He turned toward the door, his hand twitching instinctively, searching for a weapon he no longer carried.
Another knock echoed through the room.
Should I open it?
The question whispered in his mind, quiet but unshakable.
His thoughts swirled, memories rising and fading like smoke. Did he owe someone? Had he wronged anyone?
No. None he could think of.
And even if he had… he'd faced worse.
He took a slow breath. His fingers touched the door, his palm resting against the wood.
For a heartbeat, the world held its breath.
Then, slow and reluctant, the door began to creak open, exhaling a groan that echoed like a warning.
Sylas blinked, his gaze fixing on the figure framed in the doorway.
A knight stood there, wearing polished light armor with a sword hung at his side, its hilt well-worn, telling of countless battles. On his cloak, a silver emblem shone—a hawk beneath a crescent moon.
The man bowed deeply upon catching sight of Sylas. "Young master," he said, his voice filled with respect.
Sylas watched him closely, eyes sharp and still, as scattered memories flickered at the edge of his mind.
The knight held a weathered leather pouch in one hand and a sealed envelope with an unbroken wax insignia, marking its importance.
Sylas's gaze shifted between them briefly before he stepped aside with a casual wave. "Come in," he said, his tone cold yet inviting.
The knight entered silently, his boots making soft creaks against the aged floorboards. Sylas followed, closing the door behind him with a quiet click, sealing them in the room.
The knight turned and stepped forward, holding out the pouch and envelope with both hands, his gaze steady and unblinking.
"On the orders of Queen Alicia Mortis, I have been entrusted with delivering these to you."
Sylas took the pouch, the unmistakable weight of coins shifting within. He loosened the drawstring, and the glint of gold flashed in the light—exactly one hundred pieces.
With a steady hand, he unfolded the letter, his eyes scanning the words as he began to read:
My dearest Sylas,
I cannot bear the thought that you might believe even for a moment that I see you as guilty for what happened to Evan. I know you, my son. And in my heart, I sense something far darker at work. But I won't let it drag you down.
I've already begun speaking with your father. It won't be easy, but I'll convince him to lift the exile. Just hold on a little longer, alright?
I've sent 100 gold coins with Sir Renald, he rides under the hawk-and-moon banner. Watch for him. Use the coin to stay safe. Please, my love.
Whatever they say, you are still my son. I will not let them break you. I will not let them steal what's rightfully yours.
With all my love,
—Mother
~~~~~~
He read the letter again, this time more slowly.
When he finally lifted his gaze, his expression remained unreadable—neither grateful nor bitter, but simply… composed.
Sir Renald stood motionless, his posture rigid and unyielding, hands clasped behind his back as he waited in complete silence.
Sylas's voice was smooth, laced with a hint of charm. "Your loyalty does not go unnoticed."
Renald blinked in surprise, then quickly composed himself, giving a slight nod. His expression remained steady, though his voice betrayed a hint of surprise. "The Queen places her trust in me,"
Sylas paused for a moment, his gaze narrowing slightly as he caught the shift in Renald's demeanor. There was a fleeting flicker of something unspoken in the air between them.
"Of course she does," Sylas replied, his tone a delicate blend of warmth and something far colder. "She's always had a knack for reading people."
He approached the table and placed the pouch down with deliberate care, as though handling something delicate and irreplaceable.
Without glancing at Renald, Sylas's voice cut through cold and sharp.
"Tell me something, Sir Renald. Do you think a hundred coins is enough to keep someone alive in a place like this?"
A brief pause lingered, the knight remaining silent, his expression unreadable.
A faint smile tugged at Silas's lips. "Neither do I," he replied softly.
He turned slowly, locking eyes with the knight. "I doubt the queen ever expected her son to beg or starve. Not truly. Maybe she hoped someone would… step in to fill the gaps."
His gaze dipped briefly, but unmistakable to the knight's sword.
Silence thickened like a storm on the cusp of breaking.
The knight's jaw clenched, but he remained silent, his expression betraying nothing.
Sylas tilted his head. "You know where her private vault is, don't you? You've served her for years... a few coins... here and there. Unnoticed."
Renald's expression hardened, his brows furrowing as he spoke flatly, "You're asking me to steal."
"Yes... and no," Sylas replied, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
"What I'm asking for is your loyalty," Sylas said, his voice low and calculating. "You see, the moment I disappear, a different story will unfold. One where a queen forsakes her son and a knight... well, a knight stands by in silence, perhaps even complicit in the tragedy."
Sylas's gaze wandered to the cracked window, where dust motes danced lazily in the beams of sunlight.
"Perception is a fragile thing," he murmured, his voice low. "You understand that, don't you?"
He waited for Renald's answer, the quiet in the room growing heavier, as though the world itself held its breath.
Renald fixed him with a long, silent stare. After what felt like an eternity, he gave a reluctant, shallow nod.
"…I will return in a week."
Sylas turned, his gaze locking onto the man's. He gave a slight nod before speaking. "Thank you. And let's not trouble the queen with details."
The knight froze, his jaw clenched, muscles rigid. He exhaled sharply, turning away without a glance. The door creaked open, then snapped shut with a heavy thud, leaving silence in its wake.
Sylas stood motionless, his gaze fixed on the door, as if staring through time itself.
"I know he won't fall for it, of course. He'll scurry off to inform the queen, as any loyal knight would. It's the only sensible course of action. But then again..."
He smirked, his eyes darkening. That doesn't change a thing, does it?
He walked back to the table, retrieving a single coin from the pouch. Holding it up to the light streaming through the window, he watched as it caught the glow, just like that first coin—and for a moment, the world seemed to say yes once more.