CHAPTER 233: MOUNTAIN FEARING A CAT

Avalin’s voice was quiet, but it carried the weight of someone who had seen far too much.

"You went too far... again."

She stood outside the nurse’s office, arms crossed, watching through the glass as the young master lay on a cot, wrapped in fresh bandages while three nurses worked with frantic precision. The smell of antiseptic mixed with the lingering metallic tang of burnt mana—a reminder that they were still inside the prison, that the battle’s echo had not yet settled in the stones.

The executed criminal’s corpse had already been reduced to ash. Vulcan himself had burned it after opening the gate, only once the silence inside convinced him the screams had finally ended. It was a silence that still clung to the hallways.

"I did what it takes to turn him into a real warrior," Vulcan grunted, arms folded behind his back like a wall of armored steel. "He’s lived under constant threat, yes, but he has always had a safeguard—always. Someone ready to intervene the moment things went wrong."

Avalin raised a brow. She knew exactly what he meant.

Naturally, Vulcan was keenly aware that the Chaos Heir had lived under Aethernox’s shadow of protection for years. That invisible presence was the reason Hades had never truly faced death, even when he thought he had. His trials were real, his enemies lethal, but the final blow had never been allowed to land.

He fought believing he was alone, believing he was surviving by his own grit...

but a pair of unseen eyes had always been there—eyes that stepped in whenever fate tilted toward tragedy.

Avalin scoffed, the sound sharp as steel scraping stone.

"You speak as though you actually removed yourself from the prison while he was fighting. Don’t pretend. We both know that if the young master had truly been in danger, you would’ve crashed through those walls without hesitation."

Vulcan’s jaw tightened. He looked away.

There was nothing—absolutely nothing—he could hide from this woman.

"Well," Avalin added, her tone softer but no less piercing, "I’m sure the young master believes there was no backup. You’ve built quite the perception of yourself in his eyes."

Vulcan sniffed. "Perception? I’m not performing. This is how I am. I’m being myself."

Avalin’s faint smile carried just a touch of cruelty.

"Oh really? Then why—exactly why—were you storming toward the nurse’s office with him in your arms when I walked in? You could’ve at least stuck to that unshakeable, emotionless instructor persona you love so much."

Vulcan massaged the bridge of his nose, thick fingers dwarfed by the size of his own frustration.

"I won’t deny I was worried," he muttered. "But that wasn’t the only reason."

Avalin hummed, amused.

"What reason then? The Queen?" She tilted her head. She herself had been away, unaware of what chaos brewed in the capital.

She guessed wrong.

"It’s his wife," Vulcan groaned, sounding like a man giving his final confession. "That healer. Last time I carried him home with just a few scratches, she gave me an earful loud enough to wake the ancestors."

Avalin froze.

Her eyes widened. She blinked once, twice, staring at this mountain of a man as though he’d just said he feared kittens.

"You’re telling me... you rushed him to treatment because you were scared Luna would scold you again?"

Vulcan looked away. Didn’t answer. Didn’t have to.

The silence screamed, *Yes*.

Avalin pinched the bridge of her own nose now.

"Well, that’s unfortunate for you... Their bond is strong. She must have already felt everything he went through."

Vulcan’s face twisted into the expression of a soldier hearing that the war has just been extended another decade.

"That," he said flatly, "is why you will escort him back to the castle. Not me."

With that final decree, the General turned and stomped off, each step shaking the hallway.

Avalin exhaled slowly as the titan of a man disappeared around a corner. For a moment, the air calmed.

Her gaze drifted back to the nurse’s office.

Through the glass, the young master lay still—breathing, alive, battered. White bandages wrapped around his torso and arms like ceremonial cloth, each one hiding a wound earned through willpower alone. The nurses worked quietly, their magic weaving soft glows across his skin, knitting torn flesh and stabilizing the deeper damage.

Avalin stepped closer, her hand resting against the cool frame of the doorway. Her expression softened, the sharpness dissolving into something warm, almost maternal. The harsh fluorescent lights overhead turned her eyes into pools of gentled amber.

"You’re doing well, young master," she whispered, voice barely above the steady hum of healing spells. "Your mother would be so proud of you."

Outside, the prison’s cold wind howled through the corridors, but in that small room, the world was quiet—

quiet enough for the unspoken truth to settle:

He was growing.

He was changing.

And he was walking the path where the world would come to fear him.

Not as Kaelith’s son.

But as Hades.

...

"What are you doing?" Marilyn asked as she stepped into the courtyard—only to stop, baffled, at the sight before her.

A breathtakingly beautiful woman stood in the middle of the garden with a broom in hand...

and absolutely no idea how to use it.

Kaya wasn’t sweeping—she was gliding. Every motion involved her entire body twisting or swaying as if she were performing an ancient ritual rather than cleaning. The bristles barely skimmed the ground. A single leaf refused to move despite her valiant effort.

Marilyn stared for a long, silent moment before letting out a soft sigh.

This was... something.

Kaya froze mid-motion, shoulders stiff, her long silver hair settling behind her like a curtain of frost.

"I..." she murmured, "...am trying to help. I didn’t have anything to do, so I thought I should make myself useful."

Marilyn eased herself onto the nearby stone stair, watching the frost dragoness with a curious tilt of her head.

"You’re from the far north, near the polar region, aren’t you? I’ve heard frost dragons are quite isolated beings."

Kaya lowered her gaze, her fingers tightening on the broom.

"Yes... We were. And we were forced to leave that region recently."

Marilyn’s brows lifted.

"They left the polar region? But why? Frost dragons are the only species that can thrive in that kind of brutal cold."

No response came. Kaya’s lips pressed together.

Her eyes—a pale, glacial blue—trembled for a fraction of a second.

It wasn’t just knowledge she carried; it was memory.

Something lived in that silence—heavy, painful, personal.

Marilyn watched her for a moment, softening. She was blunt, yes, but not heartless.

And she knew the difference between curiosity and cruelty.

So she leaned back, resting her elbows on the steps, and simply said nothing.

Some wounds didn’t need a question. They needed space.

After a lingering silence between them, Marilyn finally leaned forward, her tone shifting—calmer, yet sharper.

"I heard you didn’t want to work for Hades?"

Kaya didn’t flinch. She answered with the same quiet honesty she carried like a second skin.

"The lady I owe my life to has entrusted me to Sir Hades."

Marilyn narrowed her eyes slightly.

"You still didn’t answer me. Do you want to serve him?"

Kaya’s lips parted, then closed again. No words came.

Not because she was resisting—

but because she genuinely didn’t know what she wanted.

Marilyn rose from the stair, dusting off her palms as she approached the dragoness.

"You’re... not getting along with the others. I see it clearly. You hurt Averis, and you glare at the very master you’re meant to serve." Her voice wasn’t harsh, but it cut clean. "Do you honestly believe you have a place in this castle?"

Kaya’s silence deepened, like snow falling in a windless night.

She was here because her mistress commanded it—

because she owed a debt she could never repay.

What more was there for her to say?

Marilyn studied her for a long moment, then let out a quiet hum of comprehension.

She stepped closer, her shadow falling over Kaya.

"I’ve seen many stand where you’re standing right now," she said. "Outsiders. Strays. Warriors from broken clans. People who didn’t know how to belong."

Her voice was steady, grounded.

"They managed to fit in—not because the castle welcomed them, but because they tried. Because they opened themselves, even a little, instead of closing the doors and building walls.

If you’ve devoted your life to this duty, then you’d better start changing how you see others."

Kaya lifted her gaze, faintly startled.

"See others?" she whispered.

Marilyn’s lips curled into a thin, knowing smirk.

"Don’t pretend with me. I’ve seen the way you look at people." She leaned in just slightly, eyes gleaming. "That cold flicker of contempt. As if everyone here is beneath you... as if you are looking down from some great peak."

The breeze rustled the garden around them, stirring a few dry leaves near Kaya’s unmoved broom.

Her eyes slightly widened in shock as she looked at Marilyn with a pale complexion.

Marilyn backed away and said, "Be careful of your actions from now on."