The room was cloaked in a heavy stillness, the kind that pressed down on Luca's chest like a weight. The faint glow of the lantern on the desk flickered, its shadows stretching across the walls like watchful eyes. He sat across from Aurelia, her sharp gaze fixed sharply on him, colder than any winter wind.

Her lips parted, her tone low yet cutting.

"What… Did you say?"

Luca's scalp tingled, the hair at the nape of his neck prickling as though danger itself lingered in the air. He forced a smile, though it faltered almost instantly.

"Ah—I meant… not kidnap," he stammered, his voice unsteady. "She… needed my help."

Aurelia didn't blink. Her glare hardened, her words biting as they cut through the silence.

"Her Majesty. The Empress of the Empire. The strongest woman in the world… needed your help?"

His throat went dry. His palms curled into fists in his lap, nails digging against his skin. "I… I mean my ability," he said quickly. "The visions."

He cursed inwardly. Damn it… why does it feel so terrifying? I said I'd tell her the truth, wouldn't lie to her but now… maybe it's better if I don't leave somethings out.

But Aurelia's expression shifted—no longer blazing, but coldly calm, as if weighing whether his words had merit. She leaned slightly forward, her voice steady yet stern.

"What visions?"

Luca winced, realizing he had never truly explained this part of himself to her. He scratched at his temple nervously, his tone almost sheepish.

"Ah… I haven't told you this either, have I?"

And so he spoke.

About the strange glimpses of the past he had when threatened. About how Her Majesty had come to him in the night, taking him to the forbidden region—presumed to be where the Devil Emperor had once fallen. He told her of the corrupted beasts, their grotesque forms writhing in malice, and the broken humans who had long since lost themselves. He told her of the storm—though he carefully avoided mentioning how he entered the past in the hurricane

Then, the revelation of how it's not vision, but actually time travelling, how he met Rolph Dragonair. A past Hero, the ancestor of the Imperial family, and Luca's own bloodline tangled in that legacy. He recounted the battles, the visions of war, the things he had witnessed that no one else would believe.

And when his words finally slowed, his voice cracked under the weight of them. His shoulders slumped as though the act of speaking had drained him.

"I tried to convince them," he muttered, staring at the floorboards. "But… they wouldn't listen."

A silence spread. Thick. Suffocating.

When Aurelia finally spoke, her voice was trembling—not from fear, but from anger and hurt.

"You… Why didn't you ask me? Or tell me any of this? Do I mean nothing to you?"

Her words cut deeper than any blade.

Luca's head snapped up, guilt flashing in his eyes. He searched for an excuse, something—anything—that could soften the pain on her face. But the truth sat bitter on his tongue.

Why didn't I tell her? He knew the answer, though it shamed him. Because, deep down, some part of him still believed only the Hero's party mattered. That the so-called golden generation—the first years—were the true hope for this world. And that Aurelia… no matter how strong, no matter how much she had proven herself, had been placed in the shadows of his own arrogance.

His chest tightened. His voice was low.

"I… am sorry."

No excuses. No explanations. Just the raw truth of regret.

But Aurelia's eyes blazed with frustration, her lips pressed into a thin line as if holding back more words that might have shattered him further. She turned sharply, the soft rustle of her dress filling the silence as she stormed out of his room without another glance.

"Aurelia—!"

Luca jolted to his feet, panic surging through him. He rushed after her, his voice desperate, cracking at the edges as it echoed down the corridor.

"I'm sorry… Aurelia!"

But her footsteps didn't falter.

Luca sighed, running his fingers through his hair as though trying to tear away the frustration clinging to him.

"I'll… have to make it up to her later," he muttered under his breath, guilt sitting heavy in his chest. "Once she's calmed down."

Dragging his weary body back to the dorm, he collapsed onto his bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. His thoughts churned, sharp and unrelenting.

Why is nothing going well today? Am I really supposed to save this world… to defeat that damn Devil Emperor, when I can't even handle something as simple as this?

His chest tightened, and the weight inside finally broke free in a raw shout.

"Ahhhhhhhhhh… fuckkkkkk!"

The outburst echoed against the quiet dorm walls, leaving a hollow silence in its wake. He lay there, chest heaving, when an idea flickered in his mind. Maybe he needed something—someone—to distract him, even just for a little while.

With a thought, he summoned her.

A soft flash of light, and the baby dragon appeared—plopping down onto his bed like a little puffball with horns, her tiny hands fluttering as she tilted her head at him.

Luca's lips twitched despite himself. He reached out, tickling her round belly. She squealed—if dragons could squeal—and flailed her little legs, making a sound that was somewhere between a chirp and a giggle.

"Haha, stop wriggling, you little troublemaker," he chuckled, laughing for the first time that day. The sound felt strange, but good.

For a few minutes, he let himself sink into the simple joy of her company, the way her bright eyes shone without judgment, without expectation. And yet… the tension still lingered beneath his skin, stubborn and sharp.

With a long breath, he sat up, scooping her into his arms.

"…Guess even you can't calm me down fully today, huh?" he murmured, pressing his forehead gently against hers.

Carefully setting her back on the bed, he stood and stretched, rolling his shoulders.

"If nothing else, I can at least work off this restless energy."

His expression hardened. He had already missed training once today—and that, he couldn't afford.

Pulling on his boots, Luca stepped out into the cool night air, deciding to go for a run before hitting the training grounds. Maybe the burn in his muscles, the sting of exertion, would silence the storm inside his mind.

Luca ran.

Around the training grounds, his footsteps pounded against the earth like war drums. His lungs burned, his throat felt raw, but he didn't stop. Every stride was an attempt to outrun the frustration clawing at his chest. Sweat poured down his face, dripping into his eyes, but he barely noticed.

At last, he skidded to a halt, gasping, and drew his twin sabers. The blades hissed as they left their scabbards, gleaming in the dim light. He slashed the first saber through the air, then the second, his movements sharp and violent.

Parry. Slash. Spin. Strike.

Each motion came faster than the last, his blades singing as they cut through the night air. He threw his whole weight behind every swing, the force so great that tremors ran up his arms. His frustration poured into the steel—resentment, helplessness, the suffocating pressure of responsibility.

He imagined enemies before him and struck them down with merciless precision. He thrust, he blocked invisible blows, he swung until sparks flew where the sabers grazed against each other. His body screamed in protest, but his heart still throbbed louder.

"Not enough," he muttered between clenched teeth.

So he pushed harder. Faster. Again. Again.

The ground bore his fury, grass shredded under his relentless footwork, the air itself seemed to wail at his strikes. By the time his chest heaved and his grip began to falter, his arms trembled like he'd fought a real battle.

But the tension remained, festering in his core.

So Luca ran again. This time, not bound by the circle of the training grounds. He bolted into the open, sprinting with no destination, letting his legs carry him where his mind refused to settle.

And without realizing it, he found himself at the edge of a silent lake. Its surface rippled gently under the moonlight, the night air far too calm compared to his storm.

"Hmm?" a voice sounded out across the stillness. "It seems you're frustrated about something this time, huh?"

Luca's head turned sharply. A violet-haired woman stood there, her presence as unshaken as the water.

He let out a long, weary sigh. Why do I always end up here… whenever I'm not feeling good?