CHAPTER 90: CAUGHT IN THE MIDDLE

Sure enough, Kael decided to check the vault himself.

The moment he stepped inside, the air shifted.

Gold stretched out like a literal sea, coins piled high in glittering dunes, their surfaces catching the faint glow of runes etched into the walls. Enchanted boxes lined the perimeter, each humming faintly with spells for safekeeping, stacked neatly as though the wealth of dragons was meant to look both eternal and untouchable.

He barely spared it a glance.

His attention moved instead to the part hidden beneath all of it—the section only dragon lords had access to. Restricted artifacts. Objects that no ordinary dragon should even glimpse. The entrance wasn’t flashy. Secluded, tucked away almost too quietly, with a simple basin carved into black stone. All it required was a single drop of dragon blood to grant entry.

And yet, the moment he approached, his nose twitched.

Blood.

Not fresh, not clean. Thick, metallic, stale enough to have sunk into the stone itself. The stench clung to the air.

Kael frowned. A drop was all that was needed. Every dragon lord knew this. Then why did the entire place reek of it, as though someone had spilled more than they should have?

Did the culprit not know how to use the gate properly? Or had they panicked, pouring blood into the basin with the misguided belief that more meant faster access? Either way, they had known enough to get this far, but not enough to understand restraint.

He pressed his palm to the carved basin, letting a bead of his own blood slip into the groove. Runes flared faintly, and the stone door opened with an ancient groan.

Inside, the shelves stood bare and orderly, as though untouched. But Kael’s eyes went immediately to the artifact’s pedestal.

It was there. Sitting neatly where it should have been.

Except it wasn’t.

At a glance, it looked convincing. Enough that no dragon would dare test it. Not when the artifact’s nature was known, its very purpose too dangerous to toy with. To most, simply seeing it in place would be enough reassurance.

But not for him.

He had already seen the real one. On Orien’s body.

The thing on the pedestal was a fake.

Which only confirmed what he had suspected from the start—this was no accident. Someone had planned it. Premeditated, deliberate, and careful enough to cover nearly every trace.

Nearly.

Aside from the stench of excess blood and the clumsy marks on the basin, there was nothing. No mana traces, no lingering presence, no evidence left to collect.

Kael’s jaw tightened. They didn’t exactly uncover everything.

But with something like this, it looked like it was time to leave this wretched place.

He returned to fetch Riley, fully prepared to depart—only to stop short.

Because the sight that greeted him was the human aide surrounded by two overeager dragons.

His voice cut sharp through the air. "Mother. Father. What is the meaning of this?"

Because Kael had the ability to port himself directly to the vault’s entrance, his arrival brought him back to the exact spot he’d left from. Which, unfortunately, meant he reappeared like a thunderclap in the middle of his own parents hovering over Riley.

The timing was so bad it almost looked staged.

The human yelped, nearly flinging the pillow he’d been nervously clutching. Lord Karion jerked upright like someone had caught him with his hand in the cookie jar. Lady Cirila, regal as ever, still managed a startled gasp. And Kael, for a brief moment, wondered if he had accidentally ported into the wrong dimension—because why was his aide sitting on the bed like he was gossiping with his parents?

His gaze zeroed in on Riley first.

The aide had that awkward expression that lived somewhere between a sour smile and a desperate "please don’t kill me." He even had a hand raised, half-wave, half-surrender, as if greeting Kael with a guilty "hi" while silently begging for extraction.

Kael’s eyes narrowed. Just what, exactly, was happening here?

Not that Riley could explain. Even if he wanted to, how was he supposed to put into words the mindset of Lord Karion and Lady Cirila?

Well, actually, it wasn’t that complicated. Since earlier, the pair had been circling him for three reasons.

First, out of concern. Understandable. Something that even ancient dragons found difficult to resist had just happened, and Riley was the most fragile being in the room. Who wouldn’t worry?

Second, intense curiosity. Because really, the last time they’d spoken, it was about the dissolution of a life debt. Now? The very next moment, they were hearing whispers of Kael and Riley. Together was expected; Riley was Kael’s aide. But together-together? That was the kind of miracle no one had placed bets on.

At least, not anyone who knew the reality of things.

And third, they wanted to ask about his plans. His feelings. Because if, by some miracle, those two really were entangled, they figured it was worth checking whether Riley had actually forgiven Kael. After all, their son could look like he’d moved on, but appearances could be deceiving. Just as how Riley had been able to hide all his grievances for so long.

Neither were exactly upfront about anything. But Kael wouldn’t need that much help just to keep breathing in the literal sense. But Riley was different. If ever he needed an escape hatch, who better than them to face Kael’s wrath?

Not that they were sure they could hold him off, but they definitely had the best odds.

Oh—and there was the dessert. The flan Riley had brought earlier. While a tiny reason, it was reason enough for them to stick around.

And so they had probed.

And Riley had prayed for survival.

Because how was he supposed to answer questions about forgiveness, feelings, and whatever-this-relationship-was? Forgive Kael? The man had committed another transgression just recently! Forgiveness?

Ha. Cough, cough.

He managed to squeak out that they were currently focused on their investigation and couldn’t think about anything else. It was neat, diplomatic, and absolutely ignored the glint in the golden dragons’ eyes that said they weren’t buying it.

But of course, wanting to end the topic didn’t mean the topic would end.

When asked if he needed help, he had very nearly cried out, Yes, I need assistance—better yet, extraction!

Because being Kael’s aide was one thing. Being Kael’s alleged romantic partner? Entirely unfair.

So he had prepared to request something safer—assistance with materials about sigils. He even opened his mouth to say, "Well, about the—"

And that was when Kael appeared.

Startled, the words derailed out of his mouth into a single panicked blurt: "Flan!"

He immediately wished the floor would swallow him. He’d meant to say sigils. Instead, he had promised to bring them more flan next time.

Kael’s brow arched high. Riley almost jumped, then realized—wait.

He hadn’t done anything wrong. Why was he the one panicking? He straightened his spine, adjusting his posture, even though he was still stuck sitting on the bed with ancient dragons fussing around him like he was their stray hatchling.

Kael’s voice cut sharp. "Mother. Father. We have to go now."

"What?! Now? It hasn’t even been a full day. Barely a few hours," Lady Cirila protested, fully expecting her son to run at first light as usual.

But Kael was prepared. "Mother, it’s Orien’s actual birthday today, isn’t it? Shouldn’t we return so he isn’t left alone?"

"Oh. Yes, yes, that is true!" Cirila immediately shifted tones, clasping her hands. "We’ve prepared something for him. Since we cannot go ourselves without drawing suspicion, please take this to him. And tell us if he needs anything else—money, supplies, whatever he asks."

That was touching. Genuine. Riley smiled softly, inclining his head. "He’s doing fine, My Lady. He’ll be thrilled to know of your well wishes. But Kael is right—he’s alone for now. And I still have the flan he’s been waiting for."

The ancient dragons exchanged a look, reluctant but resigned, and bid them well as they left. After all, Riley didn’t want that dragonling to spend his birthday alone.

But then again... what was worse than a lone dragonling?

Maybe one who found himself an uncanny playmate.

Or a fan. Depending on who you ask.