The world awaited his speech. Sylvaris stood tall atop the raised platform, surrounded by won, the king, and the royal daughters. Below, the people of the capital filled the square, their gazes a mix of awe and unease.
On one hand, they loved him. Respected him. They awaited his march against the Demon Continent with bated breath.
But on the other... they rembered the Awakening Ceremony.
He had stripped them all bare — every man, woman, and child — exposing their bodies with that terrifying pulse of energy. It was never officially confird that he was behind it. But the people had put two and two together.
Those twisted, godless beams that had manifested behind him during the ceremony — one black as a demon, one crimson as blood and lust — still haunted their dreams.
They sent shivers down spines. And yet... who among them had the guts to speak out? Not the common folk. Not even the divine families. Everyone kept their mouths shut. Except his fanatics.
Their throats ripped open with praise, shouting his na like prophets witnessing the end tis. Their eyes shone red with obsession — and love.
"SYLVARIS! SYLVARIS!"
They didn’t care that his family was already full of heroes. That his elder brothers had long since earned their glory. In this city, no one stood in the spotlight like Sylvaris.
His fa. His power. It eclipsed the sun.
"WE LOVE YOU!" soone scread from below, finally giving Sylvaris an escape from the thick tension hanging around him and the won glaring daggers at his back.
He took the opportunity, stepping forward, excusing himself from the king as he raised his arms. The crowd erupted.
It wasn’t a celebration of conquest. He hadn’t returned from war. This was just a teleportation. A return ho. And yet, the people lost their minds. Especially the won. They scread at the sight of him — their bodies practically trembling from his presence alone.
"I’m back!" he shouted, grinning wide.
The city roared louder.
"WE LOVE YOU!"
"SYLVARIS! SYLVARIS!"
"TAKE !"
Behind him, the won didn’t miss the mont. The aura radiating off him — wild, unrestrained, divine — washed over the square like fire in dry grass.
Even Alveria felt it. Her usual smug disdain twisted into sothing warr.
And Selphira? That cold façade of hers didn’t budge... but her heartbeat betrayed her. It thundered in her chest like the sun rising too quickly after a long winter night.
"Sylvaris, we should go now. The Ceremony of the Trials awaits you soon," the king said, his voice oozing with fake warmth. "You’ll be staying at your parents’ estate for a few days — perhaps take the ti to relax your nerves, spend so ti with your beauties. And if you need anything from us... Co visit . You’re my son-in-law, after all. My doors are always open to you."
It was all said with a grin. A false, honeyed grin that dripped with pretend affection.
Of course, Sylvaris saw straight through it.
He didn’t believe the king’s words for a second — but he didn’t take them lightly either. If the king said sothing, then he would be held to it.
And if that ant Sylvaris wanted to play around with Alveria, push the old man’s buttons, maybe twist things just enough to make him squirm...
Well.
He had a feeling the king wouldn’t care to stop him.
"Thank you, Your Majesty. I vow not to disappoint you," Sylvaris said, bowing his head slightly.
But in his mind, the real vow whispered like poison through steel. I won’t disappoint... when the ti cos to kill you and take the crown from your rotting head.
Soon, the crowd was ushered away by the guards, giving Sylvaris so much-needed privacy. But, of course, peace never lasted long.
Alveria stepped forward — cold, poised, demanding answers. "I’m asking you again. Who are they?" she asked bluntly, eyes flicking toward the won beside him. Her voice was clipped, yet controlled.
Sylvaris just smirked." I told you already... I haven’t married any of them... yet," he replied coolly. "So if being first is that important to you, feel free to step up."
He knew exactly what she wanted. It wasn’t love. Not even lust. It was power. Prestige. A crown above her sister’s head.
Alveria was a fox in human skin — apologies to Faylira — calculating, strategic, already three steps ahead in whatever ga she was playing. These other won were just obstacles in her eyes. But she wasn’t giving up. Because she could see it clearly. Sylvaris wasn’t just so pretty face. He was a king in the making. And she wanted to be the queen beside him — no, above him. She didn’t believe he could ever truly control her.
How foolish. Lilith alone has taught us what Sylvaris is capable of. She should’ve seen the leash he could wrap around even the proudest neck. But hey — I’m kinda excited to see how this little ga plays out. And who knows? Maybe the author won’t disappoint us next ti with his predictable writing. Yeah, I said it. Sorry, not sorry. Now let’s keep going.
Sylvaris and his won said their goodbyes to the king and his daughters — and, most importantly, to Darian, the loyal guardian who had brought them back.
Not long after, they boarded the carriage prepared for his return — a luxurious ride decorated in gold and snow-white trim, drawn by sleek horses as pale as winter mist.
As they moved through the capital, Sylvaris sat quietly, his golden eyes watching as the city gave way to the familiar roads of the outer district. There, beyond the main palace walls, lay the manor of his family — a place that served not only as ho, but as a bastion of defense in tis of war.
That was the unspoken duty of all divine-blooded houses. They would not be permitted to hide behind the king’s shield when calamity struck. No — they were the shield.
And now, the ancestral estate of the Elyndor line rose into view. Just as grand as he rembered — sprawling halls, snow-white pillars, and gardens so vast they could rival a dozen football fields. The scent of blooming mana flowers floated through the air, carried by the breeze, along with sothing else...
The scent of ho.
Maids and butlers lined the driveway with glowing smiles, bowing as the carriage ca to a stop.
"Welco back, young master. We have been awaiting your re—"
The head butler’s voice was cut off by the high, lodic cry of a girl from the far side of the courtyard.
"Big brother is back!"
A blur of motion shot toward them — golden curls bouncing, eyes shining.
It was her. His younger sister. One of the four. His pride. His joy. The only girl in the world he loved purely — without lust, without power gas, without strategy.
Just love.
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