Third Arc (Fallen Heart) - 233. Resurrection VI

Third Arc (Fallen Heart) - 233. Resurrection VI

"Bring the whip to King Gervis," Angel ordered.

The hall's atmosphere hung heavy with anticipation, like a storm on the cusp of breaking. The spectators were drawn into the gravity of the moment, watching as a servant approached King Gervis, a box containing a whip cradled carefully in their arms. The object in question was not just any whip; it was named Agony, a fitting moniker given the events that had transpired and those that were about to unfold.

As the box was placed before the king, a hush descended upon the room. King Gervis stood in contemplative silence, his eyes fixed upon the whip that lay within.

"Agony? You want me to punish him with this?" The king's voice cut through the stillness, his question a reflection of the internal struggle he faced. The whip was not just an instrument of correction; it was a conduit for pain, for retribution, for reckoning with the consequences of one's actions.

Angel's gaze remained steady, his expression carrying a mix of determination and understanding. "Don't worry," he reassured, his voice carrying the wisdom of experience. "He won't die. Ilex used it to punish me five years ago, and I'm still here. That whip will only give him some scars that will never disappear in his life," Angel reminded King Gervis upon Angel's scars.

"Angel, this-" The king's voice wavered, a reflection of the uncertainty that danced in his eyes.

Angel's response was resolute, a testament to his unwavering commitment to justice. "I've called the doctor and have ordered some servants to prepare the medicine. If it's not enough... I have the best doctor next to me," he declared, his words carrying a weight of assurance. His gaze shifted to Rose.

The exchange between Angel and King Gervis was a silent negotiation, a delicate dance between the past and the present, between the rigidity of tradition and the necessity of compassion for his own son.

King Gervis held the whip in his hand. His reluctance was palpable, a reflection of the moral dilemma he faced in this critical moment. The room seemed to hold its breath, caught in a suspended sense of anticipation. The tension was a living entity, coiling around the hearts of those present, including the servants who had moved to follow his orders.

As the servants approached Ilex, their movements precise and synchronized, his resistance was palpable, manifesting in the tense set of his shoulders and the clenched fists at his sides. The pride that had once defined him now stood overshadowed by his predicament, a vivid display of the fallibility of power. His uniform was stripped away, layer by layer, the process of disrobing a stark metaphor for the exposure of his actions and the vulnerabilities that lay beneath his façade.

The echoing silence of the hall was interrupted only by the sounds of fabric rustling and muffled voices, an eerie backdrop to the drama unfolding at the center. King Gervis approached Ilex, his gaze a complex mixture of disappointment, empathy, and a tinge of sorrow. His voice held a weight that went beyond the mere meting out of punishment – it was the voice of a monarch addressing a subject, but also a fatherly figure addressing a prodigal son.

"Ilex... After this, I hope you'll stop doing stupid things like this," King Gervis spoke, his words carrying a sense of world-weariness. The king's demeanor was not one of condemnation, but rather a plea for understanding, an expression of his desire to see a change in the young man before him.

In response, Ilex's silence was a canvas onto which an array of emotions could be projected.

A servant approached Rose. In his hands were two delicate glasses of champagne. She accepted the glasses and extended one of them to Angel.

He reached out, his fingers wrapping around the delicate stem of the champagne glass.

"King Gervis, you can start now," Angel's words were imbued with a quiet authority. His voice, a steady cadence that cut through the whispers and hushed conversations, broke the silence that had draped itself over the hall.

King Gervis, the weight of his duty heavy upon his shoulders, let out a resigned sigh that seemed to echo through the grand hall.

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