Allen walked into the throne room with a steady gait, his eyes fixed on his father, Owen, who sat on the throne, a tense look on his face. His father's gaze was sharp, searching, demanding an explanation.
"Allen, you have to tell me what happened that day," Owen said, his voice firm but tinged with frustration. "You've been silent for so long. I need to understand."
Allen stopped before him, his expression calm, unaffected by the pressure in his father's voice. "For fifteen years, you didn't care," Allen replied, his words deliberate and quiet. "Now, suddenly, you want answers? I'm sorry, but I've moved on from that. You didn't care enough back then."
Owen's jaw tightened, disbelief flashing across his face. "You think I'm asking now because it's convenient? I'm your father! This isn't just about me. It's about everything that happened."
Allen's gaze never wavered, his voice soft but cutting. "For years, I was left to figure things out on my own. No guidance, no support. Now you want to step in and demand explanations as if it means something. I don't have that connection with you anymore."
His father's frustration boiled over. "Allen, you owe me an answer! This... everything, the man who appeared, your involvement—"
"It's not about what I owe you," Allen interrupted, his voice unwavering. "It's about what you've never given me. And as for the rest... it was for her. My mother. For her, I did everything. You weren't there when she needed you. Now you want to question me?"
Owen's hand clenched into a fist, his anger rising. Before he could speak, Allen's words held steady in the air, unshaken by his father's wrath. The room grew tense, silence stretching between them.
Without warning, Owen surged forward in a blur of motion, pressing Allen hard against the stone wall. The impact cracked the stone, but Allen didn't flinch. His eyes met Owen's with quiet defiance, his chest pressed against the cold stone.
"I'm not a child anymore," Allen said, his voice low but strong. "You can throw me around, break my bones, but my words still stand. You can't take that from me."
As the shadows at Owen's feet began to twist and grow, engulfing him in a dark mass, Allen's calm never faltered. Owen disappeared into the shadows, leaving only the empty space between them. Allen stood motionless, rubbing his neck with a quiet sigh.
James Staton stepped into the bar, the dim glow of hanging lamps casting a haze over the room. He walked up to the counter and took a seat, the bartender turning toward him with the usual, practiced greeting. "What can I get you?"
James glanced around the bar before answering, his voice flat. "I'll have two drinks."
The bartender nodded, immediately getting to work. Just then, the door swung open, and Ian strolled in, a woman at his side. He held her by the waist, but with a casual motion, let her slip away as she left the bar. Ian spotted James and made his way over, offering a wide grin. "What's up, mate?"
James didn't bother to return the smile. He leaned in slightly, his voice low. "We need to talk, in private."
Ian chuckled and shook his head. "You've just walked in. Take two more, three probably four, and we'll talk. Relax a bit first."
James didn't entertain the suggestion. "Now," he insisted, his tone growing sterner.
Ian shrugged, clearly not fazed, and motioned for James to follow him outside. They stepped into the cool night air, the sound of the city alive around them. Ian pulled out a device from his jacket pocket. It was small, sleek, and oddly unremarkable, save for the bright green button on the side. "The Quiet-ifier," Ian said, pressing the button with a smirk.
James' eyes narrowed. "You left a huge mess behind, Ian. Not only did that man die, but we found out he was with the Poison Mercenaries. And now the royal guards are going to be on our backs—on your necks, too."
Ian didn't seem concerned, still holding the same easy smile. "So what? We did your dirty work, and you're still holding out on our payment."
James felt a tightness in his chest, his patience thinning. "What exactly are we paying for here? You've left us with the clean-up."
Ian's smirk didn't falter, but his words cut deeper. "Mate, we're doing the job. Why are you complaining now?"
Frustration finally overtook James. He reached for the hilt of his sword, stepping toward Ian. But before he could pull it, Ian raised his hand, a knowing grin playing on his lips. "Now, now, James, remember where we are." He deactivated the Quiet-ifier and tucked it back into his pocket.
James clenched his fist, furious, when a stone suddenly flew toward him, hitting him in the shoulder. Then more followed, each strike faster and harder. "Help!" he shouted, but his voice was swallowed by the crowd, and no one came to his aid.
The pool area was lawless, a place ruled by its own. Official authority meant nothing here—if you entered, you did so at your own peril.
Ian entered the bar with his usual swagger, his eyes locking onto a woman sitting at the counter. She was with a man, but Ian didn't care. He moved toward her, his smile predatory as he leaned down and kissed her on the lips. It was a slow, deliberate kiss, his hand trailing down her side as he made sure the man noticed.
The man, obviously irritated, stood up from his seat, ready to confront Ian. But Ian didn't flinch. In one smooth motion, he reached out, grabbing the man by the shoulders, his grip firm yet calculated.
"Sit down," Ian murmured, his voice low and commanding, though his tone was laced with amusement.
With a gentle but unyielding force, Ian guided the man back onto the seat, pressing him down with a calmness that betrayed his true strength. The man tried to resist, but Ian's grip didn't budge. "This isn't your fight," Ian said, his grin widening as he looked back at the woman, still close to him. "She's not yours to defend."
The woman's eyes flickered between Ian and the man, a mix of surprise and intrigue in her gaze, while Ian remained cool and unfazed. He casually moved his hand from her waist, giving the man one last glance before turning his attention back to her. "You're free to go if you'd like," he said, his voice a playful dare.