CHAPTER 112: WRINKLY HYPOCRISY

At least he was with the boss. That was the one silver lining Riley clung to as he stood there, watching two children drag out their goodbyes like oceans, wars, and the cruel hand of fate were about to separate them forever.

Thinking about it now, had Kael not been here, how exactly was he supposed to explain the extreme delay in leaving? "Sorry, late for work, the kids had a farewell ceremony."

It wasn’t just any goodbye, either. It was tearful, theatrical, and carried all the gravity of two emperors splitting kingdoms.

"Lord Orien, please remember," Liam sniffled earnestly as he clutched Orien’s claws, "don’t drink all the soda in one go. If your stomach hurts, burping will help. Mom says it’s better out than in!"

Riley pressed a hand to his face. Good lord.

"And... and don’t forget the animals in the barn. You have to brush them. And talk to them. You said they like it when you talk, right? Until the hearts come out for everyone, you have to check on all of them! Even the one with the evil eyes! Promise me!"

It was so sweet that Riley nearly choked. The boy was dead serious, giving instructions like he was entrusting his entire legacy to the dragonling.

But what floored Riley was Orien’s response. The little tyrant actually answered back.

"Inspect the fort," Orien ordered, voice edged like a miniature CEO, actually exactly like his uncle, who was sending an underling off to battle. "Do not let that man who came to the house inside. Uncle says he stays outside. No matter what. So even if he knocks, just ignore him."

Liam nodded furiously, eyes wide with sincerity.

"And," Orien continued, lowering his voice as if delivering state secrets, "don’t go out. Whatever happens. Stay inside. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Lord Orien!" Liam beamed, chest puffed out like he’d just been knighted.

Riley had to admit—it was adorable. A baby dragon and a human child, giving each other exaggerated yet heartfelt orders. One sounded like a miniature corporate overlord, the other like the most honest farm boy the world had ever seen. Somehow, it worked.

Honestly, it was one hell of a goodbye. Longer and more dramatic than the one Riley had given Liam and his parents combined. At this rate, Orien could’ve passed for Liam’s actual brother.

Still, Riley made sure to slide in his own reminder, serious enough to cut through the children’s theatrics. "No one else should be entering the estate for now. Be wary. And if anything happens, or if you need anything, contact me through the method I told you about."

Both children nodded, solemn-faced despite their red noses and watery eyes.

Riley sighed. It was exhausting. And they hadn’t even left yet.

But surprisingly, instead of going outside, Orien froze when he noticed the group wasn’t heading toward the contraption they used before.

"???"

His little golden eyes went wide, his tail twitching. Hadn’t he been promised a proper sulking session in the car ride home? He had been prepared to press his face against the window dramatically, to sigh at least three times, and make his uncle feel guilty.

But no. Apparently not.

Because Kael had already finished with the gate, which meant the trip back to the Ministry was near instant.

The baby dragon, who thought he had time to mope, suddenly found himself back in the familiar halls with a single step.

But fortunately, he was not alone in feeling terrible, as one aide was sure he disliked this mode of travel. Apparently, it was enough to make Riley sway, stomach lurching.

Not again.

Thankfully, it only lasted a moment this time, though he still pressed his palm against the wall and muttered about how he deserved hazard pay just for "gate-induced nausea."

Orien, however, had no patience for human fragility. His tiny jaw tightened as he crossed his arms, clearly taking this very seriously. After all, his Uncle Kael said he’d be allowed to leave if he finished quickly.

"So who do I have to identify?" he asked, voice firm, chin tilted up like a general commanding troops.

Riley looked from Orien to Kael, seeking the tiniest nod of permission, before crouching down to the dragonling’s eye level.

"Lord Orien," Riley began gently, "I’m going to show you photos of people. If possible, tell us what they usually do for you. And among them... who was the last one you interacted with?"

Orien blinked once, then slowly nodded. He had a hunch. They must have discovered something during that visit to the clan.

The boy explained that he had seen all of them before, but normally, the servants had assigned duties.

"At that time," Orien said, pointing at one photo, "it was Orun. He’s the one. A thick barrel-chested dwarf. Ruddy brown skin. Beard cropped short."

Riley’s brows rose. Orun? That was one of the ones with the correct sigil. If it was him, then did it not have something to do with the sigils? Was the earlier assumption about intent the way to go?

"Normally, would Orun be the one to bring you your meals?" Riley asked.

"Yes. And I remember him because he always smelled like he was burning. His beard ends were always singed, probably from the kitchen flames."

Riley tapped his chin. Then...

He swiped to a few more photos, pointing one out. "And this one?"

"Hmmm, that’s the one assigned to the noisy females. Always with them." Orien pointed decisively at the picture of a merfolk female. Riley, to his credit, resisted the urge to look at Kael and gauge his reaction.

"And this one?"

"That one only comes when something needs building. I think maintenance." Orien waved a claw at another dwarf. This one, unlike Orun, had the wrong sigil.

"And Lord Orien, what about this one?" Riley pressed, turning his phone slightly.

Orien tilted his head, squinting. "That one’s the cook. Someone once complained about the food, and he was the one who came to ask about it."

Tavos. Serpent-kin. Dusky green skin. Long black hair. Narrow golden eyes.

Bingo.

Now that was something.

The boy’s task seemed complete, so Orien lifted his chin proudly and asked, "Well, I’ve identified them all. Then I can come back already, right?"

"Not yet. There’s still a stack here."

The dragonling’s jaw dropped. Shock radiated off him in waves.

Who were these people even?!

"I already identified the ones I know!" Orien complained, stomping one tiny foot. "Why can’t I go back already?"

"Because," Riley said smoothly, stacking the photos, "This task is really something only you could do. Also, absence makes the heart grow fonder. When you return, they’ll miss you more, and you’ll have more to talk and bond about."

Orien’s brows furrowed deeply, his stubby arms crossing again. His little body seemed to swell with righteous indignation as he declared, "How is that true when Uncle doesn’t even let you go far? How can old wrinkly people talk about absence when they don’t practice what they preach?!"

The words landed like a thunderclap.

Silence.

Kael’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly. Riley’s mouth fell open. For a moment, it seemed both adults in the room had been stunned by the small, overbearing pose of one tiny dragon who looked ready to lead an uprising with his stubby arms and puffed chest.

And Riley, this aghast one, could only gape and think, Who in the world taught this child to talk like that?!