CHAPTER 93: YOU ARE NOT GOOD MEN.

His father’s embrace, this brief show of affection, cracked through the armor he had so carefully built. His hardened gaze, the brutal mask of a warrior, faltered. The familiar coldness in his eyes softened, and for the first time, a flicker of something raw and vulnerable glistened in his pupils, bright as burning steel.

And as he closed his eyes, he felt a warmth that had been foreign to him all his life, a warmth that made his heart ache even as it healed.

For beneath the prince’s cold precision, beneath the strategist’s cunning, was a son who, for the first time since he could remember, was held not as a warrior, not as a pawn—nor a king he fought so hard to be, but simply as a son.

A son who made his father proud.

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Xavier held Aric close for a moment longer, the silence between them heavy with years of unspoken truths. Finally, he let go, stepping back slowly, his hand lingering on Aric’s shoulder.

In the brief pause before Xavier released him fully, Aric’s expression shifted, sealing back into the stoic mask he wore so well. The flicker of vulnerability was gone, buried under cold calm, his face unreadable.

Xavier noticed, his brow lifting slightly. He gave Aric’s shoulder a final squeeze, a small, wry smile tugging at his lips.

"You’ll make a fine emperor," he murmured, the words carrying a weight that left no room for doubt.

He turned, pacing toward a table at the edge of the chamber. His hand passed over the carved wood, fingers brushing a dusty relic resting atop it—a small stone artifact etched with markings worn by time.

He picked it up, turning it thoughtfully, the surface gleaming dully in the lamplight.

Without looking at Aric, he spoke again.

"But to be emperor..." he paused, his gaze distant, "takes more than merely the strength or skill to rule."

Aric followed him, his footsteps soft, his eyes sharp.

"What more does it take, then?" he asked, his voice low, restrained.

Xavier turned, his eyes glinting with something unfathomable, as though he peered through Aric, through the very walls, seeing a path only he could glimpse.

"That," he said, his voice like a stone cast into still water, "is something you’ll need to find on your own."

Aric’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing. He waited, a taut quiet filling the space between them.

Xavier continued, his words deliberate.

"The steps one man takes to greatness may drag another into ruin. Each of you, you and your brothers, have your own roads to walk. The destination may be the same, but the paths... some demand blood, others betrayal. The choices you carve with your own hands—that is what deems you worthy, or..." He trailed off, a shadow of sadness in his eyes.

"...unworthy."

Silence cloaked the room, heavy as stone. Aric’s gaze did not waver, but something shifted in his stance, a thought flickering behind his eyes. At last, he spoke, his voice so quiet it barely broke the air.

"Do you...do you think I can do it?" His words were simple, yet burdened with a thousand doubts. "Become emperor?"

Xavier studied him, eyes never leaving his son’s face. For a moment, the mask of emperor slipped, leaving only a father who looked at his son with unrelenting intensity.

"Yes."

A breath escaped Aric’s lips, though he caught himself before relief could betray him. He chuckled, the sound edged with bitterness.

"Did you tell my brothers that too?"

Xavier’s expression held firm. "Yes."

Aric stiffened, annoyance flashing across his face. "So, what is it?" he demanded, frustration simmering in his voice. "What do we all have that makes us...worthy of this throne?"

Xavier turned the artifact in his hand, tracing its jagged edges with his thumb, his gaze far away.

"The ruthless desperation of a man hungry for power."

The words struck like stones.

"Each of you, every one of my sons, has that hunger—that gnawing, unyielding need." He raised his eyes to Aric’s, his face hard, his gaze cold and calculating. "None of you are good men—and that is precisely what makes you capable of ruling."

A faint chill traced Aric’s spine, though he kept his composure. The emperor’s words carried a conviction that pressed like iron.

"To rule Valeria, you cannot afford the weakness of goodness or compassion. This throne demands something else—a readiness to be both judge and executioner, to wield mercy as sparingly as a blade. It requires a pragmatic evil."

He set the relic back on the table and turned fully to face his son, his expression sharp and appraising.

"But you," he said quietly, his gaze darkening, "you surprise me, boy."

Aric remained silent, though a muscle in his jaw twitched as he held his father’s gaze.

Xavier’s eyes narrowed, a glint of something darker flickering in their depths.

"Leading an army to raid and slaughter your own people. These were Valerian garrisons, imperial outposts—men sworn to this empire. And yet you marched against them. Your actions speak of boldness, a willingness to betray, simply to secure your goal...that I did not expect. So tell me, honestly..." He leaned closer, his voice dropping low.

"Is it true?"

Aric’s fists clenched, knuckles whitening. His breath came slow and steady as he forced himself to meet the emperor’s gaze. The silence stretched, taut as a blade’s edge. At last, he nodded.

"Yes."

Xavier’s face remained unreadable, though a faint crease formed between his brows. "Then," he said, his voice low and ominous, "I should kill you where you stand. That is the price of treason."

A chill surged through Aric’s veins, though he forced calm, refusing to yield, even as the words crushed against his chest. The sheer force of his father’s presence—his ki, his authority—pressed like a mountain looming, ready to collapse.

But then, just as swiftly, Xavier sighed, faint weariness softening his face. He shook his head, almost to himself.

"I should have done a great many things," he murmured, his voice trailing into a quiet confession, weary and hollow.

The words lingered, heavy with the weight of choices made, of sacrifices carved, of paths that had led them both here—to this chamber, to this moment.