"Speaking of which, if you use the ’Child of the Cup’ ritual but don’t include your own genetic material in it..."
Annan suddenly thought of sothing and asked, "Then wouldn’t the child turn out exactly like ? After all, in this ritual, it would technically be a child of the Goddess of Cup and myself."
"It’s fine, Annan. I’ve optimized the ritual."
Kafney answered softly, "I didn’t just leave everything untouched. The child in that cup is indeed your and my child."
"I see... That’s good."
Annan responded quietly.
Though he usually didn’t need sleep, he now felt a bit tired.
Both of them were dressed in sleepwear—Kafney wore a plush, bright yellow pajama set that had a tea-brown hue, while Annan’s was a plain, light blue silk pajama shirt that resembled a dress shirt.
The two seed to belong to different seasons, different latitudes.
Annan was holding Kafney from behind, like clutching a warm plush bear or a large, gentle dog.
The warmth brought by Kafney’s demonic blood rendered her exceptionally warm, perfectly offsetting the chill emanating from Annan’s body. If Annan were an ordinary person, even with Kafney’s effort to restrain herself, he might still feel scorched and completely dried out.
Now, however, Annan had lost the Heart of Winter.
His blood was no longer so icy cold.
Not long ago, Annan’s blood was akin to that of the Frost Scaled Dragon—every drop falling to the ground could instantly stir up a burst of frost, freezing the windows of a room in re monts. As an "archgod" of the Gold rank, his very race ant he was far removed from ordinary human existence.
Just touching his exposed skin without preparation was enough to cause instant frostbite.
But now...
With his heart replaced, what Annan’s "heart" now pumps throughout his body is Infinite Light.
Though his skin still felt sowhat cold, it was akin to the chill of an ordinary person with mild cold intolerance.
Annan’s hands, held by Kafney and tucked under her clothing near her abdon, had already been ward by the heat emanating from Kafney’s body to a comfortable temperature.
At this mont, Annan maintained this posture, holding Kafney from behind.
He quietly, steadily breathed in the fragrance of Kafney’s silky black hair, feeling the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest. He was enveloped in a peace and reassurance that allowed him to think of nothing else.
This granted Annan, who had been ceaselessly thinking and striving since arriving in this world, a rare chance to stop, to enjoy a mont of tranquility.
Just as Kafney had wished in days past.
She knew she couldn’t assist Annan in the areas he excelled at...but at the very least, she could alleviate pressures from other directions, taking so of the unnecessary burdens off his shoulders.
Take, for instance, the handling of governance affairs, or the maintenance of social relations. And perhaps most importantly, ensuring Annan relaxed and stopped thinking too much before he actually realized he was fatigued—letting him simply hold her and feel at peace.
—When your loved one happens to be the hero capable of saving the world...
You might not be able to fight by his side, but at the very least, you must avoid distracting him or hindering his ability to perform at his best. And beyond that, you must also grow strong enough to ease his worries, ensuring he doesn’t fret over your safety while fighting on the front lines—no fears of kidnappings, abductions, or assassination attempts.
After Kafney achieved these, she realized she had more energy to spare.
She began attempting to shoulder more of Annan’s burdens.
To Annan, the identity of Grand Duke of Winter was undoubtedly a source of pressure—unless one were incompetent or devoid of responsibility, the higher one’s position was, the greater the burdens and the intensity of work they endured. For those at the very top, the pressure was imnse... because they had no one left to rely on.
They must not only solve all issues themselves but also address the myriad unsolvable problems brought to them by those below.
For mortal rulers, such responsibilities are enough to consu an entire lifeti of energy—a "career" that leaves little room for other pursuits or achievents.
But those rulers? At best, they might enjoy painting, writing poetry, or doing crafts as hobbies.
Annan’s "side profession," however, was far more crucial than his duties as Grand Duke—it was "saving the world!"
—However, passing the role of Grand Duke to Dmitry would bring new problems.
Annan’s eldest brother simply didn’t possess the capability to govern a duchy.
"—He’s an outstanding General, Minister, and Advisor, but he’s neither a ruler nor a sovereign. That’s why Ivan never intended for him to inherit the title of Grand Duke from the very beginning. Ivan knew Dmitry overthinks things, worries excessively, and is burdened by too much he wants to protect."
These were insights Annan previously shared with Kafney:
"Dmitry lacks the requisite boldness and has an overwhelmingly strong sense of responsibility... It prevents him from initiating tentative strides unless he’s absolutely certain of victory, and it also makes him unwilling to forsake anything he deems important.
"This obstinacy isn’t inherently bad. But the problem lies in the fact that, while he doesn’t want to give anything up, he can’t provide a solution that pleases everyone either. He stubbornly trudges forward, doing his utmost to hold everything together and patch the cracks."
He’s like soone cursed by his own talent.
Dmitry’s issue stems precisely from a "lack of talent."
If Ivan, Maria, and Annan had never existed...
He probably wouldn’t be so caught up in his inner turmoil. He would have co to terms with the fact that the issues he faced had no definitive solutions.
But he grew surrounded by individuals with extraordinary abilities. As the eldest sibling in a family full of prodigies apart from himself, Dmitry bore imnse pressure.
This left Dmitry perpetually furrowing his brows and relying heavily on alcohol to ease his stress.
If not for the Ten Fingers carrying out rituals to maintain Dmitry’s health, his condition would have long deteriorated to daily bouts of stomach pain.
To help Annan worry less, Kafney began acquiring intelligence regarding Winter’s affairs two months ago.
—Specifically, the sources of intelligence ca from Maria.
Initially, Maria’s intent was simply to challenge Kafney, to give this young foreign queen a hard ti—a "trial by fire." She hoped to show Kafney the complexities of facing varying groups of people in entirely new environnts, making her realize her plan to "liberate Annan" was anything but simple.
But what Maria didn’t anticipate was that Kafney took the challenge seriously.
She poured over innurable books to learn, continuously wrote to Maria for clarification on various issues, and composed reports exceeding eight pages daily in an effort to analyze and resolve the problems confronting the Duchy of Winter, promptly mailing them to Maria—all while handling her responsibilities on Noah’s side.
Though Kafney didn’t possess talents as overwhelming as Annan’s, she wielded hers alongside willingness to employ the most grueling rigor to hone herself, squeezing out every ounce of excellence she could.
This attitude was what eventually earned Maria’s recognition of Kafney.
Maria acknowledged the girl’s determination and earnestness.
She understood that this zeal stemd from "love."
"You know, Annan."
Kafney turned lightly toward him, her graceful movents almost like a fish. Her unfastened pajama top did not interfere as she flipped over, without disturbing Annan’s hands.
She wrapped her arms around Annan in return, burying her face against his chest.
With her face resting against Annan’s now still—no longer breathing or rising—chest, which now only flickered faintly with light.
"You know..."
She murmured softly, "Do you know the aning behind my na, Kafney?"
"In the Giant language, it refers to the feeling of ’fingers running through a lover’s hair.’ They describe that sensation as..."
Annan’s elent of "Wisdom" provided the answer.
He spoke while his hands—still tucked into Kafney’s clothing—slid upward naturally. Finally, they peeked out from Kafney’s neckline and grazed her pale, smooth neck; his alabaster fingers sank into her inky-black strands of hair.
As his thumb caught hold of Kafney’s earlobe, he gently cupped her head using this simple motion.
"—Kafney."
Annan responded.
Kafney’s lips gently curved upward.
Her crimson eyes shimred, bright as stars.
Or perhaps they reflected the stars visible before her—the constellations outside the window.
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