Cyrus blinked, surprised and intrigued. He found himself unknowingly leaning forward, listening with rapt attention as Neno began to speak about the former leader.
"Um, everyone really appreciated and loved him," Neno said, his voice filled with a mixture of reverence and nostalgia. "Thanks to him, we managed to survive so many crises that would have wiped us out. He and Leora were really close, but he always made sure to be fair and never showed favoritism towards her. He was simply the best leader we ever had."
As Neno spoke, his eyes glistened with emotion, a testament to the profound impact this leader had left on their community. Cyrus could sense the depth of admiration in Neno's words, painting a picture of a truly exceptional individual who had guided them through tumultuous times.
Cyrus found himself captivated by this tale of a legendary figure. His curiosity piqued, he couldn't resist asking the question that now burned in his mind. "What happened to him?" he inquired, his eagerness causing him to shift forward, nearly tumbling off the edge of the bed in his excitement.
Neno's expression darkened, a shadow passing over his features as he prepared to answer. "He was, um... killed by Lionore, his brother-in-arms and best friend," he said, his body visibly trembling as he pronounced the name.
The revelation hit Cyrus like a physical blow. He fell silent, struggling to process the tragic turn of events. A hero of such stature, betrayed by his closest companion – it seemed almost too cruel to be true. After a moment of contemplation, Cyrus voiced the question that now weighed heavily on his mind. "Why did he do that?"
Neno's discomfort was palpable as he continued, his words coming out in a nervous rush. "Um, I'm not entirely sure, but what we do know is that the queen, uh, she... she took the strongest bite and hunted him down. He-he just disappeared, and now, and of... of all those who went, only the queen returned."
As Neno spoke, his agitation grew, sweat beading on his forehead. "Then people started calling him... the... the... immortal lion. Nobody knows where he is. He kind of became, like, the... the most wanted criminal of our non-human world, and there are even rumors that the bureau's... after him." He paused, catching his breath before adding, "Later on, the queen, she sort of took over her husband and, uh, proclaimed herself as leader of the bite."
Cyrus, noticing Neno's distress, attempted to calm him. "Take it easy, Neno. You said it yourself – he disappeared long ago. He's just a relic of the past now." Despite his reassuring words, Cyrus felt a twinge of guilt for having caused Neno such obvious stress. He hadn't anticipated the topic would be so emotionally charged.
As Neno's words sank in, Cyrus found his mind racing with questions. Who was this Lionore? How powerful could he be to have escaped even after being hunted by the queen and her elite forces? The story was as intriguing as it was unsettling.
Seeking to steer the conversation to slightly less fraught territory, Cyrus posed another question. "But I still don't get the idea with the glove."
Neno's expression grew even more somber as he explained, "It was a gift Leora gave to her father just a day before... before he was killed. And when the queen brought them back, covered in his blood, she... she..."
Before Neno could finish his sentence, a sharp voice cut through the room like a knife. "She was perfectly fine. Now leave."
Cyrus and Neno turned in unison to face the newcomer. It was the queen herself, her piercing eyes fixed upon them. Cyrus felt a wave of unease wash over him. Had she overheard their conversation? He straightened his posture instinctively, as if bracing for impact.
Neno, recognizing the dismissal for what it was, bowed low and hastily exited the room.
The queen, as always, was dressed in a tight-fitting gown that accentuated her regal bearing. She moved with effortless grace, the familiar little cat cradled in her arms. Her gaze flickered briefly to Cyrus before she settled into a nearby chair, absently stroking the cat's fur.
An oppressive silence descended upon the room, broken only by the sound of their breathing. Cyrus felt increasingly uncomfortable, avoiding direct eye contact as beads of sweat formed on his brow. The silence seemed to stretch on endlessly, growing heavier with each passing moment.
Finally, the queen broke the tension, her voice carrying a hint of amusement. "I heard you mastered levitate in a single day."
"Yes, madam," Cyrus replied, his voice sounding strained even to his own ears.
The queen's eyebrow arched slightly. "Madam? Do I appear so ancient for your taste?" The sharpness in her eyes caused Cyrus to tremble involuntarily.
Realizing his misstep, Cyrus quickly backpedaled. "Not at all! You still look absolutely stunning." The words tumbled out in a rush, and only after he'd spoken did he feel the pressure in the room subside slightly. A smile played at the corners of the queen's lips, seemingly pleased with his response.
Cyrus couldn't help but notice that she did indeed look to be in her twenties, a fact that puzzled him given Leora's apparent age of seventeen. Was this another power of the bite? He kept these thoughts to himself, valuing his life too much to voice such speculations aloud.
The queen's voice drew him back to the present. "The annual hunt occurs annually, as the name suggests. Its significance runs deeper than mere tradition."
Cyrus listened attentively, sensing that this information was crucial. As he had suspected, there was more to this event than met the eye.
"It would certainly add intrigue to witness a different victor than Leora," the queen continued, her tone casual but her words weighted with meaning. "I trust you grasp the sentiment, darling."
Cyrus froze, uncertain if he had heard correctly. He met the queen's gaze, struggling to keep his voice steady. "I don't understand, my queen."
His mind raced, trying to make sense of her words. He knew the queen was Leora's mother, but why would she not want her own daughter to win? If Leora emerged victorious, wouldn't that keep the power within their family? It seemed counterintuitive.
As he grappled with this puzzle, Cyrus found himself recalling the first meeting he had witnessed between Leora and her mother. Their interaction had been strange, filled with undercurrents he couldn't quite decipher.
Lost in thought, Cyrus failed to notice the queen's approach until she stood directly before him. Her beauty was breathtaking, the kind that could cloud even the most rational mind. He tilted his head to the side, attempting to regain his composure.
The queen smiled, reaching out to grasp his chin gently but firmly, forcing him to meet her gaze. "Memories are merely shards of our consciousness," she whispered, her breath warm against his ear. "Without unity, there can be no whole, and without a whole, there are no memories... Heed my words, darling."
Cyrus trembled, acutely aware of her proximity and the tingling sensation her words evoked. He blinked, and suddenly found himself alone in the room, the queen's presence vanished as if it had never been.
"I think... I should get some rest first," he said aloud, laughing nervously to himself as he left the infirmary.
In the days that followed, Cyrus threw himself into training. He spent countless hours working with his mustang and honing his mastery of levitate. The work was challenging, but he found himself improving at a rapid pace, his gaming experience proving unexpectedly useful in his interactions with the mustang.
Throughout this time, Leora remained conspicuously absent, never once appearing in the training grounds or the villa. To Cyrus's surprise, he found himself missing her presence. Unbidden, thoughts of her would drift into his mind, catching him off guard. During his rare breaks from training, he would shake his head vigorously, as if trying to dislodge these unwelcome musings.
"What are you doing?" he chided himself, even going so far as to slap his own cheek. "It's not the time for this."
He rationalized his preoccupation, telling himself it was only natural given the time they had spent together. Her lessons had been invaluable, after all. Still, he couldn't shake the feeling that something more was at play.
Time marched inexorably forward. Cyrus's arm healed, though he remained cautious with it. And then, at last, the day they had all been anticipating arrived. It was time for the annual hunt.
Cyrus found himself standing alongside a group of other youths on a raised platform. They were all dressed identically in form-fitting black attire, weapons at the ready. Glancing down, Cyrus noted the gray metallic bracelet adorning his left wrist, matching those worn by his fellow competitors.
Taking a deep breath, Cyrus felt his heart rate accelerate, a potent cocktail of adrenaline and anticipation coursing through his veins. The moment of truth had arrived, but uncertainty gnawed at him. Would he be able to see this through to the end? He couldn't be sure.