneasy silence settled over the surroundings—as though everyone present was waiting for Lucian's next move.
Then, without a word, Lucian tightened his grip on Lyra's hand and stepped forward. Lyra followed quietly, asking no questions, walking behind him without resistance.
As they moved, Elias followed behind them like a shadow.
The way he walked was unnerving—there was not even the faintest sound of his footsteps, as if he were gliding through the air. His presence was almost impossible to sense.
Lucian glanced back slightly as he walked.
Elias was still there—moving in the same silent manner.
A thought crossed Lucian's mind—
…He's still the same. You can't even feel him walking behind you. Sometimes… I can't help but doubt him.
Lucian turned his gaze forward once more.
With every step, he felt as though he was being drawn deeper into an unseen game hidden within the walls of this castle.
Lucian glanced back slightly as he walked. Elias was still following in that same silence, his presence almost impossible to notice. A thought flashed through Lucian's mind—'He's still the same… you can't even feel him walking behind you. Sometimes… it makes me doubt him.'
He turned his gaze forward again—each step now felt like it was leading him deeper into some unseen game hidden within the castle.
Lucian suddenly stopped. Taking a cold breath, he spoke without looking at Elias, his voice firm and restrained. "The journey was long, Elias. We are in no condition to attend any royal meeting right now. We will not meet Her Majesty at the moment. We would prefer to return to our chambers and rest first."
Without waiting for a reply, he turned and began walking toward his room, holding Lyra's hand.
"As you wish, Prince," Elias' calm, icy voice echoed from behind. "You are in great need of rest." There was sympathy in his tone, yet something about it felt unnatural. "All your necessities have already been arranged in your chambers. If you desire, I can send a few maids to attend to you."
A faint frown formed on Lucian's forehead. A wave of suspicion rose within him—'Mother sent him to receive us… yet when I chose to go against her will and head straight to my chambers, he didn't object at all? That goes against her orders… Elias would never do that. He was ruthless when it came to rules—even for a prince.'
Lucian's expression hardened. This change in Elias only deepened his doubts, but for now, he chose not to question it and continued forward.
Suddenly, Lyra stopped. Her grip tightened around his hand so firmly that Lucian felt a slight pull.
He turned back. "Lyra? What happened? Why did you stop?"
Lyra looked at him, her large eyes still filled with that same innocence Lucian always wanted to protect. "Brother, I want to meet Mother. You were so eager to see her too… then why are we leaving without meeting her now? This goes against royal manners, doesn't it?"
Lucian looked at her for a moment, then gently placed his hand on her head with a faint smile. "Listen, Lyra… we'll meet Mother later." His voice was calm, but inside, his mind was warning him of something unknown. "Right now, we need rest, and Mother must be busy as well. She would want us to freshen up first, alright?"
But Lyra remained stubborn. Something about Lucian's behavior felt strange to her the moment they returned home. Meanwhile, Lucian's mind was flooded with questions—questions he wanted to ask Elias alone—but Lyra's insistence stood in the way.
Then Elias spoke again, his voice as composed as ever—almost as if he had been waiting for this moment. "Prince, if Princess Lyra wishes to meet her mother… we should not stop her. Her Majesty will be most pleased to see her daughter."
A sudden thought struck Lucian like lightning—'Does that mean… Mother won't be pleased to see me? What does she want…? She sent Elias here… was it because she doesn't wish to see me right now? Then why is Lyra not being stopped? Is she allowed to meet her… alone?'
That very thought filled him with an uneasy feeling at the idea of sending Lyra alone.
"Alright," Lucian finally said, giving in. "Then take Lyra to Mother, Elias. I will wait here."
"You need not concern yourself, Prince," Elias replied with a bow. "Miss Marley will escort her to Her Majesty."
At that moment, Miss Marley stepped forward with composed grace. She was the Head Maid of the palace, and her presence carried a strict authority that tolerated no disorder. Around twenty-eight years of age, with neatly tied hair and a formal deep-blue maid uniform adorned with white lace, she carried herself with precision.
On her face was the calm, unwavering discipline of fifteen years of service and loyalty.