A second voice, deeper and far more restrained, snapped back, "It's not up for debate. You're a member of the sect—you wear the mask. That's regulation. End of discussion."
"But it hides everything! How is that fair to the world?"
"Please keep your voice down," the deeper voice growled. "There are people trying to sleep in their rooms. This is a sacred sector, not a marketplace."
Kaen blinked, then stifled a laugh as her eyes flicked toward the door.
Ryoma exhaled through his nose and dragged a hand down his face, already recognizing the familiar voices. "Why are they here?" he muttered under his breath, the exhaustion in his tone barely masking his dread.
The argument grew louder footsteps echoing right outside their room.
"Seventh Prince, you must remain in disguise at all times. This isn't optional, it's sacred protocol."
"I must stay undercover, not under a blanket!" came the exasperated reply. "And must I remind you—my face is my greatest weapon?"
"That doesn't matter," the deeper voice snapped. "When you're outside, you follow sect rules. As your senior by five years, it is my responsibility to correct your reckless behavior."
"Reckless? Commander Zhou, you—"
Daita's voice rose sharply just as the door slid open.
Ryoma stood in the doorway, arms crossed, expression unreadable, eyes narrowed with quiet irritation. The two men outside froze mid-argument. Commander Zhou stiffened, blinking in surprise. "You,"
Daita, mask dangling from one hand, tilted his head and smirked. "What a coincidence. We meet again, Ryoma."
Ryoma didn't move. His expression remained impassive, but his voice cut with quiet firmness.
"Yes. Truly a coincidence. But Prince Daita, I'd advise you not to disturb others—perhaps continue this discussion elsewhere."
At that, Zhou bristled and stepped forward. "You—how dare you speak—"
But Daita held out a hand, halting him with a lazy flick of his fingers. His smile didn't waver. He took a slow step toward Ryoma, eyes briefly scanning him with casual interest before turning back to Zhou.
"He's right, Commander Zhou. We shouldn't be so inconsiderate." His voice dropped just enough to carry a trace of mockery. "Wasn't that your own advice, just moments ago?"
Daita's smile didn't falter. He slipped the mask into place with exaggerated elegance. Zhou exhaled, visibly relieved. "Finally…" he muttered under his breath.But just as they began to turn, Daita leaned slightly toward Zhou and whispered—barely audible, yet purposefully clear, "Just keep a close eye on the Crown Prince. He has a habit of disappearing."
Ryoma heard it.
His jaw tightened. His fingers curled into fists at his sides. Without a word, he turned and slid the door shut behind him with a sharp clack that echoed through the hall.
Both men flinched.
Daita, still facing forward, chuckled lightly. "That was loud. Do you think we truly disturbed his sleep that much?"
Zhou shrugged, adjusting the strap of his armor. "Maybe. And Seventh Prince, you can rest easy now. I've stationed elite guards outside his door. He won't be able to vanish this time."
Daita gave a small shake of his head. "That's not enough. If you ask me…" He glanced sideways, eyes narrowing. "You should watch him yourself. Crown prince isn't someone you can predict or contain with guards."
Inside, the silence thickened like fog. No more footsteps. No more voices. Just the heavy quiet that followed chaos.
Ryoma paced the length of the room, shoulders tense, his jaw tight. The low rustle of his robes was the only sound, interrupted occasionally by the sharp rhythm of his boots striking the wooden floor.
Kaen sat cross-legged on the edge of the bed, trying to stay composed, but her face twitched every now and then eyes narrowed, fingers drumming her knee. Finally, Ryoma came to an abrupt halt. He let out a groan, running a hand through his hair.
"He's here. Of all places. I don't know what he's planning this time, but why can't he just—" He stopped himself, fists clenching. "Why won't he leave things alone?" Frustration carved deep lines across his face, his breath uneven as he tried to steady himself—but the storm inside showed no signs of calming. Kaen exhaled slowly standing up.
Ryoma turned sharply. "Kaen—" But she was already walking toward the door.
"I'll be back," she said without turning. "I think I know what he's up to." And with that, she slid the door shut behind her with a soft but final sound.
The moonlight spilled gently through the gauzy curtains, casting silver patterns across the floor as the breeze stirred them in slow, whispered waves. The quiet of the room was undisturbed—save for the faint sound of breathing and the soft rustle of robes.
Akira knelt beside the bed, his head resting lightly against the edge of the mattress where Astra lay asleep. Her breaths were shallow but even, her brow furrowed faintly in dreams. For a long moment, he remained still, as if trying to memorize the quiet peace of her presence.
Then, slowly, he lifted his head. His eyes lingered on her face, before drifting to her arm—wrapped hastily in a bloodstained cloth. Carefully, he reached forward, fingers hesitant, and began to undo the layers.
His breath hitched.
The wound beneath was deep, raw, and angry against her pale skin. His face paled.
"I should've been there…"
he whispered under his breath, guilt knotting in his throat. He raised his hand, and a soft golden glow ignited at his fingertips. The light was dim, pulsing gently like a heartbeat as he guided it over the wound.
Time passed in silence, the glow slowly knitting flesh, the angry red fading into faint lines. He didn't blink, didn't breathe too loudly—only focused, his brows drawn tight with strain. Finally, after what felt like hours, the wound softened and closed, leaving skin smoother than before.
Relieved, Akira exhaled. But his gaze shifted to the small cuts scattered across her cheek and temple. He raised his hand again, this time gentler, and brushed his fingertips against them. The glow returned, flickering slightly with the tremble in his hands as he traced the injuries one by one.
Then his touch paused—just at the edge of her lip, where a faint cut still lingered.
His hand hovered, unsure.
As his fingers brushed the corner of her mouth, Astra stirred faintly, her head shifting toward his hand at the unfamiliar warmth.
Startled, Akira jerked back, heart leaping into his throat. His hand dropped to his side.
And then—
click
The door creaked open.
Akira's eyes widened in panic. "Oh no…" he hissed under his breath, shutting his eyes the moment he recognized who stood at the door.
Kaen stood there—still as a blade before the strike. The serene calm she usually wore had vanished, replaced by a dangerous quiet that made the air feel colder.
She didn't speak. She didn't need to.
In two strides, she was at his side. "What do you think you're doing?" she muttered coldly, before grabbing him by the collar.
Akira scrambled to stand, stammering, "Wait—Kaen, I was just—"
But she didn't wait.
Without another word, she grabbed him by the collar and yanked him upright in one sharp motion.
"Hey hold on—!" he whispered urgently, trying not to trip over his own feet as she dragged him across the room. "You're going to wake her—!"
"Should've thought of that before breaking into her room,"