The evening was unusually quiet in the palace, the halls dimly lit by flickering sconces. The usual hum of activity—the clinking of silver trays, the soft murmur of servants’ voices—was notably absent, leaving an almost eerie stillness in its wake. Soren, unable to sleep, wandered through the halls, his thoughts heavy with the tension that had become his constant companion.

He was startled when a guard intercepted him outside the western wing, his face unreadable. “The emperor has summoned you,” the man said, his tone clipped.

Soren’s stomach twisted. The last time Kairos had summoned him, their interaction had been tense and guarded. What could the emperor want now, so late in the evening? Nodding, Soren followed the guard, his soft footsteps echoing in the silence.

Kairos’s private study was a room Soren had seen before, but it always struck him anew with its somber elegance. The dark wood paneling, sparse furnishings, and faint smell of parchment and leather gave it a sense of severity. Tonight, however, the atmosphere was different. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting warm, dancing shadows on the walls.

Kairos stood by the window, his back to the room, one hand resting on the windowsill while the other cradled a glass of dark wine. His posture, though as rigid as ever, seemed weighed down by something invisible.

The guard gestured for Soren to enter, then closed the door behind him, leaving the two of them alone. Soren hesitated, unsure if he should speak, but before he could decide, Kairos’s voice broke the silence.

“Do you know why I called you here?”

“No, Your Majesty,” Soren replied cautiously.

Kairos turned, his piercing blue eyes meeting Soren’s gaze. There was something different in his expression tonight—an almost imperceptible weariness, as though the armor he wore so effortlessly was beginning to crack.

“Sit,” Kairos said, motioning to one of the chairs near the fireplace.

Soren obeyed, folding his hands in his lap to hide their slight trembling. He couldn’t tell if this was another test or something else entirely.

Kairos took a seat across from him, setting his glass on the small table between them. For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The only sound was the faint pop of the fire.

“Do you know much about my mother?” Kairos asked suddenly, his voice quieter than usual.

The question caught Soren off guard. “Only what I’ve heard in passing,” he admitted. “That she was... beloved by the people.”

Kairos gave a humorless chuckle, leaning back in his chair. “Beloved, yes. A paragon of grace and wisdom, or so the stories go. But the reality was far more complicated.”

Soren watched him carefully, unsure where this was going. Kairos’s gaze was distant, as though he were staring at something far beyond the room.

“She was the one who taught me what it meant to rule,” Kairos continued. “Not my father. He was a figurehead—a shadow of a man more interested in feasts and hunting than governance. My mother, on the other hand, was relentless. She saw the world for what it was: ruthless, unforgiving. She believed strength was the only thing that mattered.”

Kairos paused, his jaw tightening. “She was right, of course. But strength comes at a cost.”

“What kind of cost?” Soren asked softly.

Kairos’s eyes flicked to him, sharp and assessing. For a moment, Soren thought he wouldn’t answer. But then Kairos leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

“When I was twelve, she was betrayed by the very people she trusted most—her inner circle, the ones who swore to protect her. They conspired against her, undermined her authority, and ultimately led her to her death.”

Soren’s chest tightened. He had never heard this version of the story before. The official accounts painted Empress Rhea’s death as a tragic accident, not the result of treachery.

“I watched it happen,” Kairos said, his voice low and bitter. “I watched them take her from me, and there was nothing I could do. That was the day I learned the truth about loyalty. It’s a lie—a convenient illusion people cling to until it no longer serves them.”

Kairos’s words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken emotion. Soren sat in silence, unsure how to respond.

“She taught me to trust no one,” Kairos continued. “And yet, she trusted the wrong people. Her failure cost her everything, and it left me to clean up the mess.”

Soren hesitated before speaking. “That must have been... unbearable.”

Kairos’s lips twitched, but it wasn’t quite a smile. “It shaped me into who I am today. Everything I do, every decision I make, is because of what I learned that day. Weakness is a death sentence. Trust is a liability.”

Soren felt a pang of sympathy, but he knew better than to voice it outright. “Do you really believe that? That there’s no one you can trust?”

Kairos’s gaze hardened. “Belief has nothing to do with it. It’s reality.”

Soren leaned forward slightly, his green eyes searching Kairos’s. “But doesn’t that make you... lonely?”

The question hung between them like a knife. Kairos’s expression didn’t change, but something flickered in his eyes—something raw and vulnerable.

“Loneliness is a small price to pay for survival,” he said finally.

Soren frowned, his fingers curling against his palms. “But what’s the point of surviving if you shut everyone out? If you never let anyone in?”

Kairos’s jaw tightened, his hands clenching into fists on his knees. For a moment, Soren thought he might lash out, but instead, Kairos looked away, his gaze fixed on the fire.

“You speak as though you understand,” Kairos said quietly.

“I understand loss,” Soren replied. “I understand what it’s like to feel alone, to have everything you cared about ripped away. But I also know that shutting people out doesn’t make the pain go away. It just makes it worse.”

Kairos didn’t respond, but the silence felt charged, as though something unspoken was passing between them.

After a long pause, Kairos stood, his posture stiff. “You presume much, Soren. Perhaps too much.”

Soren rose as well, his heart pounding. “Maybe I do. But I think you need someone to remind you that strength isn’t the same as shutting everyone out.”

Kairos turned to him, his expression unreadable. “And what makes you think you’re qualified to offer such advice?”

Soren hesitated, then met Kairos’s gaze head-on. “Because I see you, Your Majesty. Not just the emperor, but the person behind the mask. And I don’t think you’re as cold as you want everyone to believe.”

Kairos’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t respond. Instead, he turned away, walking to the window and staring out into the night.

“You should go,” he said after a moment, his voice quieter now.

Soren hesitated, then nodded. “Goodnight, Your Majesty.”

As he left the study, Soren couldn’t help but feel that something had shifted between them. He didn’t know what it meant, but he knew one thing: Kairos wasn’t as impenetrable as he seemed.

That night, as he lay in bed, Soren replayed the conversation in his mind. He couldn’t shake the image of Kairos’s vulnerability, the crack in the emperor’s armor that he had glimpsed, however briefly.

For the first time, he began to wonder if he could reach Kairos—not as a consort or a pawn, but as someone who truly understood.

And for the first time, he allowed himself to hope that Kairos might let him in.