"Is this that terminal kid?"
An unfamiliar voice cut through the silence.
Ray lifted his gaze from the faintly glowing device in his hands and turned slowly toward the sound.
Two young men stood only a few steps away.
Both were drenched in blood. It dripped lazily from their blades, dark and fresh—clearly not their own.
Ray stared at them for a moment.
…Troublesome.
"Judging from his icy-blue hair," one of them said casually, "that's definitely him."
The man's fiery red hair caught the dim moonlight, almost unnatural in its brightness.
Ray barely paid it any attention.
But the other man—
His hair was deep cobalt blue.
That was impossible.
Every shade of blue hair marked royal blood. And as far as Ray knew, there was no one in the imperial family with hair like that.
Of all things to deal with tonight… it had to be this.
"So…" the red-haired man drawled lazily, glancing at Ray as if he were nothing more than an object.
"Are you going to kill him?"
The question was asked without hesitation—without concern.
The man beside him shifted his gaze toward Ray.
His eyes were cold.
Empty.
He looked at Ray the way one might look at a broken tool—something without value.
Ray met his gaze quietly.
They could certainly kill him.
That much was obvious.
He exhaled softly.
Running would be pointless. Fighting would be worse.
…And both sounded like far too much effort.
So he stayed where he was.
And neither did he flinch.
He already carried a weight few could comprehend.
Judging by their composure—their complete lack of reaction to the device in his hand and to his neck—they were no ordinary men.
At most, they were on par with high-ranking nobles.
Because to most people, such machines were nothing more than rumors whispered among nobles and scholars. Things like this were so rare that even most nobles in the kingdom had never actually seen one before.
"No."
The man finally spoke.
"There's no need to kill someone who's bound to die soon."
A faint smile touched his lips.
Ray let out a quiet breath.
Not relief—just… less trouble than expected.
While he didn't particularly care whether he lived or died, there were still things he had yet to finish.
The two men left just as suddenly as they came.
Ray remained seated, suppressing a cough as he watched them disappear into the darkness, his fingers tightening slightly around the device.
Silence returned.
For a moment, everything felt… still.
But before he could settle back into that stillness, a blazing light caught the corner of his eye.
Ray turned his head toward the main palace.
At first, he thought it was lantern light.
Then he looked closer.
It was fire.
The imperial palace was burning.
Flames climbed the walls, devouring everything in their path.
Something was happening—that much he could tell.
Ray stared at it for a few seconds.
…That looks serious.
He exhaled slowly.
Which meant things were about to get annoying.
"Your Highness!" someone shouted.
The voice came from nearby.
Ray turned his head slightly.
It was the butler, Orven, running frantically toward him, breathless.
"Your Highness!"
Orven fell to his knees the moment he reached him.
"Your Highness—you—you have to—" His voice broke, gasping for air.
Ray watched him quietly for a second.
Then—
"Calm down," Ray said. "You're going to pass out before you finish that sentence."
His tone was steady. Almost bored.
"Breathe first. Then talk."
"You have to run, Your Highness," Orven said urgently. "You have to run away as far as possible."
Ray blinked once.
Running.
That sounded exhausting already.
"Why?" he asked.
"There has been a rebellion, Your Highness."
Orven hesitated.
"...The Emperor, along with the rest of your siblings... have all been killed."