"Do you not want it?" Caelyn asked, tilting her head with that lazy, half-awake look of hers, holding a spoonful of vanilla cake toward him.

"Haha." Azhriel chuckled softly, his tone smooth but amused. "You're asking that after eating all this?".

He pointed at the table filled with half-empty plates and bowls—what once had looked like a grand dessert buffet now resembled a battlefield after a feast.

Caelyn blinked, then looked down at the mess she'd made. "Oh," she said simply, not looking even a bit guilty. A bit of whipped cream marked her cheek, glinting under the café's warm lights.

Azhriel sighed. "You really have no shame, do you?"

"No," she replied without hesitation, still holding the spoon toward him. "Now take it before I eat this one too."

He looked at her, then at the spoon.

"Fine."

A faint smirk curved his lips as he leaned forward and took a small bite. The taste was light, sweet, with a hint of mana-infused vanilla extracts that melted smoothly on his tongue.

"Hm. Not bad."

"See?" Caelyn said, smirking slightly, her eyes half-closed in that lazy confidence of hers. "You'd have missed out if I didn't share."

"Right," Azhriel said dryly. "How generous of you benevolent lady."

Zephyriah, sitting between them, tilted her head and poked her paw toward Azhriel and then another cake as well. "Papa, taste this too!" she chirped, her wings fluttering in excitement as she offered him another piece of cake.

Azhriel shaled his head. "You too, huh?" Nonetheless He took the bite from the cake Zephyriah also offered.

Caelyn watched the scene quietly for a moment, her eyes softening slightly. "You're surprisingly good with her," she said, her tone almost gentle.

"I try," Azhriel replied, looking at the tiny dragon who was now happily nibbling on a cookie almost bigger than her head.

"Unlike other new-born dragons, she seems really attached to you," Caelyn added, setting her spoon down. "Not just because of the bond. It's more like… she trusts you more than anyone."

Azhriel didn't answer immediately.

His gaze lingered on Zephyriah as she playfully stacked cookies one top of another, "Maybe," he said at last, his voice calm. "Or maybe she's just too innocent to see through me."

Caelyn tilted her head, studying him. "You say that like you're hiding something."

He looked back at her, a faint smirk crossing his face. "Who knows."

For a second, neither of them said anything.

The sounds of laughter and chatter filled the café around them. Outside the window, golden lights shimmered across the streets of Mosseira, the night alive with color and noise.

Caelyn eventually broke the silence with a sigh. "You know… for someone so bad at communication, you're awfully normal when you relax."

"Normal?"

"Yeah. Almost like you forget to keep up that scary calm face of yours."

Azhriel chuckled again, low and quiet. "I suppose even I need to breathe once in a while."

Caelyn smiled faintly, a small curve of genuine warmth crossing her lips.

Then, as if something had just clicked in her mind, she scooped up another forkful of cake and asked.

"So, tell me—how did you know about it?"

Azhriel raised a brow. "About what?" he asked, feigning confusion.

She gave him a sharp look. "Quit the act. How do you know about my ability to buff? No one in the academy knows except Nyverra. So how?"

'There it comes.'

Azhriel thought, his mind already running through the plan he'd prepared. From the moment they had agreed to meet, he had expected this question.

There was no way he could just say, Oh, I know because I've already seen the future, I know about your bloodline and all. That would sound ridiculous.

Thus, he went with the excuse he had already built in advance. Calmly, without any hesitation, he replied,

"That's because I've seen you do it before."

Her eyes narrowed slightly. "Before?"

"Yes," he said, keeping his expression steady. "You should be more careful with your surroundings if you want to hide your abilities you know. I coincidentally happened to be at the training grounds once… and saw you buffing Nyverra."

It was a clean lie, one that wouldn't convince her fully but was believable enough to make her doubt her own certainty. After all, she couldn't be aware of every pair of eyes that might have been watching from afar.

For a few moments, Caelyn said nothing. Her sharp droopy eyes studied him closely, as if trying to see through the calm mask he wore. Then finally—

"Fine," she said, leaning back in her seat.

Azhriel exhaled quietly. Good, she bought at least part of it.

Then, his lips curved slightly. "Though," he said, his tone teasing, "tell me honestly—you forgot to ask this earlier because of the cakes, didn't you?"

Flinch.

Caelyn froze for half a second.

'Got her.'

Azhriel thought, watching her expression.

"W-what are you talking about?" she said too quickly, looking away, her cheeks reddening slightly. "How could I forget something that important because of cakes? No, never in a millionyears."

Her voice was firm, but her eyes darted toward the plates stacked with crumbs and half-eaten pastries.

"Uh-huh," Azhriel said with a smirk. "That sounds totally convincing. I mean, how could a noble lady like you forg—"

Before he could finish, a spoonful of cake slammed into his mouth.

"Mmph—!"

"S-shut up!" Caelyn snapped, her face red as she kept shoving spoon after spoon at him. "You talk too much!"

Azhriel tried to speak but only managed a muffled grunt as another spoon came his way. "W-wait—"

She didn't wait, as she shoved another spoon of cake in his mouth.

"Okay, okay, stop!" he finally said between breaths, lightly grabbing her wrist before another cake assault could begin.

He swallowed the mouthful, exhaled hard, and laughed. "Gods, I almost choked… haah… I'm sorry, all right?"

Caelyn looked at him, her wrist still lightly held in his grasp, then huffed and looked away. "Serves you right for messing with me."

He released her hand with a quiet chuckle. "Noted. I'll make sure never to underestimate a woman armed with desserts again."

Caelyn gave him a small glare.

Zephyriah, who had been watching the entire scene with wide eyes, tilted her head and asked, "Papa, is that how humans share food?"

Azhriel sighed. "No, Zeph. That's how humans lose arguments."

Caelyn snorted, trying to suppress a laugh, and for a moment the tension between them dissolved completely.

The evening light through the café's glass painted soft gold across their table, reflecting off half-eaten cakes and shared laughter. It was quiet, comfortable—and oddly warm.

However, that calm shattered in the next second.

The café doors burst open with a loud bang, the sound echoing through the room and silencing every voice in an instant. The warm chatter, the quiet laughter, even the clinking of cups—all vanished.

Everyone turned.

Marching through the doorway were the elven royal guards—the same group Azhriel had noticed earlier by the fountain.

Their gleaming wooden-and-iron armor shimmered faintly under the light, and the mana-laced air around them carried a heavy pressure that made the customers freeze where they sat.

"Aren't they the ones we saw at the fountain before?" Caelyn whispered, her tone calm but alert.

"You noticed too?" Azhriel murmured back, his eyes following the group's every movement.

"Of course," she said softly. "It's hard not to, when their mana feels that strong. They're not just guards—they're elites."

The elves didn't speak to anyone else. Their presence alone was enough to make the air heavy, like the room itself was holding its breath.

They moved straight toward the counter, where the manager stood frozen, his hands trembling slightly as he tried to stay composed.

"H-how can we help you, sir?" he stammered, bowing quickly, his voice barely steady.

One of the elves—a tall man with green eyes sharp as blades—stepped forward. "Don't be alarmed," he said in a low, steady voice, one that carried authority even when quiet. "We are the royal guard. We're only searching for someone."

The manager blinked, confused but still frightened. The elf reached into his armor and pulled out a folded piece of parchment.

Opening it, he revealed a detailed sketch of a young man—platinum-blonde hair, light eyes, calm expression.

"Have you seen this person?" the soldier asked. His voice dropped lower, a tone meant for the manager's ears only.

The man behind the counter stared at the drawing for a long while, sweat gathering on his forehead.

He searched his memory, trying to recall if he'd seen anyone matching that description. But no matter how hard he tried, the face didn't ring a bell.

"I'm… I'm sorry, sir," he said finally, shaking his head nervously. "But I don't think I've seen anyone like him here."

The elf's jaw tightened for a brief moment. Then he exhaled and gave a polite nod. "I see. My apologies for interrupting your business."

He folded the parchment back into his armor, turned, and gestured for his squad to move out.

As the group of armored elves exited, the pressure in the air lifted almost immediately. The customers—who had been frozen stiff—finally let out the breaths they'd been holding.

"Haah…" someone exhaled audibly from another table.

A quiet murmur rippled through the café again. Chairs creaked, spoons clinked, but the atmosphere wasn't quite the same. That suffocating tension still lingered faintly, like a shadow that refused to leave.

Caelyn glanced toward the door, her brows slightly furrowed. "Strange," she murmured. "The elves rarely leave their domain. For them to come all the way to a human city…"

Azhriel's fingers tapped lightly on the table. "Yeah."