CHAPTER 504: TRUMPETS BOOMING CLOSER

Cassius wondered for a moment if Isaac was lying; after all, even if he currently stood on Arabella’s side, the boy had spent every year of his life inside the castle under Morpheus’s shadow.

Loyalty formed in such a place rarely disappeared cleanly.

And although Isaac claimed that he despised Morpheus’s rules and the tyrannical system he enforced, Cassius knew well that hatred spoken aloud did not always equate to hatred rooted in truth. They had no real proof, no undeniable sign that Isaac’s bitterness was genuine rather than a careful act. It wouldn’t have been the first time Morpheus planted someone among their ranks with sweet words and pitiful eyes.

Eyeing Isaac a moment longer, Cassius finally released a deep, tense sigh.

If Isaac were truly one of Morpheus’s people, would he still be sitting here with them?

No.

A loyal servant would have already run to relay every detail of their plan to the tyrant who commanded him. And Morpheus, Cassius could envision his reaction all too well. The man would not have hesitated. He would have flown into one of his fiery rages, immediately flowing to punishing the people who didn’t do what he had demanded.

He would have forcefully sealed Arabella’s memories again without a blink, cutting her mind apart piece by piece until she became exactly what he wanted.

Or worse, this time he might have taken the final step and reduced her into nothing more than a beautiful doll, obedient and quiet for the sole purpose to obey him.

The very thought made Cassius’s jaw tighten, a pulse of fury throbbing beneath the skin of his neck.

"How did you learn how to embroider, Isaac?" Arabella asked gently from the side, her voice dulling away the tension which Cassius had while he eyed Isaac with doubt.

Cassius remained silent, still drifting through his thoughts as the boy slowly brightened at being addressed.

"I learned for my sister, of course!" Isaac said, straightening a little with a hint of pride. "Milady, in our customs, girls who turn fourteen are given a protective handkerchief. A charm stitched by the hands of someone who loves them. My mother... she couldn’t make one for her anymore, so I took the role instead. It felt important. I couldn’t do it half heartedly either, not when I wanted her to carry it for years and years, to keep her safe and sound, always."

"What did you embroider on it?" Arabella asked.

Isaac hummed, turning his gaze toward the window as though the memory was painted on the cold glass. "Snowflakes."

"Snowflakes?" Arabella echoed, a little surprised. It wasn’t something people usually chose.

"And flowers," Isaac added, tapping his fingers absently. "The pink ones shaped like a little cup. Tulips, I think? I stitched those first because she always said tulips reminded her of our mother, the way they bloom early, even when the world is still cold." His lips curled faintly. "But the night I gave her the handkerchief, she looked at the tulips and said it felt lonely... that our mother shouldn’t be the only one on the cloth."

"So the snowflakes represent your father?" Arabella guessed softly. Isaac nodded. She hesitated. "Why snowflakes?"

"Isn’t he one?" Isaac replied with a small, sharp chuckle. It was bitter, but he seemed to savor the irony as though it was the only thing he had left of the man. "Snowflakes appear gently, drifting into someone’s life as if they belong there... only to disappear the moment summer comes. That man left us in the summer too. When he realized he couldn’t survive life in the castle, couldn’t bear the rules here, he chose to return to his own people and melt away from ours. When he vanished, he took everything with him. No proper childhood. No father. No man I could look up to."

He shrugged lightly, but the movement trembled with resentment buried so deep it had fossilized into something colder. "So I stitched a snowflake beside the tulips. I do pamper my sister a little bit more than what I’d like to admit. Even though we don’t like him, he is our mother’s husband. He ran away but his presence was always missed in her heart whether we liked it or not."

"Do you want to see him again?" Cassius was the one to ask, and the question struck Isaac like a pebble thrown into still water.

For a moment the boy merely blinked, stunned that this maid, this quiet, aloof creature who had barely spared him more than a glance until recently, had suddenly chosen to ask him something so pointed. His gaze flicked toward Cassius in surprise, as if he were waiting for a hidden mockery to appear when it didn’t, it finally dawned on him that Cassius was seriously curious.

"I don’t," Isaac answered at last, though the hesitation in his voice betrayed that it wasn’t a simple emotion. "If you had such a father, would you want to see him?"

"I don’t know," Cassius replied, and for a heartbeat Isaac almost smiled, thinking the maid understood him. But then Cassius added flatly, "Because I would have found him and killed him. But everyone has their own opinions and their own choice."

Isaac exhaled a humorless laugh. "And your choice is definitely bloodier."

Cassius ignored the comment, his gaze sharpening. "So you live alone. And never, not once, did anyone from Morpheus’s side manage to sway you into following their teachings? Their rituals? Their endless worship of him?"

"They tried," Isaac admitted, tilting his head thoughtfully. "Many times. With threats, with promises, with lessons, with their absurd sermons... but it never worked. I don’t know why. Something in me just never bent for them."

Cassius studied him a little longer, and then a strange expression flickered across his features, a frown, but not from his earlier doubts.

Isaac’s wide brown eyes reflected nothing but sincerity, confusion, and the kind of earnest loyalty that could get him killed. For a moment Cassius was dragged back to one of his very old battles, seeing the brown hunting dog he had been partnered with during one of his earliest wars. That dog had been just like this boy: innocent, foolish, painfully loyal, willing to die for someone who hadn’t earned it.

And just like that dog, Isaac was the type who would run into danger without hesitation if it meant protecting the people he cared for.

Realizing that perhaps he had judged the boy with unnecessary harshness, Cassius exhaled quietly. He really was on edge wasn’t he?

To even think this creature was a traitor.

It didn’t mean that he was going to lower his guard but also doesn’t mean that he was going to start distrusting Isaac when what they need currently was to trust him to make the plan work.

"What’s wrong?" Arabella asked, noticing the subtle shift in him.

He merely shook his head. "I just wanted to tell you that the time is close. Three days."

"Three," she repeated softly, then turned to Isaac. "Do you think by then the magic circle I asked you to create will work?"

"Yes!" Isaac’s face lit with pride. "We can finally return all your missing memories, milady." Then he glanced at Cassius, his lips pursing in concern. "But I think... Cassandra should stay back during the war in three days. She’s a maid."

"I’m stronger than you," Cassius said without missing a beat. A slow smirk curved on his lips. "The last time a weak creature tried to protect me was thirteen years ago, and well... that dog died. So for everyone’s sake, it would be better if you hide instead."

Isaac puffed his cheeks. "Are you mocking me for being weak?!"

Arabella doubted he was. From what she saw, perhaps the right word was rather what she felt, Cassius wasn’t teasing at all. His warning wasn’t born out of arrogance or cruelty; it was something gentler, something protective.

As if he had already accepted that Isaac was part of their circle, and didn’t want to see the boy shattered in the coming storm. The realization warmed her chest. It touched her in a way she hadn’t expected, seeing him open up, seeing his edges soften, not for everyone, but for the few he allowed close.

It felt like watching a man slowly reclaim pieces of humanity he had lost long ago. And perhaps, she thought, perhaps that was the one thing she had always wanted for him without ever saying it aloud.

"Well then," Cassius said, turning toward her again, the smirk fading into seriousness. "He is going to ask you for the third test. I hope you know exactly what you will tell him."

"Of course," Arabella answered, her voice slow and certain as she met his eyes. And she smiled, because she did know, and because Cassius would be standing beside her when she said it.

In two days, Morpheus couldn’t take it anymore. He didn’t want to wait for the third test that clearly was being delayed by Arabella and had marched into his room with maids bowing when they saw him.

Upon reaching her room, he didn’t let the servant announced his presence, immediately slamming the door open in rage.

"And where have you been hiding?"