The dying light of sunset crept through the window, thin and anemic, barely touching the room.
The room rested in a dusty half-light. Furniture lay fractured and scattered, as if a cyclone had torn through it.
Thomas lay on the floor in the corner, leaning against the wall, his bruised hands resting on the floorboards. He looked like a lifeless puppet. Abandoned. Broken.
Tears escaped from his hollow, reddened eyes. He gazed at the large family portrait hanging on the wall.
"Everyone betrayed … brother… sister… mother." His lips flickered as he uttered the next na with great pain. "…Emma."
"No one is trustworthy." Then he gazed at the blood-stained golden ring. "Neither god nor devil."
"Even you are not loyal to yourself," Dire said, floating in the air. He gazed at him as if observing a pest. He snapped his fingers, and a mirror appeared in front of Thomas, showing his pathetic reflection. "Look at yourself. Where you should express your anger, you ran away like a coward."
Thomas murmured, "If I vent my anger, then the whole kingdom will label a madman."
"Does it matter what others are thinking? What you're doing ans nothing to them."
"NOTHING? THEN WHY HURT YOURSELF? WHY ENDURE ALL THIS?"
Thomas glanced at him and answered, "Because I have to. I have to fulfill the promise." Then he glanced at the staggering image of himself. "You once said my soul was broken. Hollow. You were right; I am literally dead."
Then my life has only one purpose. One value. I will stake everything on it.
"Lord Dire, I wish to know the truth that everyone is hiding," Thomas said.
Dire stared at him and asked, "This ability only works on mortals. Will you still wish for it?"
"Yes."
A black haze rose from his hand; darkness shrouded the room. Nothing was visible. Nothing could be felt. It was as if Thomas had been thrown into a void.
Instead of panicking, Thomas just sat silently with his eyes closed. Slowly, he lost his consciousness.
---
A warm light pressed against his closed eyelids, pale and persistent, until sleep finally loosened its grip.
He blinked several tis, then fully opened his eyes. The sun was rising. The room remained as it was. Furniture lay fractured and scattered.
Thomas stood up and groaned as his whole body ached and felt stiff. He stretched, then washed his face with the little leftover cold water.
He then fixed his wrinkled clothes and walked out of the room, heading to the dining room.
At the long dining table, Emma sat at the other end, eating a simple breakfast. Thomas stood still and gazed at her. The mories of her and John resurfaced before his eyes. His heart raced, and his hands clenched tightly.
"What is it, Thomas? Why are you standing there?" Emma asked.
Thomas forced a smile and answered as he moved toward his seat. "Nothing. I was just srized by your beauty."
"Oh! Don't flatter ." Her cheeks flushed slightly, and she offered a small smile. 'Disgusting.'
Thomas froze. He had not imagined it. The thought had arrived whole, sharp, and clearly. He asked, "Did you say sothing?"
"No, it must be your ears ringing."
A maid was setting up warm soup and bread for him. He asked, "Where were you last night?"
"I was at the shrine. There were so important rituals where my presence was needed," Emma answered bluntly, without a mont's hesitation. 'I was at the shore with my darling.'
Thomas stared at her. This voice… it must be because of my wish. His hands trembled. Not from fear—but from the effort of keeping them still. The way she speaks lies… that surprises most.
Then Emma placed her spoon and fork on the table and stood up from her chair. "Pardon ." Her plate was still nearly full, as if she had taken only a few bites. "I have a necessary eting with a few noble ladies. So, I must take my leave."
'I don't want to see him. He disgusts .'
Thomas nodded and kept eating. How strange. Even such creamy soup feels tasteless. Even so, he kept eating. "Delicious."
"Thank you for the complint, my Lord," the maid and the chef bowed deeply.
'Yes! Finally, he complinted my food.'
He stared at the Emma. If faith and trust had rotted beyond repair, then only structure remained. Power. Resources. Control.
---
Denim stood outside the library of the royal castle. He fixed his collar and took a deep breath. Then he knocked on the door.
"Co in."
The door opened; the sll of old books hit his nose as he saw many volus properly arranged on the bookshelves. Thomas sat in a chair, scribbling on a parchnt. "Pardon my intrusion, my Lord."
Thomas took a glance at him and rolled up the scroll. "Sit."
"Thank you, my Lord."
Denim sat on the chair, his legs joined together, back straightened, and hands resting on his thighs.
He asked, "You have summoned , Your Majesty."
Thomas nodded and said, "Denim, are you able to process godly ores?"
Denim was rooted to the spot, astonishnt carved into every line of his face. What is he asking? Godly ores? Does he have godly ores? Denim glanced at him. As Thomas's eyes fell on him, Denim quickly lowered his gaze. Then he said, "Sorry, my Lord. Not only I, but all blacksmiths cannot process godly ores."
"It requires imnse strength and specialized knowledge."
Thomas leaned back and tapped his fingers on the table. He stared at him and thought, So, divine tal is a no-go. Then which tal will be ideal for my second wish?
My country needs iron to counter enemies and gold to develop and sustain the war. Ah! What should I do… He froze mid-thought, his eyes widening as inspiration struck like a spark in the dark. A mixture of iron and gold. This will work.
"Is it possible to separate iron and gold from an alloy?"
Denim blinked several tis, flustered by the unexpected question from nowhere. First godly ores, now this. What is he thinking? Denim answered, "Yes, Your Majesty, it's possible. Iron and gold have a wide difference in density, so it can be done."
"I have a huge amount of such alloys," Thomas stated, staring at him. "Can I entrust this work to you?"
Denim gulped; his mind raced with various thoughts. A huge amount of alloys, from nowhere. How? Why now? Is there a deeper motive behind it? Or sothing else? But the most important thing is he wants to trust with such important work.
Within a few minutes, Denim collected his thoughts and answered with solid resolution, "Yes, Your Majesty. You can entrust this to ."
'I will do it with utmost precision and care.'
Thomas smiled after hearing the truth. He presented a scroll. "Take this."
Denim opened the letter and read it. His eyes opened wide, and his hands trembled. What the fuck! With this, no one will dare to ss with . Not even the ministers.
"Prepare the furnaces and a massive underground chamber. Select the most loyal n for this. It would be better if you used slaves. And take as much money from the treasury as you need."
Denim stood up and bowed deeply. "As per your order, Your Majesty. I will ensure that not a single mistake will be heard from ."
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