Irien answered this time, her voice low but steady, as though repeating a truth she'd had to accept long ago. "We take energy from awakeners when we're close to them. That's why we're supposed to keep our distance."
"And Father…" Irish's voice cracked, and she clutched the edge of the table as though it were the only thing holding her together. "He died because of us. Because of our energy. That's what they told us."
Irien's calm façade faltered, and her voice softened. "The plague weakened him, but they said our energy made it worse. We didn't mean to hurt him, but we did. And we can't…" She hesitated, glancing at Arlon. "We can't let it happen again."
Arlon's chest tightened as he took in their words. Their father had been gone for years, and yet they carried the weight of his death as though it had happened yesterday. The twins had barely been two years old when Ceil had died—how could they blame themselves for something so far beyond their control?
But they did. And no one had ever told them otherwise.
He forced his expression to soften, tilting his head slightly as if in understanding. "I see," he said carefully. "But you don't need to worry about me."
Irish blinked, her panic faltering. "W-We don't?"
"No," Arlon said, his tone calm and reassuring. "You see, I'm still... new to all this. My power hasn't fully stabilized yet—it's overflowing, honestly. If anything, you might be helping me keep it in check."
The twins exchanged a glance, uncertainty flickering in their eyes. "Are you sure?" Irish asked hesitantly. "We don't want to make you sick."
"Sick?" Arlon echoed, his brow furrowing. "Why would you think that?"
Irien lowered her gaze, her hands tightening in her lap. "Because of Father," she said softly. "He… he got sick because of us."
Irish's voice trembled as she added, "They told us he died because his body was too weak to handle it. The plague—it came from us. That's why we're not allowed to be close to anyone awakened. We don't want to hurt you the way we hurt him."
Arlon felt the weight of their guilt pressing against him like a tide threatening to pull him under.
So that's why they keep their distance, he realized. It's not out of fear or hesitation, but because they're worried they might hurt anyone who gets too close.
For a fleeting moment, he wondered if the real Arlon—if Ceil's true son—would have known what to say to ease their burden.
But he wasn't him. He wasn't their real brother. And yet, here they were, looking at him with a mixture of hope and fear, waiting for him to say something that would make it better.
His secret—the one thing that separated him from being an awakener—was what made him immune to their energy. They didn't know that. They couldn't know that. And in this moment, it didn't matter.
He pushed his own unease aside and met their gazes head-on. "Father didn't die because of you," he said, his voice steady and firm. "You were children. What happened wasn't your fault."
Irish opened her mouth to protest, but Arlon held up a hand. "And as for me," he continued, "I told you, my energy is overflowing. If anything, you're helping me. So stop worrying about hurting me. You're not going to."
The twins stared at him, their eyes wide and uncertain. Slowly, Irish nodded, though the tension in her shoulders hadn't fully eased.
"You really mean that?" she asked quietly. "We're not... hurting you?"
"You're not," Arlon said firmly. "And you won't."
For a moment, the only sound in the room was the crackle of the fire. Then Irish let out a shaky sigh, her lips curving into a small, tentative smile. "Okay," she whispered.
Irien nodded faintly, her expression unreadable. "Thank you," she said softly, though there was still a lingering edge of doubt in her voice.
Arlon leaned back in his chair, his sharp gaze softening as he looked at them. "No more apologies," he said, a faint hint of dry humor creeping into his tone. "Agreed?"
Irish sniffled, a faint blush rising to her cheeks. "Agreed," she murmured, ducking her head.
"Good," Arlon said, picking up the book again. "Now, let's get back to the story, shall we?"
The twins settled back into their seats, their earlier panic slowly fading. As Arlon resumed reading, the warmth of the fire filled the room once more, and the heavy atmosphere lightened, leaving behind something quieter, more fragile.
And though Arlon's voice was steady as he read aloud, his thoughts churned beneath the surface. The twins' words echoed in his mind—about their father, about their energy, about the blame they carried.
He wasn't their real brother. He wasn't an awakener. But for now, they didn't need to know that. For now, all that mattered was being there for them in the only way he could.
And yet… no one had told him. He hadn't known the full extent of their condition, hadn't known the burden they quietly bore. Dimitri must have known—must have deliberately chosen not to warn him. Arlon's jaw tightened at the thought.
Was it because he wanted me to see for myself? To force me into understanding them, rather than preparing me?
Even so, Arlon thought grimly, he can't keep withholding information like this. If I'm to protect them, I need to know everything. No more secrets.
Ace's voice flickered in his mind, dry and amused. "That was quite the performance, noble Arlon. You should consider the stage".
Arlon ignored him, his focus remaining on the twins. He wasn't the original Arlon. He wasn't even an awakener. But for the first time, that didn't feel like a failure. It felt like a choice—a choice to be the brother they needed, even if it was in his own way.
Creak—
A soft knock at the door pulled them out of the moment. The door creaked open, revealing one of the castle maids. She stepped in hesitantly, but her gaze quickly landed on Arlon. Her eyes widened in surprise before she lowered her head in a deep bow.
"My Lord," she said respectfully, her voice steady. "Dinner has been prepared."
The twins exchanged a quick glance, their somber expressions brightening ever so slightly.
"Thank you," Irish said with a polite smile, while Irien gave a small nod in acknowledgment.
Arlon straightened in his chair but didn't move to join them. Instead, he spoke calmly, his voice measured. "You two should go ahead. I have something to take care of first."
Irish hesitated for a moment, her gaze lingering on him, but Irien gently tugged her arm. Together, they stepped out of the library, their soft footsteps fading down the hall.
Once the twins were gone, Arlon rose from his chair, his movements deliberate, and walked toward the door. Standing just outside was Dimitri, ever composed and waiting silently like a shadow.
Without looking at him, Arlon spoke, his voice low but edged with an unmistakable sharpness. "Next time, don't keep things from me. If you knew about their condition, you should have told me."
Dimitri lowered his head in apology, his tone calm yet filled with genuine regret. "Forgive me, my lord. I believed it would be better for you to discover it on your own… to spend time with them without preconceived notions clouding your perception."
Arlon exhaled softly, a hint of amusement in the sound, though his gaze remained fixed ahead. "Your intentions are noted. But from now on, Dimitri, I expect you to inform me of everything. If you wish to remain by my side, there can be no more secrets."
Dimitri straightened, his expression firm. "Understood, my lord. I will not withhold anything from you again."
Satisfied, Arlon began walking down the hallway, his boots echoing softly against the stone floor. Behind him, Ace leapt down from the library table and followed silently, his ribbon swaying slightly with each step.
Step— Step—
The castle's dimly lit halls stretched out before them, but Arlon's mind lingered on the words exchanged with the twins and Dimitri. The quiet hum of their emotions remained, subtle yet persistent, as though the weight of their pasts now brushed against his own.
————
The sun dipped low over the castle, spilling a golden light across the stone courtyard. Shadows stretched long, blending into the soft hum of the evening breeze. Arlon walked with measured steps, his eyes fixed ahead.
He hadn't planned this visit—at least not consciously.
But Lawrence's quiet tension during their last meeting had stuck with him, lingering at the edges of his thoughts like an unanswered question.The young man was usually steady, carrying an air of determination that made him seem older than his years.
Yet lately, Arlon had noticed a faint tension in his shoulders, a weight he clearly didn't want to share.
As Arlon turned the corner, he came to an abrupt halt. There they were—Lawrence, Alice, and Anthony—huddled together near the edge of the training grounds. Their voices carried in hushed tones, but there was a liveliness to their expressions that hadn't been there before.
Laughter carried on the wind, soft and unguarded. Alice leaned into Anthony with a playful nudge, her voice laced with teasing.
"You? Fix a sword? You'd probably break it even more."