Chapter 250 - Uninvited guests

Dican sat in a ridiculously fancy room near the top of one of Ciren’thal’s gleaming towers. The walls shimmered with crystal-laced stone that seemed to hum with some kind of energy, and the ceiling arched high above, painted with flowing star patterns that actually moved. It was stunning—no doubt about it—but Dican just sat there on the edge of the silky bed, staring blankly out the huge window, feeling absolutely nothing.The view should’ve been mind-blowing. Gia’s twin suns hung low in the sky, soaking the city in glowing shades of amber and pink. Ciren’thal spread out below, skywalks threading like silver wires between floating towers, with gardens blooming on platforms that hovered in midair. From this height, the city looked like someone had cracked open a jewelry box and spilled it across the horizon. A breeze brushed against the tower’s invisible barrier, making the massive transparent leaves growing along the side ripple gently.

Dican barely saw any of it.

This was his room. His bed. Every detail fine-tuned to his resonance. Even the pillows were handwoven with luxurious Farian fabric meant to soothe his exact signature. And still, he felt hollow. Like there was a gap inside him where something important was supposed to be.

"Dican, what’s that tree? It looks so weird!" Bian’s voice chimed brightly from the window.

Dican turned his head slowly. Bian was standing by the glass, palm pressed to it, eyes wide with curiosity. He was staring at a bizarre tree off in the west of the capital—its trunk twisted like braided glass, and instead of leaves growing on branches, there were these huge fan-shaped things floating freely around it, drifting in patterns like a slow orbit. The sap inside it glowed brighter than sunlight.

Dican barely registered the question. His eyes had gotten stuck on something else.

Bian’s silhouette.

The way he stood at the window—casual, a little tilted, light glowing off his pale hair. His robe hung loosely around his shoulders, soft and elegant. Everything about him was delicate, serene.

And still—

Dican’s brain jolted.

For a split second, he wasn’t looking at Bian.

He was looking at someone else.

Another figure, also turned away. But the hair was shorter. Rougher. Golden-yellow from sun exposure. The clothes weren’t silk—they were tough, practical. The air didn’t smell of perfume—it was dry, dusty, tinged with metal and earth.

It was like his mind had layered one memory over another. Bian at the window—and a ghost behind him. A ghost he didn’t remember meeting.

Who is that?

The ache hit so fast it nearly made him gag. Something inside his chest seized. He pressed a hand against it, trying to calm down, but it only got worse.

He’d never met that other boy before. He knew he hadn’t.

But why did it feel like his soul was reaching out for him?

Why did that imagined silhouette make his throat close and his hands shake?

He had Bian. Bian, who had stood by him through everything. Who’d nearly died. Who slept in his arms every night. Who trusted him, kissed him, smiled for him.

And yet...

He looked down.

His fingers were trembling.

Slowly, he curled them into fists, trying to shove the feeling away. I’m broken. Sick in the head. Making up ghosts.

But no matter how he tried to shove the image aside, that yellow-haired boy wouldn’t leave him. That empty feeling only sharpened.

He had to find him. Whoever he was.

Even if he didn’t exist.

Dican swallowed and made himself speak. "That tree... it’s called the Varalis Root. It helps balance Gia’s air. The leaves float because they’re part of a huge air filtration system. Old bioengineering."

Bian turned, eyes lighting up. "Wow, really?" He walked over and slipped his hand into Dican’s. "You looked like you were on another planet just now. What were you thinking about?"

Dican blinked. His eyes dropped to their joined hands. Bian’s fingers were warm. His smile was bright.

He forced himself to smile back.

"Nothing," he said quietly. "Just... trying to remember something I don’t really remember."

Bian tilted his head, tugging gently at his arm. "Well, forget it. Come sit with me. Tell me more about this world."

Dican followed without a word. But in the back of his mind, the ghost with yellow hair was still standing by the window. No name. No face.

Just that ache.

And the silent scream in his chest begging him to remember.

A soft chime broke the moment. Then a knock at the door. The panels shimmered open and a Farian attendant stepped inside, wrapped in shimmering robes, bowing low.

"The Radiant Majesty invites you to share the mid-day meal," he said smoothly. "He asks that both Crown Scion Dican and his mate join him."

Dican stood, calm and composed as always, though his eyes still looked distant. Bian stood a moment later, fidgeting with his sleeves before stepping over and slipping his hand into Dican’s again. He gave a sweet, gentle smile.

"Let’s not keep your father waiting," he said, nestling closer to Dican’s side.

The halls they walked through were grand and glowing, walls covered in translucent vines that pulsed faintly with light. Gentle music drifted through the air like it was part of the building itself. Every curve of the structure was carefully crafted to impress, with soft glowing petals falling slowly from the high ceilings like snow.

The dining hall was like a dream.

Walls shimmered with rainbow-colored tiles that changed with the light. A tall stream of water poured down one side, feeding glowing lilies that floated in midair. At the head of the huge table sat the Emperor, wrapped in clothes that shimmered like melted starlight. He looked calm, thoughtful, barely moving.

There was an empty seat next to him.

Delicate. Draped in gossamer and decorated with mother-of-pearl. Clearly meant for someone important. Clearly someone missed.

Dican walked over quietly and took the seat beside it. Then, like it was a habit, he pulled out the next chair for Bian.

Bian blinked, surprised for a second, then gave a soft smile. "Thank you," he said as he sat down, smoothing his clothes. Then he looked up at the Emperor with that polished, radiant smile. "Your Majesty, this palace is even more beautiful than I imagined. It feels like a dream."

The Emperor smiled kindly. "You’re gracious," he replied. "But today’s dream isn’t complete just yet."

He turned his eyes toward the grand double doors at the end of the hall. His voice softened just slightly.

"We are waiting for one more guest."

The guards saluted.

The doors opened.

Two figures stepped into the hall.

An old man, hunched and tired, wrapped in plain travel robes. His beard had been cleaned up, but the exhaustion in his face ran deep. He walked with a slow steadiness—the kind of pace that came from a life that had already seen too much.

Next to him... a little boy.

No more than five. Small, quiet. Clinging to the old man’s robe. His clothes were clean now, his face washed, but his eyes—big, shadowed, watchful—held a heaviness no child should carry. He didn’t bounce. He didn’t fidget. He just walked.

Bian went stiff.

His face drained of color.

His chair made the faintest sound as it scraped the floor.

His breath hitched.

The Emperor lifted one graceful hand and gestured toward the long table. His voice was warm, calm, steady.

"Please, come. Be at ease."

Two attendants moved forward and guided the guests to their seats. The old man gave a clumsy bow and sat stiffly, clearly out of place. The child climbed into his chair quietly, looking around the glowing room with wide, solemn eyes.

And then he saw Bian.

He stared.

Bian could feel it—that quiet, intense little stare, so direct it made the hairs on the back of his neck rise. The boy didn’t speak at first.

Then, in a small whisper that seemed louder than it should’ve been, he leaned forward and said,

"Brother has a new arm... it’s cool."

It hit like a punch to the chest.

A simple, innocent line. Sweet. Harmless.

And yet it sliced through Bian like a knife.

He didn’t let it show. Not even a flicker.

But under the table, his prosthetic hand clenched tight. The fingers twitched, tense. Something inside his chest twisted.

Still, his smile stayed in place.

That same calm, lovely smile he used for nobles, officers... enemies.

"Yes," he said gently, lifting his gleaming arm a little so the boy could see. Intricate patterns glimmered across the surface, etched in careful lines like Farian lace. "I’m like a Transformer."

He wiggled his fingers. A soft clicking sound followed.

The boy’s eyes brightened just a bit.

"Cool..." he whispered again, giving a small nod.

Bian chuckled, covering his mouth with one hand. "You like machines, little one?"

The boy nodded, still watching him closely. Quiet. Unblinking.

And Bian... kept smiling.

But secretly he mouthed. "It can tear your throat with this kid,"

The kid flinched and hugged the old man tight.