They remained outside the court for what felt like an eternity.

The guards were uncertain.

Some panicked, shifting their grips on their weapons, muscles coiling as if ready to strike. Others were rooted in place, frozen in disbelief.

Tenebrae did not move.

Did not flinch.

He stood, waiting, his green eyes steady, unafraid.

The courtyard of Nevermore remained still, yet charged—like the air before a storm.

The guards did not know what to do.

Some were old enough to remember.

Old enough to recall the prince before he became a Lich before his bones were stripped of flesh, before he was cast into a world that did not believe in his kind.

They were frozen in disbelief.

Some clenched their weapons, uncertain whether they should draw steel or kneel. Others stood motionless, their eyes flickering between recognition and suspicion.

The whispers had not stopped.

Servants loyal to kings long passed lingered in the shadows of the high walls, their gazes heavy with uncertainty.

Then—

A door groaned open, and the King’s Hand stepped forward.

A woman.

And not just any woman.

She was tall, powerful, and regal in her stance—a warrior clad in a long, flowing royal dress woven with deep violet and silver threads. Despite its elegance, her movement made it clear she was no fragile noble.

A great claymore rested against her back, its size nearly unnatural for a weapon wielded by a woman. But it did not slow her, nor did it seem to be for mere show.

She was busty and broad-shouldered, her body honed for battle, her presence as commanding as the throne she served.

Her emerald eyes flicked between Tenebrae and the guards, gauging them with a single glance.

“Enough.”

A single word.

And they obeyed.

She turned her gaze upon the dark prince, scrutinizing him for the briefest of moments before motioning toward the grand doors behind her.

“Come.”

She escorted them inside.

The inner court was unlike anything Eliza had expected.

She had braced for gothic opulence, for iron and stone, for the coldness of a throne carved from death itself.

Instead—

It was a world of water and life.

Grand fountains stretched like veins through the chamber, their crystalline waters cascading into pools of deep cerulean and violet.

Lush ferns and flowering vines wrapped around obsidian pillars, their petals glowing faintly under the dim light of enchanted lanterns.

The air smelled fresh. Not of decay, not of old blood or damp stone—but of rain-kissed lilies, of wild orchids that thrived in moonlight.

It was stunning. Untouched by ruin.

Opal’s breath hitched.

Her small hands gripped Eliza’s arm, eyes shimmering with wonder as she drank in the beauty of it all.

“I’ve never seen water this clean…” she whispered, almost to herself.

Not since she and her mother became unbound.

And then, she saw him.

The King.

Seated in the center of it all, partially submerged in a grand basin of dark waters, was a figure unlike any she had ever seen.

His long emerald-scaled tail shimmered beneath the surface, the light refracting off it in dazzling hues of green and silver.

His webbed hands moved slowly, almost deliberately, as though the act itself required immense effort.

Yet despite his paralyzed lower half, there was no weakness in him.

His chiseled chest was bare, his lean, powerful frame displayed without shame, his golden eyes piercing as they studied the intruders in his domain.

A crown rested upon his brow, forged from silver so dark it was almost black, its delicate design reminiscent of raven wings unfurled in flight.

A ruler of both sea and sky.

Eliza’s heart pounded.

“A… Merman?” she blurted without thinking.

The King did not react.

But the King’s Hand turned to him, bowing her head.

“My King…”

The paralyzed Undine nodded once, signaling her silence.

The court remained unmoved.

Guards stood along the water’s edge, their hands never straying far from their weapons, watchful, waiting.

And then—the silence stretched.

Two rulers.

One seated upon a throne of water.

One standing before him—a Lich turned flesh once more.

Both studying the other, both unyielding.

Then—finally—Tenebrae spoke.

“Your name was different when I left.”

The King of Ravens’ gaze flickered with amusement.

“And when I last saw you… there was little to no flesh and all bone.”

His voice was smooth, and measured, yet it carried an edge—like a knife sharpened over a century of waiting.

“Now you stand before me with more flesh than bone.”

His golden eyes narrowed slightly.

“One must begin to wonder—with how long it took you to return, your unannounced arrival, and your… new look—if you are still my friend.”

Several ravens descended, perching around the King, their feathers rustling in the silence.

Tension thickened.

The court’s eyes flicked between them, uncertain whether they should attack or let the implied insult go unanswered.

But Tenebrae?

He simply shrugged off the tension, brushing aside the question as if it were nothing.

Instead, his attention shifted.

His gaze moved to Opal.

“This King is an unbound like yourself,” he told her, voice unreadable.

“An outcast. One who has found himself a kingdom to subject to his will.”

Opal stiffened, shrinking back slightly, uncertain whether this was praise or scorn.

Eliza, too, found herself unsure of Ten’s intent.

Was this how he spoke to a friend?

“A fish that crawled on land like a worm would one day fly among birds…”

Tenebrae tilted his head slightly.

“It’s almost poetic.”

The words hung in the air like a blade unsheathed.

The effect was immediate.

Several guards drew their weapons.

They did not attack—but they dared not sheath them, either.

Eliza felt a cold pit form in her stomach.

This wasn’t just a passing remark.

It was a test.

A challenge.

And she didn’t like it.

Even she could feel the weight of the insult.

Weren’t they supposed to be friends?

She glanced at the Raven King, wondering how he would respond.

And wondering—

Had Tenebrae come here seeking an ally… or a fight?

“Speaking of worms,” the Raven King mused, his voice laced with amusement, yet sharp as a blade unsheathed. “I heard they were devouring what remains of your kingdom. Have you had a chance to get on that while you have been…”

His golden eyes flicked toward Eliza.

Curiosity flickered in them.

A human female? Traveling with him?

How strange…

With the faintest narrowing of his gaze, he cast a silent detection spell.

Tenebrae felt it immediately.

He smirked, amused.

The Raven King’s magic brushed over Eliza first, probing, testing. The results returned instantly—a pure human, no hidden curses, no disguises.

The spell drifted next to Opal.

A permanent debuff. An unnatural status effect prevents her from reverting to full Undine form.

The King’s brow twitched ever so slightly.

Finally, his magic swept over Tenebrae.

And for the briefest of moments—his gaze flickered.

Strange…

Ten was not entirely Lich anymore.

The King masked his thoughts well, but inside, questions coiled like serpents.

“Picking up strays, are we?” he mused, shifting in his throne of water. His tone was mocking, yet edged with something colder beneath it.

“Getting lost? Finding yourself?”

The words were almost accusatory.

A weight pressed upon the room.

The guards stood sharper, the ravens above shifting, watching.

Then, the words cut deeper.

“What kind of prince seeks to become king… and then leaves his kingdom without its source of power? Without its ruler? Left to be ravaged and ransacked?”

Eliza stiffened.

She felt the tension shift.

The hostility was unspoken, yet clear.

She glanced at Tenebrae, expecting some kind of reaction, but—

Nothing.

Not a frown. Not a glare.

Just apathetic silence.

No anger. No defense.

Just acceptance.

That made the King even more irritated.

“No King, then? Not even a prince anymore?” the Raven King scoffed. “Just… a man?”

A pause.

Then, his golden eyes gleamed with challenge.

“Or does coward suit you best now?”

Eliza’s breath caught in her throat.

The insult hung thick in the air, the guards waiting for a reaction.

Would he lash out? Would he attack?

But Tenebrae simply shrugged.

A shrug.

Like it meant nothing.

The Raven King scoffed again, shaking his head dismissively.

“When I first sent summons for you, it was to see if the rumors were true.”

With effort, the paralyzed King pushed himself up slightly, his long emerald tail shifting but not moving.

The water rippled around him.

“Now that I see with my own eyes what you have become…”

He trailed off, letting the weight of his words sink in.

Eliza swallowed, her hands gripping the fabric of her gown.

She didn’t feel intimidated.

But she was aware.

The guards lined the room like silent predators, the ravens above shifting restlessly.

They were surrounded.

She knew it.

Ten knew it.

And yet, the Lich remained perfectly still.

Even as the King’s accusations hung like a noose around his throat.

“Why did you come here, Lich?” the King finally spat, his voice tinged with disdain.

And Tenebrae, with all the stoicism of a statue, simply replied—

“Simple.”

He tilted his head slightly, his eerie green eyes unreadable.

“I came to see if I still had friends.”

The court erupted into laughter.

It started as a murmur.

Then, the mockery spread—like wildfire.

The guards. The servants. Even the watching ravens seemed to cackle from the shadows.

“Friends?” one of them sneered.

“Did he say friends?”

Even the King himself chuckled, shaking his head.

“Friends?” he repeated, a smirk curling his lips. “Oh, old boy… You have no friends in this place.”

The laughter continued, like a chorus of ghosts taunting the dead.

The Raven King leaned back, adjusting himself with slow, calculated grace.

“As a matter of fact,” he mused, “you have more enemies than you will ever have friends.”

His voice darkened.

“When your father needed you—when the realm needed its power the most—you were not there.”

The laughter began to die down.

Silence crept back in.

The King’s golden eyes gleamed beneath the dim lights.

“Thousands of your loyal followers fought for him.”

His voice was low now.

A blade, carving open the past.

“They followed your father into battle… and they died like weak, pathetic cowards.”

Eliza felt it.

The words hit Ten like a hammer.

But he didn’t move.

He didn’t speak.

He simply… stood there.

Unmoving.

Silent.

Eliza felt something tighten in her chest.

She couldn’t imagine it.

Couldn’t fathom the pain of hearing that your father died, that your kingdom burned, and that you could do nothing.

How must it feel?

To be powerless in the moment that mattered most?

To return centuries too late, only to find ghosts where your legacy once stood?

She clenched her fists.

She knew Ten wasn’t the kind of man to break.

Not openly.

Not in front of these people.

But inside?

She could feel it.

It was sinking in.

And for the first time, she truly pitied him.

Then—

“Enough.”

Tenebrae’s voice was calm.

Too calm.

He turned away from the King, looking at both Eliza and Opal.

“We’re leaving.”

The guards stirred.

Some reached for their weapons, ready to stop him.

But—

The Raven King lifted a single webbed hand.

A simple gesture.

And the guards froze.

“You can’t run forever.”

Tenebrae didn’t stop walking.

“Even this,” the King murmured, his voice carrying across the court, “is just me letting you leave, you know.”

Tenebrae did not stop.

He did not listen.

He simply walked behind Opal and Eliza, his stride steady, his expression unreadable.

But the Raven King did not let silence have the last word.

“Oh, how the faulted king will rampage when he learns the depths of his father’s suffering,” his voice lilted, theatrical, dripping with amusement.

“But I don’t see much of a rampage in you...”

The words curled through the chamber like a coiling serpent, winding around Ten’s retreating form.

“Right now, I see a coward walking himself and his little—what is this?—adventure party express to their deaths?”

He still did not stop.

Did not look back.

Did not answer.

The King’s annoyance sharpened.

“I guess when you got your flesh back, your balls stayed with Lilith when she stepped on them.”

He stepped.

A pause.

Then, he turned.

His movements were slow, deliberate.

For the first time, he looked back at the King.

His face was neutral, his glowing green eyes unreadable.

But Eliza felt it.

Something subtle.

Something… heavy.

He wasn’t angry.

Not really.

If anything, he sounded amused.

“Stand up and say that to my face.”

His voice was calm.

Too calm.

The room went deathly silent.

The guards stiffened.

Eliza’s heart pounded.

She glanced between them, unsure if she should run or brace for violence.

But—

Neither of them moved.

And then, she saw it.

The smallest, most imperceptible shift in the Raven King’s face.

A twitch of the lips.

A glimmer in his golden eyes.

A smirk.

The same barely-there smirk that flickered across Ten’s face.

No one else noticed.

No one else understood.

Except them.

Eliza felt a wave of realization crash through her.

She had misread everything.

The hostility, the insults, the mockery—

It wasn’t a threat.

It was a conversation.

A code.

A language spoken only by two men who had spent lifetimes on the battlefield together.

A single sentence meant twenty things.

A single insult carried layers of meaning.

She had spent the entire time hearing, but not listening.