Visit at the Wrong Hour
His hand lowered slowly from his side. The faint echo of the move slipped through the corridor like a breath. His voice followed—softer this ti, stripped of the earlier sharpness, replaced by a quiet curiosity that carried far more weight than suspicion ever could.
"Tell ... what are you doing here?"
The question settled in the dim hall, suspended between flickering torchlight and the controlled stillness of his stance. Victor didn’t tense; he didn’t narrow his eyes. He simply watched, unreadable as stone, while behind that calm veneer his thoughts churned with a speed and clarity no one else would ever guess.
The figure in front of him didn’t flinch. Instead, he let out a slow, easy breath and offered a small smile—gentle, teasing, almost as if amused by being asked the question at all.
"Why shouldn’t I be here?" the man murmured, tilting his head. "Is it so strange for to visit my own son?"
Victor’s gaze sharpened. "Ben," he said quietly. "You’re not subtle."
The man chuckled, brushing a thumb across his own jaw as though smoothing away years of worry. "You make it sound like I climb walls to spy on you."
"You did that last month."
"Only because you locked the door."
"You could knock."
"I did knock. You ignored it."
Victor exhaled through his nose, the smallest hint of a smile tugging at his mouth. He stepped aside slightly, giving the man a clear look at him under the warm torchlight.
Ben—King of the Lionheart Kingdom, monarch feared by half the continent—stood with that sa relaxed stance he always slipped into around Victor. No crown. No royal robe. Just a father wearing the kind of expression you use when you’re caught sowhere you shouldn’t be but refuse to admit it.
Victor studied him for a heartbeat longer before speaking again, voice low and plain.
"It’s late. If you wanted to see , you could’ve sent soone. Why wait outside my door?"
Ben lifted his shoulders a little, playful. "I wanted to give you privacy."
Victor huffed a soft laugh and shook his head. "You overthink things."
"And you underestimate how much space a growing son needs."
"I don’t need space from you," Victor replied, turning toward his door. "Co inside."
Ben’s smile deepened—sothing warm, relieved, fatherly—and he stepped forward, following his son without hesitation.
Victor pushed the door open.
His room unfolded around them in quiet luxury. Purple and gold the—rich, warm, and balanced without feeling gaudy. A chandelier hung above, soft light scattered through well-polished crystal. His bed was large, neatly made, sheets smoothed without a wrinkle. The windows were frad by heavy velvet drapes, tied back with braided cords. Everything in the room carried a clear signature: organized, intentional, almost impossibly clean.
Ben murmured under his breath, "You really do keep everything too tidy."
"You raised ," Victor shot back.
Ben laughed again—a low, familiar sound that hit Victor sowhere soft.
Victor gestured toward the couches near the window. "Sit. We can talk."
Ben obeyed, lowering himself onto the couch with that sa composed grace he used during diplomatic etings, though his expression stayed relaxed. Victor sat beside him—not too close, not too far—and reached toward the small silver bell resting on the table between them.
He pressed it once.
A faint hum rippled through the air, magic woven into the sound. chanical precision and ancient spellwork braided together into a quiet pulse that traveled through the mansion’s service corridors. Sowhere beyond the walls, it would alert a maid to bring tea.
Ben raised an eyebrow. "Fancy."
"It’s standard here."
"Still fancy."
Victor shrugged. "You’re the one who insisted the staff spoil ."
Ben smiled without denying it.
Victor turned slightly toward him. "Now tell why you ca."
Ben t his gaze, but said nothing at first. His lips twitched, and he tilted his head as though pretending to think. "A father can’t visit his own son?"
"You can," Victor said. "But that’s not what this is. You don’t wander palace halls at night unless sothing’s on your mind."
Ben’s smile cracked into a dry laugh—caught. "You’re too sharp for your own good."
"You raised ," Victor repeated.
"Dangerously well."
Silence stretched for a mont before Victor leaned back, fingers tapping lazily against the armrest. "What is it really?"
Ben sighed, slow and heavy. Not defeated—just thoughtful.
"I ca," he said quietly, "because I wanted to talk about... general things."
Victor’s expression softened a little. "General?"
"Your future," Ben clarified.
Victor blinked once. "My future?"
"Yes." Ben’s voice dipped into a tone he rarely used—serious, steady, heavy with aning. "You couldn’t cultivate before. You were born without the ability, and for years I... I accepted it. I hated it, but I accepted it. And now you suddenly can. That changes everything."
Victor felt a flicker in his chest—old wounds, old fears, old longings.
"And you’re worried," he said.
Ben shook his head slowly. "Not worried. Just thinking." He paused. "You know how martial cultivation works. Age isn’t forgiving. The older the practitioner, the harder the path."
Victor felt a flicker in his chest—old wounds, old fears, old longings.
"And you’re worried," he said.
Ben shook his head slowly. "Not worried. Just thinking." He paused. "You know how martial cultivation works. Age isn’t forgiving. The older the practitioner, the harder the path."
Victor nodded. "I’m aware."
"But you’re talented," Ben continued. "More than talented. What happened to you changed everything. It’s good news—great news, even. But it also ans your path will be... different from what we expected."
Victor held his father’s gaze. "I’ll manage."
"I know you will. That’s not the part that concerns ." Ben leaned forward slightly. "I’m thinking about what cos next. For you. For the kingdom. For—"
A sharp click cut him off.
Both n turned their heads at the exact sa mont.
The door creaked open.
Their conversation froze mid-air, suspended between them with all the weight it carried, both sets of eyes narrowing toward the doorway as the silhouette of soone stepped inside—
And the Chapter ends right there.
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