reality

A grand ball was held in the capital, a glittering affair where the dukes and their families were invited. The atmosphere was lively, filled with music, laughter, and the faint clinking of crystal glasses. Despite the grandeur, one notable name was absent—Kieran, the infamous Duke of Dark.

"Maybe it's because he never shows up, so my father just stopped inviting him," Ziven casually remarked, glancing at the invitation he had received.

As Ziven's friend, Cior was invited as his plus-one. Though she initially hesitated, Ziven's endless pleading convinced her to come along. She arrived in her male form, dressed in sharp, tailored attire, blending seamlessly into the crowd. Her silver hair caught the light as she moved, drawing subtle glances from every corner of the room.

When the dukes—except for Mateo's father—saw her enter alongside Ziven, their faces paled for a fleeting moment before they quickly masked their reactions. Their sudden unease didn't escape Cior's sharp eyes, though she said nothing, merely offering a polite smile.

The group of dukes approached her and Ziven, their movements stiff as if carefully calculated. "Nice to meet you, Cior," they greeted her, their voices tinged with a politeness that felt too forced.

Cior tilted her head slightly, her sharp gaze scanning their expressions. "The pleasure is mine," she replied smoothly, her tone as polite as theirs but carrying an undercurrent of suspicion.

Ziven, oblivious to the tension in the air, laughed, throwing an arm over Cior's shoulder. "See? You're already making an impression," he teased, completely unaware of the strained looks being exchanged between the dukes.

Mateo, who had been observing from a distance, frowned. He leaned closer to Amaias, whispering, "Did you see their faces when she walked in? It's like they've seen a ghost."

Amaias nodded subtly, his sharp eyes darting between Cior and the dukes. "They know something. But the question is, what?"

Arven, standing nearby, smirked. "Maybe they're scared she'll outshine them. Can't blame them; look at her," he joked, trying to lighten the mood.

Cior, meanwhile, remained composed, exchanging pleasantries with the dukes while carefully observing their every move. She couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. Their initial reaction to her presence had been too telling, and she knew better than to ignore such signs.

As the night went on, the tension only seemed to grow. The dukes avoided lingering near Cior, their conversations abruptly ending whenever she approached. Mateo's father, on the other hand, treated her with genuine warmth, engaging her in discussions about various topics, much to her relief.

During a quieter moment, Ziven leaned toward her, his usual grin firmly in place. "Hey, you noticed, right? The way they're acting? What's up with that?"

Cior's eyes narrowed slightly as she took a sip from her glass. "I'm not sure yet, but they definitely recognize me—or think they do," she muttered, her voice low enough for only him to hear.

Ziven's grin faltered slightly as he processed her words. "Well, whatever it is, they don't scare me. Just say the word, and I'll make them regret whatever's making you uncomfortable."

Cior couldn't help but chuckle at his confidence. "Let's not start a scene just yet," she said, her tone light but her expression serious.

As the ball continued, Cior found herself wondering about the connection between these dukes and her past. Her instincts told her that this wasn't a coincidence, and she silently resolved to find out the truth—no matter what it took.

The boys had noticed their parents' strange reactions toward Cior at the ball and decided they couldn't let it go unanswered. By some clever excuse, they convinced Cior to return home, leaving them to confront their parents about what they were hiding.

Arven was the first to speak, addressing his mother with uncharacteristic seriousness. "Mother, why did your face go pale when you saw Cior?"

His mother hesitated, her expression stiffening before she gave a half-hearted smile. "He reminded me of someone—a girl we used to know."

"And who might that be?" Mateo interjected, his sharp gaze fixed on her.

"I don't know, son," Mateo's father quickly cut in, his tone dismissive.

Amaias wasn't buying it. His voice was calm but laced with steel. "Father, you looked just as unsettled. Why? Does Cior being Kieran's child have anything to do with it?"

Amaias's father's face grew ashen at the mention of Kieran, and he exchanged a wary glance with Mateo's father. Mateo's father nodded reluctantly, his voice low and strained. "Yes. Kieran's son—"

"Why? We need answers," Amaias pressed.

Arven's mother interrupted sharply. "There's no need to dig into the past. What's gone is gone."

The tension in the room thickened as the boys exchanged a look. Ziven crossed his arms, his expression uncharacteristically serious. "No. There is a need. And while we're at it, do you know anything about the experiments happening in this kingdom?"

Mateo's father visibly stiffened, his hands curling into fists. "We don't know anything," he lied.

"You're clearly lying, Father," Mateo said coldly, his voice rising in frustration.

Amaias's father sighed deeply, the weight of years bearing down on him. "Yes… we were involved."

The boys stared, the shock and betrayal evident on their faces.

"Listen," Mateo's father said defensively, "it was necessary."

"Necessary? Necessary to take so many innocent lives?" Amaias's voice trembled with restrained fury.

"For your futures," Arven's mother said with an unsettling calmness. "For the future of this kingdom."

Ziven's eyes burned with confusion and anger. "What does that even mean? What future?"

Amaias's father's voice grew heavier as he answered, "Do you ever wonder why the four of you have multiple powers while the rest of the kingdom has no more than one?"

The question hung in the air like a blade.

"What does that have to do with anything?" Amaias demanded, his voice barely steady.

Mateo's father exhaled shakily. "Those powers… they came at a cost."

"What cost?" Ziven asked, though the dread in his voice betrayed that he already knew the answer.

Mateo's father looked them in the eye. "Sacrifices. Children were used to create potions that gave you those powers."

The words hit them like a hammer.

"What—?" Arven's voice cracked, his usual bravado nowhere to be found.

Amaias stepped forward, his fists clenched at his sides. "You're telling me you took innocent children—killed them—to give us power? Why?"

"Because you needed it," Amaias's father said harshly. "For this kingdom to thrive, its leaders must be strong. You are its future."

"You're monsters," Amaias whispered, his voice raw with emotion.

Arven's mother's voice was eerily calm as she added, "Do you remember the potions you used to drink as children? Those potions gave you your abilities. And yes, they were made from those lives."

The room fell into a deafening silence, broken only by the sound of heavy breathing.

"The lust for power," Amaias said, his voice cracking, "has made you forget humanity."

"You're just as responsible as we are," Mateo's father snapped. "You've lived off those sacrifices, benefited from them. You can't speak out—you'd condemn yourselves along with us."

The boys froze, their thoughts swirling in a storm of guilt, anger, and betrayal.

But before any of them could respond, a loud thud broke the silence.

They turned to see Cior standing in the doorway, her face pale and her eyes shimmering with unshed tears.

She had heard everything.

For a moment, no one spoke. Then, without a word, she turned and teleported away, leaving the room suffocatingly silent.

The sound of her sobbing echoed faintly in their minds as they stared at the empty space she had left behind. It wasn't just guilt they felt—it was heartbreak. They had failed her in the worst way, and the knowledge of their families' sins had shattered her trust.