"You!" A girl with the bright green eyes bent down to the trunk of the tree, the one that was the thickest and tallest in the forest. Her eyes peeked through the hole in the bark of the tree, the one that was small but large enough to fit a child. She pointed her hand toward the young boy, the one with the bright blue eyes that had stared at her with glassy eyes that were still wet from tears.
She smiled a teasing grin, "A boy shouldn’t be crying alone. What’s your na?"
Atlas snapped out of his daze, his eyes locking onto the face before him, the girl who had stirred him from centuries of silence. For a heartbeat, he couldn’t move, staring at Arabella. But not quite. Though his eyes were staring at her, his heart and head could only think of Circe.
She looked too much like her. The sa gentle curve to her smile, the sa light in her bright green eyes that once belonged to his beloved witch, Circe. He felt the breath leave him. For a mont, it was as if ti folded, and he was staring into the past.
Once, Circe had looked just like this, so full of life, her gaze soft, her laughter like sunlight in a world he thought he had long condemned. But in the final years they had spent together, she had changed. Her warmth had withered. Her smile had faded. Her gaze had grown cold and unreadable, her voice always steady, always guarded.
And all of it, every crack in that once vivid soul, had been his doing.
So to see soone with her face, looking freer, he felt a sense of delight and sorrow.
Arabella, on the other hand, noted down his words in his head, especially the witch’s na- Circe.
She thought of going to Lastor and asked the witch’s na as now that she thought about it, had she ever asked the witch’s na? Her title is known as the First witch and so she would only call her by the title when talking to Lastor.
If they t, wouldn’t Lastor be surprised?
"The first human king was a bastard of the royal family?" Karnala whispered, her brows furrowed. "That can’t be right. He was recognized by the entire empire. Humans are notoriously unforgiving toward bastards, no status, no title. They’d never allow one to rise to power."
Atlas, who had remained quiet, finally spoke. His voice was soft, almost fond, but laced with sothing far colder beneath.
"There is always a way to make them bow, miss," he said. Though his eyes retained their calm gentleness, the smile that curved his lips was sharp enough to draw blood. It chilled the room.
"You don’t need to be born legitimate. You just need to make sure no one else lives to claim the title." His words hung in the silence, heavy as stone.
"Eliminate your rivals," he said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "And the throne will co to you willingly."
"You killed... your siblings?" Arabella frowned slightly but she understood that living as a royal could push one into a fate where they have to dye their hands with the blood of their own family to secure the crown.
"I had to," Atlas clenched his hands together as he leaned back into the chair, sighing briefly as though there was a lump at the back of his throat.
To see him dressed in fine silk, gold and jewelries covering his neck and arms made him seed regal. But for a king once so loved, once so well known, now sit under the dim oil lamp beside him, his expression crestfallen and at a loss, made her feel a little forlorn.
"Won born with power were never accepted in the kingdom," Atlas said quietly, his gaze fixed on the pot in front of him as if it could answer for the past. "But if a man were to possess that sa power... he would be praised. Isn’t that right?"
It was true. Witch, the word itself had always been reserved for won. Cursed, feared and hunted.
"I didn’t want her to suffer." His voice lowered. "So I had to take the throne. I had to do it before they could hang her or declare her power a danger to the court. The only way to protect her... was to rule them. And the royal family’s hatred for —" he scoffed, "—it made it easy to stop seeing them as family and start seeing them as enemies."
He exhaled slowly, the breath ragged with mory.
"But even now, even as I claim I did it all for her" He paused. His voice softened. "In the end, I lost myself chasing that goal. The witch I tried to protect, she was the one who ended up protecting . And in doing so, she lost many things. Too many."
His eyes fluttered closed, the weight of mory dragging him back.
He rembered the final mont before the golden box sealed him away, Circe, standing just a few steps from the glass. He had lifted his hand, reached for her, hoping, pleading, for a word, a touch, anything.
But she just stared.
No words. No tears. No sorrow.
Just silence. Cold, bitter silence.
It was as if, all along, he had been the burden she carried. And that day... she finally let go.
The night before that... hadn’t he ask her to abandon everything as he would? So they could run away, disappear together, leaving everything behind, this burden they carry, the fact that they have to protect their own people yet anyti they try to do so, they instead worsen the hatred between humans and sorcerers.
But she pushed his hands away and that last expression of coldness and utter relief from her face... that was the answer she had given to him.
A cold no that his heart couldn’t accept.
"If you have any question, little miss witch," said Atlas after a while with a smile, "You can simply ask ."
"Are you sure?" Renard who had been staring at Atlas in wary, didn’t want to quickly believe in him. "I doubt that it would benefit you to answer our questions. In the first place, you aren’t aware of what we want or what we are."
Atlas smiled at the apprehensive words Renard showed, instead looking delighted that soone was suspicious of him instead.
"Indeed," answered Atlas, "I don’t know but what good does it bring to know? My kingdom has fallen. This isn’t the old Versailles no more judging by your red eyes. It’s not my castle, it’s not my world, and so the last thing I could do is to help the descendant of my witch."
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