The priest sneered down at him, a chair materializing effortlessly beneath him before he sank into it.
“I am Dontemoré Del Castrejo, Hierarch of the Order.
We have come from beyond the barrier with a singular purpose—to subjugate these lands and, of course, to hunt your father until his execution.”
“So you were going to invade our nation regardless?”
“Perhaps.
Or perhaps it was merely a beautiful coincidence.” The priest leaned back, throwing one leg over the other, his hands steepling in his lap.
“However, your father saw fit to make our tracking of him most effortless, thus delivering us unto this very place.”
Ryurei’s eyes drifted back down in silence, his throat empty with a comeback that never came.
Every ounce of hope had died out, replaced by a bleak, dismal emptiness that was beginning to rival the vacuity of the place he’d just awakened from.
Dontemoré shifted his weight forward, his voice dropping into a chilling, predatory whisper.
“So, if it pleases you to deem us evil, pray, do so.
But do not do it without acknowledging the cause.”
“How am I to…
‘acknowledge the cause’?” Ryurei’s words strained out brittle, thin.
“You think that matters to me?
You’ve just killed my parents, enslaved our town, and, as you said…
intended to conquer our land.
Of course you’re evil to us—there’s no way around that.”
His courage for resistance had waned, as if he were speaking with the Devil himself after having already descended into Hell.
“But then again, you still spared me—you refused to finish this tragedy by killing me too.”
He looked through narrow eyes, slits of hollow suspicion.
“Why?
What do you want with me?
No…
what do you want me to do?”
The priest met his gaze with a sneer that was far too wide.
“Do you…
want my help?
Do you want information?” Ryurei snorted crisply though wearily.
“I’d kill myself before you could even force an answer from me.”
“You might have done so already, had you truly the desire.”
Ryurei’s breathing stopped entirely for a beat, his gaze distending.
“So, you possess the means to end it?
Then…” Dontemoré leaned even closer, the smirk on his lips deepening into a wolfish facade.
“Why have you yet to do it?” His champagne eyes peered intensely into the boy’s canary ones, as if probing right into the boy’s soul.
“From what I perceive, your eyes betray a lingering hunger for life.
There remains some unfinished business with you—a weight that restrains your hand from ending this ordeal yourself.” His voice snaked across the thin air between them, low, menacing.
“You harbor a desire that you forbid your spirit from revealing.
A task you do not fear leaving unaccomplished even before death.
Something that is…
most certainly not shallow or idle.” He leaned back, a smug look twisting his visage.
“You have just provided me the manual for your soul—which, in truth, defines my entire expectation of you.”
Ryurei shot him an indignant, weak scowl.
“Expectation?
What—are you planning to make a subject out of me?” He vented a sardonic huff.
“Oh, I’ll make sure to be your greatest burden.
I won’t stop until I see that face of yours crack with rage.”
“And yet, you would endure all those hardships rather than end your own life, am I correct?”
Ryurei gritted his teeth harder, his fire rekindled once more.
The priest’s words were a wall he had no way of getting around, and the worst part was—he knew it.
“Tch.
You think you’re clever?
If you were truly smart, you would’ve killed me back then.”
He pitched forward this time, finding the rise of his voice.
“Do you really believe you can hold me here much longer if you still refuse to end my life?”
Dontemoré’s smirk crooked into a wide, condescending cleft.
“You are no threat.
Even were you to flee, do you imagine that simply because you are the son of that devil, you constitute a danger to us?” He moved forward slightly, his hands planted firmly against his lap.
“Whether we lose you or not, the outcome remains unchanged.
You are but a mere pawn to be toyed with, and your powers—while rich in potential—will inevitably reach a limit as you age.
“Your people have already buried your own Autarch, have they not?”
Ryurei’s breath caught in his throat.
“Your kind’s…
been here…
before?” His eyes trembled faintly.
This information can still be passed…
even through that endless barrier?
“No.
That event transpired five centuries ago—nearly five hundred years after the barriers were established by the Apex.”
Ryurei’s eyes dilated at the mention, the name hooking something from deep within his memory.
“Your father never saw fit to whisper of such things, did he?” Dontemoré taunted, his voice coiling.
Ryurei paused, searching through his recollection.
“I was told only that they govern the world beyond the barriers—the law to which even Autarchs must bow.”
“A falsehood.
They do not govern the entirety of it.” Dontemoré’s hands clasped together, his tone level.
“Do you know those for whom that ‘law’ is but a trifle?
Those who neither fear its influence nor tremble at its intimidation?”
The boy didn’t respond, nor did he look interested enough to care, his expression a blank, unreadable slate.
“Humans.
Us.”
“You’re not a human,” Ryurei chipped out.
“To your eyes, perhaps.
But in truth, I am.
I was born a mere mortal before I discovered the path to migrate between vessels, thus rendering myself eternal,” Dontemoré replied calmly, unfolding his legs, his elbows now resting on his knees.
“Man refuses to be ruled.
A law he cannot break is, in essence, a law he has yet to truly discover.”
The notion struck a chord deep within Ryurei.
He’d always harbored a distaste for the Autocrats—he’d never been fond of the system that governed his nation.
Consequently, the priest’s words petrified him like ice.
“And that is precisely why your nation is bereft of an Autarch.
Your kind did not accept the divine decree—they desired their own kind to possess the primary agency.” The priest’s gaze sharpened, as if carving the “truth” into the boy’s very soul.
“Is that not the very state in which your nation currently languishes?”
Ryurei didn’t answer immediately.
Deeming the priest malevolent was one thing, but proving him wrong was something Ryurei couldn’t yet manage.
He recalled his own words: If I were to choose—it’d be to abolish the system of autocracy and replace it with something like autarchy, like the ones in the books.
I believe the autarchs are the ones who should rule over lands—the very words his father had left unresolved.
His gaze finally turned to the priest, his features darkening into a resigned, weary mask.
“I only thought to abolish autocracy and return to traditional autarchy…
but without harming anyone.”
“And do you truly believe such a thing is possible?” Dontemoré asked.
“You think of avoiding chaos, yet your kind subjugated this very land through such bloody means.
Autarchy, autocracy—it matters not; pandemonium is the shadow cast by every system of rule.”
His voice dropped an octave.
“In this world, chaos is the most destructive, yet most effective instrument for attaining imperial objectives.
Even your kind would never deny this truth.”
“Even if our land were ruled by an Autarch, you’d still try to subdue them and take control of our lands, wouldn’t you?
So why do you tell me all this?” Ryurei answered, his tone retaining its wary edge.
“To let you know that your kind and mine share the same desideratum.
Or, at the very least, we did so in the ages past.”
He bent forward once more, his eyes hooded, veiled.
“You are no different from us.
You—the people of the Second Generation—are the direct descendants of our own kind, the First.
Surely your father told you of this blood-debt, did he not?”
Ryurei found himself quiet for a long while—perhaps a full minute.
Then, his voice feeble, low: “…How do you expect me to help you, then?
You think all of this is enough to convince me to turn to your side?”
We do not expect you to render us aid, nor to become our accomplice.” The priest’s voice held a firm, irrevocable bite.
“We are merely curious to observe how you shall act, now that you face the truth your father saw fit to hide from you.”
“I’d never turn against my father, let alone my own land.”
“Then you choose merely to turn a blind eye to the world as it is.”
“I don’t care!” Ryurei’s words resounded across the room.
The breeze wafted through the window, the place plunging into absolute silence.
“You shall.
And soon.” The priest straightened, tilting his chair back.
“If you were to escape, whither would you go?
You have confessed your distaste for the Autocrats—how, then, are you to seek succor from them?”
His champagne eyes cloaked into detached fissures.
“With your father removed from the equation, who remains to help you?”
Ryurei looked down at the white duvet over his lap and bit his lip.
The priest was right—he knew that.
He couldn’t possibly seek help from the system he wished to abolish.
And even if he did, he couldn’t ascertain that assistance would arrive.
They weren’t in the same boat—he was on a raft of his own, and it was rapidly falling apart.
He’d been stripped of all anchor in that world.
At that moment, he started to lose hope, even beginning to forget the welfare of his younger brother.
Just before he could plunge deeper, Dontemoré suddenly pulled out the same vial from before, striking Ryurei’s attention.
“Perhaps I have not sufficiently expounded upon the virtues of this phial, have I?” The priest rolled the serum between his thumb and forefinger, as if memorizing its shape and weight.
Ryurei’s violet eyes caught the small glint of the glass before flicking back up to the priest.
“What…
does it do?
You mentioned you took it from Father, didn’t you?”
“Correct.
This phial contains the catalyst required to transform into one of the Serpentmen—the Regent.
We had secured two others of this kind, though they have already been bestowed upon two of our protégés.”
Dontemoré hunched forward.
“We have been informed that five such vessels exist.
It means that there are two more out there that slipped even Xavior’s grasp.
We have ascertained that he never used one upon himself, given the effortless grace with which we vanquished him.”
So effortlessly, in fact, that I may well have overestimated him, he thought, the corners of his lips creasing.
“Why are you showing that to me, then?”
Dontemoré flipped the vial over.
“If you truly desire to abolish the Autocrats, you shall require power of this magnitude.”
Ryurei stared at it hesitantly.
He couldn’t deny the sheer weight of the temptation—only his morality caused him to waver.
Eventually, he came to realize he’d lose nothing by taking the offer—in fact, he already had nothing left to lose, to the point that any path taken would be a gain.
“And what would happen after I accomplish this objective?” His voice came out hollow, steady, an indication that he was no longer holding himself together—he was no longer thinking.
“It implies we share a singular desired outcome, and there would be no choice but to deem you an ally.” The priest flicked his wrist in a casual, enticing gesture.
“You would be invited to rule this land within our very domain.”
“Why should I trust you on this?”
“Because you cannot complete such an endeavor without our aid.” Dontemoré’s voice proved absolute, stern.
“Remember what I told you earlier—whether you join us or not, the outcome remains unchanged.
We do not need you.” He reached for the boy’s hand.
“But, should we form an alliance…” He placed the vial gently on Ryurei’s palm, his tone even.
“Both of us shall reap the reward.
And you…
you would finally have something to lose once more.”
Ryurei inspected the serum, turning it over, his eyes tracing the smooth surface—and the raw reality of it in his grasp.
“What you choose to do with it remains entirely your own concern.
You may cast it away if you wish—I shall attend to the spillage myself, in due time.”
The boy no longer answered—his gaze had already found its fascination with the offer.
After lingering for a few more seconds, Dontemoré rose, the chair vanishing instantly as he departed.
The room fell into a cold, profound silence.
There was no clatter of glass striking the ground—only the heavy, stagnant air, thick with palpable hesitation and dark consideration.
But for Ryurei, it was already inevitable.
He no longer felt the will to resist—he no longer felt like the boy he once knew.
For a brief but real moment, the title “brother” had ceased to be.