[[ Flashback ]]

A few months before the hunting event, Prince Michaelli ventured to Hibrido—the empire’s newest and most dreaded prison. Built deep within the frost-covered cliffs, it was a place where the air itself seemed to freeze hope. The walls, carved from dark stone, oozed dampness, and the faint scent of mildew mingled with the sharp tang of cold iron. Chains clinked softly in the distance, an eerie reminder of the lives that would linger here in endless suffering, denied even the mercy of death.

“Still refusing to cooperate, Pierce?” The prince’s voice, calm yet sharp as a blade, carried through the dim chamber. He sat in a chair that looked far too luxurious for this grim setting, its ornate carvings mocking the despair around him. In his hand, he held a small fire burner, tapping it rhythmically against the armrest—a soft, steady beat that seemed to echo the inevitability of fate.

Pierce knelt on the wet stone floor, his body trembling from cold and pain. His skin was pale and frostbitten, his lips cracked, and dried blood clung to his face like a second skin. His once-proud gaze now burned with defiance, though his breaths came in shallow, ragged gasps. Water dripped from his tangled hair, forming small puddles around him.

The warrior, once a shining star in the elite Crimson Rank, had been broken in ways that words couldn’t describe. Endless cycles of drowning in icy water and suffocating cold had left his body battered, but his spirit remained unyielding.

The prince tilted his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips. It was the kind of smile that sent chills down spines. “You’re stubborn,” he remarked, almost amused. “I always admired that about you.” He raised his hand, and two guards stepped forward. Without hesitation, they grabbed Pierce and forced him back into the freezing water.

Pierce thrashed, his body jerking as the icy grip of the water stole his breath. Michaelli leaned back in his chair, watching with a calm that bordered on cruel. His foot tapped the floor, the slow rhythm blending with the muffled splashes. When Pierce’s struggles began to weaken, Michaelli raised his hand again. The guards pulled him out, and he collapsed to the ground, coughing and choking on the air his lungs so desperately craved.

“You were one of my finest,” the prince said, his voice soft, almost nostalgic. “Six years ago, during the Elthor Invasion, I saw something special in you. I handpicked you myself, trusted you with my life. You wielded power others could only dream of.” His tone hardened, his gaze sharp as steel. “And now? A traitor. Tell me, Pierce, who do you serve?”

Pierce lifted his head, his swollen lips curling into a weak, defiant smile. “You… will never… know.”

The prince’s expression didn’t change, but something in his eyes shifted—a flicker of anger, or perhaps disappointment. He leaned forward slightly, the fire burner’s gentle glow reflecting in his cold, calculating gaze. “We’ll see,” he said quietly, his voice carrying a promise of more pain to come.

[[ Present day ]]

Pierce’s betrayal shattered the trust Michaelli had built in his carefully controlled world. Michaelli had always trusted his instincts, honed by years of treachery and survival. But even those could not predict every turn.

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Pierce, once a trusted member of the Elite Crimson Rank, had betrayed him. He leaked war plans, secret messages, and even details from the Arcanographica scrolls. It wasn’t just personal; it was deliberate, driven by someone else’s hand.

Vision, the sharp-eyed member of his Rank, had caught Pierce’s messenger bird mid-flight and exposed the truth. The evidence was undeniable, but Michaelli knew Pierce wasn’t acting alone. Someone else was pulling the strings, and the betrayal pointed to one place—the historians.

The names circled in his mind like wolves stalking prey. The war in Homonhon was the perfect chance to gather them all in one place. Leon? Impossible. Marco? Loyal to a fault. Rowell? Too timid. That left Tuk—the oddest of them all.

Among these four brilliant minds, Tuk was the most suspicious. The clever historian with a fragmented past. Michaelli had pulled him closer, disguising it as a promotion to “love advisor,” a role that kept him under his watch while still using his skills. Yet, even with him near, the mystery deepened.

Some days, his actions seemed loyal. Other days, they left him with questions he couldn’t answer. His calm defiance intrigued him in ways that unsettled his careful control. He was sharp, maybe too sharp, and his composure never cracked, no matter what subtle tests he laid before him.

Who are you, Tuk?

The answer eluded him, no matter how cleverly he tried to corner it. But the hunting competition changed everything. What should have been a routine event unraveled a secret he hadn’t expected. Tuk wasn’t just a historian. He wasn’t just bold—he was...

The prince stared at his hands. It had only been a few minutes since he held her, but the sensation lingered, undeniable, and impossible to ignore. It wasn't the hand of a man. The truth was clear now, no matter how shocking.

A wave of questions surged through him. Why? What was she hiding? Was her loyalty genuine, or was she playing a part in some grander scheme?

He could send her to Hibrido for interrogation with a single word. Yet something held him back—a hesitation, a quiet voice in his mind. He didn’t have time for doubts, but this one refused to be silenced.

Leon’s reports were clear: Tuk worked tirelessly, her efforts meticulous and focused. She seemed to want nothing more than to prove her worth. Was it all an act? If so, it was the most convincing he’d ever seen.

Michaelli’s gaze lingered on her as she rested against the tree, her features softened by sleep. Even now, she carried secrets—tangible yet just out of reach. Her body slouched against the rough bark, arms folded loosely, her head tilted to the side.

Her calm face drew his attention, an unguarded stillness so unlike the sharp-tongued historian who challenged him at every turn. Her parted lips, the soft shadows of her lashes against pale skin—this was a side of her he hadn’t seen before. Gentle. Vulnerable.

He scoffed quietly, disbelief flickering across his face as the truth settled in. Now that he looked closer, there was no mistaking it. It was Leon’s fault that he didn't notice it sooner. Michaelli had dismissed the thought before it even occurred, assuming she was like Leon, with a frame that defied easy assumptions. But now, seeing her like this, his instincts told him he’d been right all along.

“What’s your game, Tuk?” he murmured, voice low and rough.

As if hearing him, her peaceful expression shifted. Her brow furrowed, lips pressing together as though battling unseen forces in her dreams. Her head began to slip to the side, about to fall.

Michaelli moved without thinking. In one fluid motion, his hand shot out, catching her head just before it dropped. He froze, startled by the warmth of her hair and the soft texture of her skin. For a moment, he stayed there, watching her chest rise and fall with steady breaths.

Carefully—more gently than he would have believed himself capable—he guided her head back against the tree, adjusting it until it rested naturally again. The small act felt intimate, too intimate, and a ripple of discomfort coursed through him. His movements slowed, deliberate, as though afraid of disturbing her. When he finally stepped back, his hand lingered in the air a second longer than it should have.

“It’s... strange,” he muttered under his breath, his gaze still fixed on her. Tuk seemed fragile in that moment, a stark contrast to the fierce intellect he sparred with during the day.

As the sky deepened and stars began to emerge, Michaelli remained where he was, his thoughts churning. Something unfamiliar stirred within him—something he couldn’t name.

If she was involved in Pierce’s betrayal, the truth would surface in time. He was sure of that. For now, her skills were too valuable to lose. But when the moment came to decide her fate, Michaelli would not hesitate.

“Wake her,” he ordered, his voice calm but firm. Without waiting, he turned away, his eyes fixed on the darkening horizon. “We’re leaving.”

His warriors moved to obey, but his mind remained elsewhere. The truth about Tuk clung to him like a shadow, a mystery that demanded answers. And one way or another, Michaelli vowed to uncover them.