Meeting's over

Naiarië closes her eyes and rubs her temples, the strain of their dire situation etched deep into her features. "Those barbaric dark sons of bitches are not weak. We don't know how, but somehow, those rebels managed to learn some elven techniques." Her gaze shifts to Kael, who is now skillfully manipulating the flames under the pan, his actions seamless and almost artful. A flicker of doubt crosses her mind, 'Is this guy a cook? Is he really going to help? His face shows no interest in this.' 

"The issue lies with a certain group within the rebels. The leader and two others. The leader beat squadron one, and the others beat squadron two, three, and four respectively," she explains with a seriousness that hangs heavy in the air.

Ayla, momentarily pausing from her indulgence in wine, wipes her mouth and licks her lips. She sets the bottle down with a thud, her interest piqued despite her usual disinterest in historical or political matters. "So they're all individually powerful, huh? It's weird... Aren't dark elves supposed to be weaker?" she muses aloud, yawning and stretching. A seed of curiosity is planted, though her half-hearted interest in history doesn't fully bloom. 'I never really liked history, but most professors I've had in my life said dark elves will always be weaker.' She ponders this inconsistency, her thoughts meandering.

The princess gives a slow, sideways nod, the complexity of the situation reflected in her gaze. "Yes and no... It's complicated. I know you don't care about such things so I won't explain it any further," she says, directing her attention to Kael with a calm, yet probing look. "With the current state of the Royal family, everyone is ignoring the dark elves and focusing on Father. What do you think will happen?" she inquires, her tone a blend of calm and curiosity. 'I get he is from P.O.B and father canceled the ceremony because of the letter he handed him, but he just doesn't seem like a powerful man. I need to test him,' she contemplates, assessing Kael's potential role in their complex web of issues.

Kael washes his hands, the water cascading off his fingers with a sense of finality, before turning to face the room with a smirk that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "What do I think will happen?" he repeats, the smirk playing on his lips as he walks back to them, settling into a chair with an air of casual authority. "I'll tell you what'll happen. They will attack, and they will massacre everyone in sight, then a domino effect will happen that someone like you shouldn't worry about."

Naiarië's glare could have melted steel. "Do you think we're just going to let them kill us off?" she counters, her voice laced with disbelief and anger. Kael stretches, his nonchalance almost tangible. "It doesn't matter to me. If you think I'll help you, you are sorely mistaken."

The princess stands, her movement so swift and forceful that her hand slams down on the coffee table, breaking the stone beneath it. "What!? Then why offer help?" she yells, her teeth gritted in frustration, "You know countless people are in danger, and you say you won't help?" The chill in her voice could freeze the room.

Ayla, caught between concern and frustration, bites her inner cheek, her gaze shifting from Kael to Naiarië. "V... you said you would help her." Her voice holds a note of accusation, a plea for some semblance of hope.

Kael's laughter is low, almost contemplative. "Hmhmhm," he chuckles, his eyes locking with the princess's fiery gaze. "I will help you with your mother's issue, not the dark elves." His declaration is a clear line drawn in the sand, separating his willingness to assist from the battle they face.

Naiarië's fists clench, her anger palpable. "You're not getting near Mother! You must be some sort of spy," she accuses, stepping forward to grab him by his shirt. But Kael's response is swift, his glove morphing into a needle that gently pricks her neck, allowing a single drop of blood to escape. "Don't do anything stupid. Know your place," he advises coldly, his warning clear.

Ayla intervenes, pulling Naiarië back with a firm tug, her voice a mixture of concern and reprimand. "Calm down," she says before bonking Naiarië on the head, forcing her to sit. "He didn't want to help to begin with. I practically begged him."

Kael leans back, his gaze lingering on the princess who now sits glaring at him, her fingers tentatively touching the small wound on her neck. 'Tsk, look at her all mad. Did she really think I'd help her with the dark elves?' His thoughts are a mixture of amusement and disdain.

Ayla scratches her head, perplexed and slightly irritated. "Is there a reason you won't help? From what you've said, you seem to know a lot regarding dark elves." There's an edge of challenge in her voice, one that seeks answers but also dreads them.

Kael exhales deeply, a sigh laden with unspoken histories and unshed frustrations. "Oh, you poor girl," he begins, his tone a mix of pity and exasperation. "Ayla, you're different from most elves. You've never liked history, and you left this country relatively young, so you've never seen District Three."

She raises an eyebrow, her interest piqued despite her initial disinterest. "That's right, I never liked this place to begin with. What's the big deal with District Three? Isn't that where dark elves live?" There's a hint of defiance in her voice, a challenge to the status quo she's always been at odds with.

Kael nods, the motion heavy with meaning. "Nope, it's the place they've been forced to live for thousands of years. Isn't that right, princess?" His gaze turns pointedly towards Naiarië, implicating her in the conversation, challenging her to deny the truth.

Naiarië lets out a heavy sigh, a sound filled with centuries of royal burden and weariness. "Yes, yes, I see what you're doing, but it's cult—" Her protest is cut short as Kael interrupts, his patience wearing thin. "Don't start with that shit around me," he snaps, his frustration breaking through the veneer of calm. "Unlike the vibrant city we're standing on, District Three is... horrible. Mines, nothing but mines there. They can't leave, they can't learn, the food they eat barely keeps them alive. They're punished like slaves."

Ayla turns to Naiarië, seeking confirmation, disbelief etched across her features. "Is that true?" There's a mix of accusation and the dawning realization in her voice, as if she's seeing the princess—and her homeland—in a new light.

Naiarië, caught between her royal duties and the truth, sighs again and rubs her temples. "What's the big deal? This is how it's always been. They're naturally adaptive to dark and cold climates, so it's not like it hurts them to mine." Her attempt at justification falls flat, even to her own ears. She looks at Ayla, her expression one of resigned explanation. "We're different, I know it may seem wrong, but this is the way it's always been."

Kael's laughter breaks the tense atmosphere, though there's no humor in it. "Pfff, sure, say that. In order to keep them in line, you send specialists to make sure no one learns how to control mana. If they do, you cripple them. But unfortunately for the past 300 years, they've hidden some people who have been training nonstop, and now they've broken free from their restraints."

The princess glares at Kael, her face a mix of indignation and helplessness. "I-I... I know. I get it, but we won't let them kill us." Her defiance sounds hollow, even to her own ears.

Kael merely shrugs, his stance unyielding. "Like I said, I won't help you with this." His declaration is final, leaving no room for negotiation.

Kael taps his chin thoughtfully, a glint of realization sparking in his eyes. 'Now that I think about it, I just told her they've been training for 300 years... that's not good, now I'll have to alter my plan,' he muses internally, plotting his next move with the precision of a chess master. Breaking the silence, he reassures, "Don't worry, your father is aware and he's planning. In fact, I need to give him something." He produces a couple of pouches from his attire, their appearance unassuming yet somehow significant. 'I'm glad Zeke brought them ahead of time,' he reflects with a hint of relief, tossing them to Naiarië. "Don't open them; it's not a suggestion, it's an order. Your father is waiting for this."

Naiarië catches the pouches, her fingers brushing against the fabric. 'These seem like high-grade spatial pouches. Weird, why so many? Are they filled to the brim?' she ponders, storing them away with a mixture of confusion and curiosity. She lifts her gaze to Kael, her voice carrying a mix of resignation and hope. "Okay, fine. I get it, you have the right not to help us. But you said you would help us with mother's illness, right? How do you plan to do that?"

Kael shakes his head, a tsk resonating in the silent room. "Tsk, tsk, tsk. I never said I'd help you with her illness." He tosses a crystal onto the table with a nonchalance that belies the gravity of his next words. "I'll help you find out who poisoned her."

The room seems to freeze for a moment as Naiarië's eyes widen, her body trembling with a mixture of shock and disbelief. "P-poisoned? That doesn't make sense... the doctor said—" Her protest is cut short as Kael interrupts, his voice carrying a harsh truth. "Your mother is currently the strongest elf in the country; she's incapable of getting sick. She was poisoned, and your father lied to you. He didn't want you to worry."

Ayla's reflexes kick in as she catches Naiarië before she can fall, her arms wrapping around her in a firm, supportive hold. "Easy there," she murmurs, steadying the princess with a gentleness that contrasts sharply with the tension in the room.

Kael stands, his presence commanding as he prepares to leave. "I need to find out who it is. Just give that to your father and keep acting normal. Prepare for the upcoming day; you're in charge of the event, right?" He strides towards the door, his thoughts guarded yet revealing. 'I already know who poisoned her, but it's too early to tell them.' With a casual wave, he adds, "See you around, princess," before the door slowly shuts behind him.

-

As the door shuts behind him, Kael blinks, momentarily disoriented by the abrupt shift in scenery. In front of him, Isadora casually sips her coconut, her face expressionless yet somehow imbued with an implicit challenge. Kael racks his brain, a mixture of confusion and suspicion weaving through his thoughts. "Why are you here... How did you find me..." The words tumble out before he catches himself, his gaze dropping to her attire. 'That... those are the set of clothes she won in the midterms. Please don't tell me...' he notes silently, an edge of recognition in his internal monologue.

Isadora's head waves slightly, and a line of light blue mana string manifests from her sleeve, stretching directly to him. The visual is almost poetic, a tangible connection in a world of uncertainty. "Why did you do that? You know you can't change who you choose once it's set," Kael remarks, the frustration evident in his voice as he rubs his temples.

Isadora tilts her head, her actions and demeanor as calm as the sea in her coconut. "Hmm? You said we would train," she states plainly, the simplicity of her declaration belying the complexity of their situation. 

Kael nods, the acknowledgment coming with a heavy sigh. "Yes, I did tell you that but it's a waste, you can only choose one person to trace." Isadora's nod, simple and straightforward. "I chose you when I got it," she states, her choice laid bare with a simplicity that is as unsettling as it is touching.

Kael exhales, a sigh that seems to carry a mix of annoyance and resignation. "I'm flattered but... whatever, I doubt you care. Here, I made some food, we can share it while we head to the training ground." 

As they walk, Kael's advice comes with a side of caution and humor. "This is good food so don't waste it, and don't show it to Lysandra or she'll get mad since she hasn't tried this yet, okay?"