Illegitimate Blood

The dining hall descended into a palpable silence (one that felt almost tangible) as the emotional reunion gradually waned. Emma and Shun clutched Erika, tears cascading down their cheeks, while she enveloped them in a tight embrace, murmuring gentle reassurances. For a fleeting moment, even Ralf seemed touched (perhaps unexpectedly); a faint sheen of tears glimmered in his typically composed eyes. Roy, positioned at the head of the table, surveyed the scene with a crooked grin, his fingers languidly swirling the wine in his glass. When no one deigned to acknowledge him (this was rather uncommon), Roy clapped his hands together, the sharp crack resonating through the room. "Alright, alright," he drawled, his voice slicing through the emotional fog. "They're not departing anytime soon. First, you shall heed my words." Erika stiffened, her jaw clenched in resolve. Reluctantly, she released her siblings, rose and pivoted to confront him. Her glare was sharp enough to cleave stone. Roy raised his glass to her in a mock salute. "What's amiss? Why not take a seat? I'm not going to harm you—at least not this evening," he jested, his smirk broadening.

"Sit, if you genuinely wish to learn about your father." However, the tension permeating the air was dense (almost stifling), making it arduous to draw breath. Erika wavered (her ire simmering just below the surface). Nevertheless, the reference to her father resonated too profoundly to dismiss. For the first time, she acquiesced (without protest), settling into her seat and fixing him with a gaze that merged curiosity with desperation. Roy reclined in his chair; a self-satisfied expression flitted across his features. He took a measured sip of his wine—savoring the moment, because he understood its significance—before he began to articulate his thoughts. "Before we delve into the truth," he commenced (his tone shifting to one of gravity), "allow me to clarify a few matters."

He raised a single finger.

Primarily (and importantly), one seeks the truth: however, trust me—you might end up regretting this awareness. It appears more desirable that you exist in a realm of ignorance. Although, if you are determined, I will reveal everything (except for the parts that carry weight).

Erika scoffed, crossing her arms.

"Furthermore (1)," Roy expanded, raising another finger, "you have the freedom to take Emma and Shun. I shall not obstruct you. However, if they *choose* to stay (2), you will not interfere. No manipulation. No drama. Do you agree?"

Erika let out a short, mocking laugh.

"Do you truly believe (that) Emma and Shun would *yearn* to remain in this place?" she retorted, her tone laced with contempt. "In the abode of their father's murderer? As for your warnings, I have no regard for any potential regret. You *must* reveal every detail you hold about my father!" A smirk danced across Roy's lips; he seemed almost entertained by her boldness. "Very well," he replied, leaning slightly forward. "However, keep in mind—this was your choice. There will be no complaints when the truth begins to slice deeper than you expect." Erika glowered at him, her resolve unyielding. "Just show it to me already."

Roy set his wine glass down and began.

Miral Krules—a man who, at first glance, exudes an aura of kindness; however, beneath this veneer lies a ruler of insurgents fiercely opposing Narzan. Cunning, calculating and ruthlessly efficient, he epitomizes the contradiction of a benevolent facade concealing a formidable leader. I first crossed paths with him at the tender age of fourteen (years old). You might be wondering how this came to pass, yes? Erika leaned in slightly, her curiosity ignited despite (her) palpable anger. "I enlisted in Narzan's military at twelve," Roy explained, his voice taking on a contemplative tone. "In just two years, I became embroiled in three wars. The first two campaigns yielded favorable outcomes; I gained a modicum of renown—'Young Hunter' was the nickname bestowed upon me. However, the third conflict…." His voice faded, a shadow crossing his features. "It was waged against your father, Miral Krules," Roy continued. "No matter how fervently we fought, victory eluded us (because) his tactical genius was unmatched, his soldiers impeccably disciplined. He did not just defeat us—he *obliterated* us. The morale of Narzan's forces plummeted."

They began their retreat (like vermin), abandoning the battlefield. This decision came swiftly; however, the weight of their choice lingered heavily in the air. Although their escape was shrouded in desperation, it was necessary because survival took precedence over honor. But in their flight, they left behind not just weapons, but also the echoes of their resolve.

Roy paused, his gaze hardening.

However, I was not so fortunate. During the retreat, my right leg shattered; I could not run. I was merely a lowly foot soldier—nobody cared. They abandoned me there, broken and defenseless. Ready to die, I thought fate had other designs. Erika's breath caught (as if she could sense the impending direction of the tale); yet, she could not bring herself to interrupt. "Your father's soldiers found me," Roy stated, his tone imbued with bitterness. "They dragged me to Miral himself. I was just a child, although I possessed pride. I did not beg for my life (because I had accepted that my end had come). However, Miral…" Roy's smirk returned, colder now. "He had other ideas. He offered me a deal—a pact."

"A pact?" Erika echoed, her voice scarcely above a whisper. Roy nodded in affirmation. "A win-win situation," he described it. The conditions were simple: he would permit me to live and return to Narzan. In exchange, I would rise through the military ranks within two years. Once I acquired access to Narzan's military strategies, I would relay everything to him. Erika's eyes widened (her mind racing in disbelief). "You… actually agreed?" Roy let out a dry laugh. "Do you really think I had a choice? I was crippled, surrounded and devoid of options. So yes, I agreed—however, it was far from an easy decision."

And with that, the pact was irrevocably forged: the rebel king had salvaged my existence. The chamber lapsed into silence once more; the enormity of Roy's revelation (which felt like a suffocating fog) enveloped the gathering. Emma and Shun clutched Erika, their expressions reflecting a tumult of trepidation and bewilderment. "This is merely the commencement," Roy proclaimed, his earlier smirk dissipating into a countenance of solemnity. "What transpired subsequently? That's where the authentic narrative begins. However, should you find yourself lamenting this inquiry already, I recommend you cease here." Erika, undeterred, shook her head, her fists clenched tightly. "Continue. I'm not finished yet." Roy reclined in his chair (a nonchalant façade belied the tension underneath), his gaze unwavering. "As you desire." The shadows within the dining hall appeared to deepen, because Roy poised himself to disclose the next installment of his chronicle. And Erika, although steadfast, could not dispel the sensation that she was venturing into a labyrinthine maze from which she might never extricate herself (because the route ahead was obscured by an air of ambiguity).