For the third times that night, Azel cursed his judgment. First, he let himself being roped into an unwanted trip. Secondly, his attempt at mending the broken father-and-son relationship made it from bad to worst. And thirdly, choosing to sleep in the room of his brother.

Tossed and turned, tossed and turned, Azel rolled from one end of the bed to the other, desperately trying to find his solace in darkness. Yet, he was unable too.

There were simply so many thing… wrong sleeping in Alvis's room. The king-sized bed was too soft, too fluffy to his back, which had been used to sleeping on anywhere but silk and goose feather. The aroma of lilies – Alvis's favorite flower – lingered on every piece of furniture, long before they had stopped to be appreciated. And the metal-line oaken door and the windows covered with planks, they gave away a sense of claustrophobia

But worst of all, he knew that Lady Diadora once slept in this room, and Alvis had mourned her here too. He must have felt the same way as Azel now, being swallowed whole by the dark…

More than one had the thought of sneaking into the cellar for some wine had crept into his mind (Arthur had specifically ordered Benson not to let him anywhere near alcohol), but looking back at his earlier fallings, Azel would not risking to make a scene of himself once again.

And so he tossed and turned, tossed a turned, torment in his own decisiveness.

...

("Sleep will not come tonight.") He realized as his right hand swirling around for the candle. A snap of the finger, and he lit up the wick.

After another minute or so changing out his pajama, Azel now sat on the edge of the bed, looking aimlessly around the half-lit room. What to do to pass the night, he wondered. That was, until he caught the sight of the bookshelves.

("Alvis only kept his most favorite books in his room") And the rest were stored in the castle's impressive library.

He rummaged through the books, hoping to find something that could catch his interest. Benson had been diligent in his duty – there was not even a single speck of dust on the bookshelves. The books themselves were categorized by their contents, whether it be profiles, history, magic, novels,…

There was only one book that was out of place, at one end of the shelf and pressed between two thick leather tomes. It was a struggle in itself to take it out.

It was the collection of Alvis's paintings. Taking up the brush had always been his way to find solace from all the intriguing at the court. There were at least about a hundred paintings, and they stacked up to the width of his index.

The papers had aged to a crisp yellow, saved for places where the staples were that had turned into the red of rust. In prudent Azel flipped through the pages. He tried to understand what meaning his brother had hidden under the lines.

When Alvis did first start painting?… Four or five? Through his eyes the world appeared to be a fascinating, if not baffling place. Even the simple flower in the garden was a puzzle of color. It was not lines but splashes of red, blue, yellow, green, and white that gave everything meaning.

As he got older, the paintings became more coherent, with outlines drawn and erased again and again, no doubt under the hands of a stern tutor. And, the tone too changed. Brighter color were used less, replaced by more somber ones such as purple and velvet.

A portrait caught his eyes. To be more exact, portraits of two people drawn on the same page. Father… and Lady Cigyun. The boy, with the steadiest hands he could, had tried to convey his love through the pencil. And, it might be a coincidence or not, he also seem to find as much resemblance he had to his mother. The eyes especially. Even on flat paper they seemed to be alive and shine with a tender light.

But Duke Victor... Drawn with skewered lines, the handsome and flamboyant noble (as Azel had heard from the servants' whisper) appeared as ugly as it could be. Alvis even unconsciously added an inch here and there, lengthened his nose and eyes and ears, giving him an unsavory look. At least, that was what he appeared in his son's critical and pitiless eyes.

The following paintings, however, was an abrupt change. It was an abrupt change, which Azel suspected that his brother drew these quite some time after the last one. Whether was it their garden, a lake, the market, they all looked as they were, tranquil or … His hand had become uncritical, acceptance, if not …

And the last painting… A little red-haired boy holding his brother's hand…

Once again, Alvis was able to enjoy the echoes of his footstep on marble. He was alone for the first time since morning. He needed not to exert all of his brain to remember all the ridiculously long nobility titles, or to reply to the lords and barons' praises, or to make empty promises so as to lube the machine running.

Really, it was never a remotely good way to enjoy your birthday.

After he had made sure to satisfy all the important people attending his party, Alvis had called for bad health as a … to retreat from his own birthday party. Now, he was walking back to his room.

Now, should he talk to his stalker? Alvis made sure that the corridor before calling him out:

"Azel. Do you wish to tell me anything?"

A second later, and from behind the columns a boy timidly stepped into the light. There was an equal amount of guilt and shyness in his face.

Sighing, yet his lips opened into a fatherly smile, Alvis bended down to met his brother's eyes.

"You could have just told me, instead of following me all day." He ruffled Azel's hair, noticing how he had been sweating. "Are you tired? Have you eaten anything?"

"…" The four-year-old boy kept silence, as fitting his normally-reserving personality.

"If you're hungry, then let's us go to the kitchen. I can call for Thomas to fix you some French bread."

"Al-al."

"Hmm?" The boy suddenly thrust a piece of paper into his older brother's hand, before running away in Alvis's astonishment. Just as he was about to run after him, the Duke's thumb rubbed crayon, and so his head was brought down.

What he saw was a drawing of him and Azel holding each other's hand. From the carefully-filled background with green grass, blue sky, and yellow sun, he could deduct that the subjects of the picture was one of him and Azel's little trip around the garden. At the back of the paper, the wish "Happy Birthday, Lord Brother" were written, alongside a skewered signature.

His little brother had tried to draw Alvis in particular with the most detail he could think of. Unfortunately, it resulted in some pretty hilarious results, such as his hair a raven's nest, his forehead as tall as his neck, and his knees bent in an awkward angle (Alvis always had the tendency to lowered himself when walking with his little brother.)

Still, he captured the smiles.

For Naga-knew-how-long, Alvis smiled the brightest smile he could muster. The laughter was as pure as the sound of church bells, and echoed by the column as much.

Scratch it, this was his best birthday ever.

Benson knocked on the door for the third times.

"Master, may I come in, master."

"Yes, yes. Please." Finally, Azel had replied. The butler stepping into the room to see his Finally, Azel had replied. The butler stepping into the room to see his young lord hunched over a book.

"Master, I bring..." What he saw sent ripples to Benson. His young master turned up from the page. The early light that had penetrated through the planks, reflected the glistening tears on Azel's face.

Not even a moment since the last word of the spell rolled off his tongue, he was immediately surrounded by several rings of fire. Wherever he stepped upon, grass burnt to cinder and pebbles melted. Even the air around him sensually danced in the heat.

"Fire!" The fireball was as large as a pumpkin and threw with the speed of a slingshot, yet Azel made it looked so effortlessly. The moment it hit the tree, one big flame split into multiple smaller ones. Almost instantly the shrubs caught fire.

In the heat of the moment, Azel invoked fireballs after fireballs, and threw them in all direction. He did it with a vigor rarely thought to be compatible with his otherwise timid personality. In the end, only when his mind had began to felt pain and his muscles strained did Azel stopped casting.

Around him was a scene taken from a nightmare, with everything burning in a deep-red flame. The fire in his eyes was a living being, a serpent that hungrily gurgled acre by acre of the garden. It coiled around him, turning its ruby-red toward him. Already had he seen mirages in those hypnosis irises that stared without blinking…

Suddenly, two etheric blades in the color of green cut the serpent in pieces. In pain, it slithered away, leaving a path of scorched grass and blackened trees. The choking smoke too was blown away by a strong gust that brought with it the fresh smell of ozone.

"Father, what are you doing out here so early in the morning?" Arthur walked to him, his limbs still sluggish after a night sleeping in exhaustion. He, however, was fully cladded in proper clothes, unlike him whose pajama was left unbuttoned.

"Did you have a good night sleep?"

"Like a log... But still, you haven't answered my question. Why are you standing in the open with your tome like that?"

"Just like what you see here." Azel turned a full circle to show his son the destruction that he had wrought. "I'm only stretching my arms and legs… I asked Benson which part of the garden was overgrown." The last part was added when he saw the disbelief in his son's look.

"It's too early for anything like this!"

"Nothing is too early... Hey, Arthur. Why don't we have a fight?" It must have been the heat. It planted ideas, crazy ideas that normally Azel would never had thought of.

"Huh? What are you saying? Fight?"

"Fetch your tomes out here, and we shall spar with each other. I wish to see how much have you advanced in magic."

"There is a time and place for everything, Father. We can have our sparring latter on. Please come inside and have breakfast with us."

"No." Refused Azel, who then spoke in a serious tone. "We will fight each other, and we will do it right now, right here."

"If I win, I'll go with join with the Expedition Army. If you win, you'll go with Fee and let me inherited the Dukedom."

"Father, you must have been kidding me…" The topic had been again and again raised by Azel in those days, and almost always it ended with an annoyed Arthur either distracted his father or making up an excuse to go somewhere else.

After a long minute looking at the defiance expression on his father's face. Arthur gave up. Displeasure began to shimmer within the boy at his father's antics. Still, he kept it at check and decided to entertain Azel's wish:

"Fine, then, we will spar. Please wait for a moment for me to find my tomes. And why don't you change your clothes while I am doing it?" Snarled Arthur. Despite his visible annoyance, Azel seemed extremely pleased with himself.

"Fire!"-"Wind!" Blades of air and balls of flame clashed in an impressive spectacle. The atmosphere grew hotter and volatile by the second, to the point miniature cyclones began to form.

A duel between two mages had always been a deadly affair, especially if the duelist were of great caliber. Spells could be invoked within seconds, and their effects felt instantly. But offensive magic was not the only way to win, as combatants also employ psychological attacks that could disrupt his foe's thought-emotion equilibrium.

"You should've stuck with anything but wind magic!" Azel taunted, which made Arthur's face turned darker. Yet the young man shown no sign of being distracted. The green blades restlessly came from his hand, graceful in their lethality. Already had their battleground cleared of trees, with the logs bore many deep scars by Arthur's wind. Those same logs was smartly used by him – he ran, he rolled, he jumped, getting as many thing as possible to stand between him and his father, while taking advantage of his control over wind magic to hit him out-of-the-sight.

Still, as consummated Arthur had shown to be even a novice in magic could tell that he was hard-pressed to keep up with his father. Several times had he been hit with Azel's fireballs, each left little damage, but together they sting, badly so. Step by step, he was being pushed back.

As of his father, even when he had been years away from combat and his muscles atrophied by lying dormant for too long, he still could make everything incinerate to his touch. Seeing through his son's "bluff", Azel had decided to scorch the field so as to left no ground for Arthur to run. First their arena was marked by a ring of fire, which then gradually spread inward. The fact that the flame only grew in one direction was a testament to his skill.

Two blazing rope entwined themselves around Arthur's legs, seeking to restrain him. Seeing the danger, the man threw himself forward, then rolled into a ball. But where to next? Already had he seen his entire possible route being cut off.

"Now, the end game!" Gathering the flame into both of his hand, Azel unleashed a barrage of spells unto his son, without mercy…

"Elthunder!" The scream was so surprised to Azel that he stood paralyzed for a good three second. Only by the deafening crack on the air was he realized the coming lightning.

He barely avoided the lightning bolt, but even so he could felt, his ears bled by the explosion. The spot which he had stood there a moment ago was nothing but a raging fire now.

With his brain still ringing in the skull, Azel struggled to stand up on his legs. And instead of creating a flame from nowhere, he drew upon the fire already burning near. Like a snake, it coiled around his forearm before his hand was a living torch.

This must end now. He knew how capable his children could be with Thunder magic. In their veins ran the "gift", after all.

"Fire!" This was no mere fire spell. The fireball burned with the intensity of the sun and flew with the force of a meteor. It slammed into Arthur, dousing him with flame.

Yet, when the spell had died, it only left him laying face-down onto the dirt and his clothes burned away, but his body unscathed. Even Arthur was deeply surprised by it.

"So you cheated." Azel stated matter-of-fact. He had not a trace of anger in his voice, even offered a hand to his opponent.

"I cheated." Arthur admitted as he stood up. "I brought a spell that I shouldn't have."

"I thought you don't use thunder?"

"Only in emergency situations."

"And this is an emergency situation? So… You want me to stay that much?"

"Yes, yes I do. I'll do everything to make you understand that the war is over."

"You know what… Let's just forget what has happened and call it a day. Tomorrow morning, come to the garden at the same time. I'll make sure that you'll beat next time."

"What… did you just say?"

"I'll tutor you in magic. You know your way around, that much I admitted. But without the theory to back it up, it means nothing."

"Without the theory to back it up, it means nothing." Alvis said to his bewildered brother. In his left hand was a leather-bound tome the size of the forearm, with the title "A Treatise on the Nature of Fire" written in gold.

And in his other hand, on each of his fingers a flame danced. With every flick of his wrist, the fires moved along with the grace of a snake with the grace of a snake.

"How can you do that, brother?"

"Like I said before, know the theory." The individual fires began to fuse into a big one, and soon enough his entire hand was a living torch. Alvis made a slashing action with it.

To Azel's astonishment, the bush ten step away from them instantly caught fire to Alvis's will, and yet he could not see any fire ball flying from his palm.

"Are you impressed?" He nodded. "You can do it too, Azel. You carry the gift with you. With it, you can burn as bright as the sun."

"Can I really be that good?" Asked Azel. In his normally-timid eyes, a new enthusiasm was being lit up. "Can I really become as good as you, brother?"

"You will surpass me… Now, are you ready to learn something new?"

"Yes!"

"Then please repeat after me…" Alvis flipped open the tome.

To think that just an hour ago, he was still on a carriage riding full-speed toward the capital. And here he was, preparing for his daughter's wedding.

"What do you think of this dress, lord father?" Asked Teeny, who made a twirl for his father to see. The dress, perfectly fit for a queen, nevertheless was not quite right to Azel. She just seemed too small for it… He could not really believe what he was seeing altogether. His little Teeny in a wedding gown.

Oh Naga! What've he missed!

"Lord Father?"

"It fine, Teeny. It's perfect for you…" The man stumbled. "And please, leave the "Lord" and just call me "Father", okay?"

"Yes… Father."

…

As the handmaidens were busying themselves with taking her wedding gown for the royal tailor (in the end, it was still need a quick cut), Teeny sat around the round table with her father, two steamy cups of orange pekoe before each of them.

"I'm sorry, teeny." Azel spoke, much to his daughter's surprise. "For not being able to help you much with your wedding, I mean. I'm useless when it comes to these things."

"No, father. You're here is enough to me. I'm extremely happy that I have you, lord brother, and prince Seliph with me." The maturity of his daughter greatly surprised Azel. Now he understand that Teeny had all grown up to be a beautiful, strong, and wise woman. She, for a long time, had not been the little bundle of energy and diaper that he and Tailto used to carry on their arms.

"…You just don't know how much your words mean to me." In that moment, Azel want to yell "Just look at me! I'm the happiest father in the world!"

"You looked just like your mother, dear. She used to brought me only joy."

"Father… Lord Brother told me that you two were once childhood sweethearts."

After a long moment to reminiscence, he finally gave an answer:

"I wouldn't put it as "Childhood sweetheart." Your mother and I, we had been best friends as long as we could remember. But only during the crusade that I fell in love with your mother… I was actually a fool, really…"

"If it doesn't bother you… Can you tell me how did it happen?"

His story might make a good wedding gift, Azel thought. What could he give anyway, but his legacy? And so, he accepted:

"Let's see… It all started when I messed up Lady Adean's bouquet in her wedding day…"

… With their hands still entwined, Azel and Tailto rushed into the wedding site. Quite a crowd had gathered in the castle's yard, their simple garment belies the noblest men and women.

"Sorry for being so late, Adean!" Yelled Azel.

The center of the occasion, Lady Adean, was simply stunning. The wedding dress was brilliant in its simplicity, and was made even more gorgeous with the addition of a cape as white as the Silesian snow. On her head the lady donned a small hat with red ribbon. (Azel somehow felt that it was deeply inadequate, however. With Lady Adean, only a crown of seven-color gems would be sufficient.)

"There you are! Since you took the bouquet we were waiting for you to bring it back." She gracefully accepted the bouquet from Azel's hand and nodded in appreciation to them.

"Tailto managed to fix it."

"Is that so? Thank you, Tailto."

As for Duke Reptor's daughter, she was simply baffled and stood silently, eyes opened wide. By the wedding, yes, but more so by the appreciative smile that Lady Adean showed to her. Azel had to nudge his best friend for a reaction:

"Go on. You have to offer your congratulation."

"Oh my! The way you're acting… You two look just-like a newly-wed couple. You're holding hand too."

"What…?!"

Pressing their foreheads together, the bride whispered a good-luck wish to her ears:

"This is for the future bride. May the moment in which you feel true happiness will come to you soon…"

This struck her even harder. Tailto could have squared that she was fuming through her ears! If not, how could she explain the burning sensation on her face, or the painful throbbing in her heart? A million images exploded before her vision, each but a shard of the colorful mosaic, not unlike what you saw when sunlight shone upon the stained glasses of a church.

It took a good second before a dazed Tailto could muster a reply:

"Lady Adean. Are you… happy?"

"Yes. At this very moment, I am extremely happy."

…

"How… How weird. You're holding my hand, Azel, yet I am still…"

They stood there, detached from the crowd, watching the ceremony to end. Stood before the altar was the bride and the groom, in their eyes only saw each other and heard the words of the priest:

"By the providence granted by our Lord Naga, I hereby declare you husband and wife, hitherto eternity." Said Father Claude. A loud cheer followed as Lady Adean and Prince Jamka exchanged the kiss.

Azel smiled at his companion, while using his finger to wipe away the glistening tears on her face. He found them more precious than even the most crafted diamond:

"It's okay. You can cry. Aren't they welcome tears of joy?"

The wedding day was finally here. The Imperial Palace, after a very long time, was filled to the brim with guests coming from all over the continents; some of them were the people with the power to change the fate of millions with one word.

Naturally, with any gathering such as this, vanity and arrogant were virtues, and each tried their best to outdo the others in wealth or wittiness. The gaiety of their clothes was only matched by the audacity of their boasts, and sarcasm glittered as much as any jewelry.

Gold and diamond never shine, though.

"The Queen of Grannvale and her father, the Viscount of Ankara." The royal crier, a plump man with the belt seemed one size small to his waist, shouted in solemn. Like bushes of rush before the wind, all fell down to the knees except for a few ones. The Crusaders, the closest comrades to the Emperor and who had been granted the prestige of standing while others kneel.

The soon-to-be Queen Teeny walked down the aisle in a plain, if not austere wedding dress, with the veil covered her entire face. Her unblemished look put a stark contrast to the colorful crowd. But she was radiating, shining so bright and so pure that all eyes were on her yet at the same time scared to look directly on her to be dazzled. The only disturbance to the reverence silent was the quiet sobbing of one man, who shed tear of joy for his little sister.

Not unlike Arthur and the rest of the crowd, Azel too was affected, if not being struck harder than anybody else in the room. The father of the bride was walking with one leg on solid ground, and the other on the cloud. He flashed between dream and reality.

("Lady Diadora, Lady Ayra, Lady Adean…" ) The weddings of his former comrades now passed through his eyes, their details blurred into each other to form a perfect movie that, nevertheless, brought a sense of melancholy to his heart. He had already turned old, hadn't he? He had seen so many things, met so many people, lost all and then gained all back.

A selfish thought took root in Azel's heart. He should have never handled his little Teeny to another man. Maybe he should crash the party right at this moment, and spirit his family to the farthest corner of the land.

"Father... We're here." They ended before the dais, where the Emperor stood with Bishop Corpul. It was hard not to radiate joy when you were inundated in it. Seliph beamed a wide smile, if not goofy and out-of-place to the solemnity of the ritual, at his fiancée and her father. The crown of Grandvelle rested upon his brows, yet Azel could not help but to harken back to the young, adorable joy that was the joy of his father and mother.

That was right. He should not think that he lost a daughter, but instead gain a son today.

"I handle her to you. Please treat my daughter well."

"I will." Vowed his son-in-law. And just as Azel about to unwind his arm from his daughter's, Teeny tugged at his sleeves.

"Father." She was smiling, while here eyes were still red for the crying. Before, in the dressing room, she had already shed plenty of tears over her father's shoulders.

"Thank you… For everything."

"Are you… happy?"

"Yes. At this very moment, I am extremely happy."

Azel pressed forward and kissed her forehead lovingly, then murmured into her ears:

"Then it is the best gift you can give your father. Please always the smile on your lips, my little Teeny."

With that, he retreated to the crowd. The ranks spitted, making way for him to stand next to his son and daughter-in-law.

Arthur had stopped sobbing, yet the tears still flowed down his cheeks. Seeing so, Azel placed his arm over his shoulder. On the opposite side, Fee intertwined her fingers with those of her husband.

"Teeny Falan Velthomer, do you take Seliph Baldos Chalphy to be your Husband? Do you promise to love, honor, cherish and protect him, forsaking all others and holding only to him forevermore?"

"I do."

"How… How weird. You're all next to me, yet I am still…"

"I will…"

…

"It's okay. You can cry. Aren't they welcome tears of joy?"

"By the providence granted by our Lord Naga, I hereby declare you husband and wife, hitherto eternity."

On the well-burned field, stood the father and the son with tomes in their clutches. Silently they looked into their opponent's eyes, gauging each other's power. It was as much as a duel as the battle about to happen.

And Arthur was the one to yield:

"Father… Let's just stop this. I concede."

"You… concede?" Azel was greatly surprised. Since the wedding, they had been training non-stop for this moment. He had taught his son everything he knew about magic. Arthur could now readily handle him his ass.

"I concede. "Arthur repeated, throwing his arms to the air. "You can do whatever you want. Take the Dukedom… And I'll go with Fee."

"Why making this so easy? I have confidence that you'll surely put up a good fight."

"I don't know… I just don't want to fight you anymore… What is happening to me?"

"Arthur." The now-Duke of Velthomer stressed to his son. "What to do with your life, that's something you must find out for yourself."

"And you hope that by travelling with Fee, I'll find it out?"

"Yes, that's what I hope. But if you can't, then don't push yourself. There're people who spent over half of their life to find their own meaning… Like me."

"And what is that, father? What is the meaning of your life?"

Arthur suddenly found his father's arm slung over his shoulder, and together they walked toward the Velthomer castle. The sun had reached its nadir, yet it burn with an incomparable intensity. It seemed as if there was no end to the depth of its crimson.

"You know, son, why don't we discuss it over some champagne? I heard that Benson saved a few old bottles in the cellar. And what time is better than now to pop the cork?"