As the last echoes of Regulus' spell faded and the dragon's presence receded beneath them, an unexpected sound cut through the silence—slow, deliberate applause.
They turned to see a man emerging from the shadows, his polished boots clicking against the stone floor. His attire was immaculate, a blend of noble finery and military precision, his dark hair streaked with silver at the temples.
"Ah! How wonderful!" the man exclaimed, clapping with measured enthusiasm. "I thank you, Nyx Familia, for lulling the great beast back to slumber!"
Regulus subtly shifted, placing himself between Nyx and the stranger. "Introduce yourself."
The man paused mid-step, his applause cutting off abruptly. He stared at Regulus, incredulous. "Do you not recognize me?"
Nyx scoffed. "Are you supposed to be famous?"
The man sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Lady Nyx, being a god does not make you indiscernible. Even a child could tell that you're dealing with me."
Regulus glanced at Nyx. "You know him, Nyx?"
Nyx's lips curled. "I put up with your lack of respect earlier due to the circumstances. But refer to me as Lady Nyx, little moth."
Regulus sighed. "I still can't get used to that. Can't I just call you Nyx instead?"
Nyx's smirk turned wicked. "If you please me with your hands every night, then I'll allow it."
Regulus blinked. "So… massages? Alright."
The still-unidentified man watched them, arms crossed, face utterly deadpan. When it became clear they had forgotten his existence, he cleared his throat.
"I am Cornelius Babelonia."
Silence.
Regulus stopped mid-retort, turning fully toward him. Then, without hesitation—
"You should just dissolve the nation."
Cornelius raised a brow. "Did you try that before?"
"No."
"Then allow me to enlighten you," Cornelius said, his voice hardening. "I do not plan on giving up. I can't afford to."
The torchlight flickered as Cornelius Babelonia's smirk deepened at Regulus' embarrassed expression.
"I am not trying to curse you," Regulus repeated, steadying his voice. "But the dragon will wake eventually. And when she does, Babelonia will be destroyed."
Cornelius adjusted his cuffs, unfazed. "Yes, I've heard. Approximately eighty years, correct?"
Regulus stiffened. "...How long have you been watching us?"
The founder's eyes gleamed. "Since you declared, 'We can't just run away.'" He mimicked Regulus' voice with startling accuracy.
Nyx's shadow lashed out, slicing through a barrel between them. "How rude," she purred, venom dripping from every syllable. "What appalling manners for a king."
Cornelius didn't flinch as aged wine gushed over his polished boots. "My apologies, Lady Nyx," he said, with exaggerated emphasis on her title. "But when one overhears strangers discussing the annihilation of their life's work, eavesdropping becomes... pragmatic."
A tense silence fell. Somewhere above, the distant sounds of Hebe's maids regrouping echoed through the cellar.
Cornelius tilted his head, listening to the distant clatter of armor and crisp orders. "Remarkable, isn't it?" he mused, fingers tapping against his sleeve. "For a Familia with no access to the Dungeon, Hebe's maids produce an extraordinary number of high-level blessed. Zeus has been trying to poach them for decades."
Regulus cut in sharply. "Why attack the Rosewind Guild's party?"
The founder didn't hesitate. "To retrieve this." From his coat, he produced the scroll Fillian had been clutching earlier—the one that had burst into blue flames. Except now, it lay perfectly intact in his grip, its wax seal unbroken.
Nyx's shadow coiled like a provoked serpent. "That's impossible. It burned."
"Did it?" Cornelius smiled, turning the scroll over in his hands. "Or did the illusion of it burn?"
Regulus' stomach dropped. Odin's doing.
Cornelius continued, "The real eighth vote record was never in Fillian's possession. Athena's faction has been chasing a decoy this entire time." He met Regulus' gaze squarely. "Because the truth of that prophecy isn't just about the dragon. It's about you."
Regulus' fingers twitched at his side, the weight of Cornelius' words pressing against him. "It's about you." He forced himself to focus.
"So the scroll was incomplete?" he asked. "Did Altena decide to turn against Babelonia after realizing they were excluded from the prophecy?"
Cornelius' smirk didn't waver, but something colder flickered behind his eyes. "Yes. And half yes." He unrolled the scroll just enough to reveal a jagged edge where parchment had been torn away. "The are four records—one entrusted to Babelonia's founders, another to Altena. A show of trust, since they are entrusted with one of the initiatives to counter the prophecy." His thumb traced the torn edge. "But Altena grew complacent when they realized their nation is spared from the warnings, while ours held the true weight of the prophecy."
Nyx's shadow slithered forward, wrapping possessively around Regulus' wrist. "And so they tried to steal what wasn't theirs?"
"Under the noble excuse of 'We are getting destroyed anyway,'" Cornelius said, voice dripping with mockery. "They sent scholars, spies, even diplomats—all to 'preserve' Babelonia's legacy. As if their greed were some grand act of salvation." He snapped the scroll shut. "But the truth is, they wanted power. The kind that could only be seized from the jaws of a doomed nation."
Regulus exhaled sharply. "And the attack on the Rosewind Guild?"
"A necessary misdirection. Athena's faction believed Fillian carried the key to the prophecy. Let them chase ghosts while the real record remained hidden." Cornelius tilted his head. "Though I admit, I didn't anticipate you interfering."
Nyx's laughter was a blade wrapped in velvet. "And yet here we are."
Cornelius studied them both, then sighed. "You've seen the dragon. You know what's coming. So tell me, Regulus—do you still believe Babelonia should dissolve?"
Regulus met his gaze. "Yes."
The founder's smile was razor-thin. "Then you'll have to kill me first."
Regulus held Cornelius' gaze, unflinching. "There's no need for us to fight. You still have a little less than eight decades to vacate the nation before the dragon wakes. That's time enough to—"
"To what?" Cornelius interrupted, his voice a whip-crack in the smoky air. "Abandon our homes so Altena's vultures can pick Babelonia's bones clean? Or perhaps let Rakia's warlords march in and claim our people under the pretense of 'protection'?" He stepped closer, the torchlight carving shadows into the sharp lines of his face. "Dissolving Babelonia won't save my people—it will only make them prey."
Nyx's fingers drummed against Regulus' shoulder, her nails like talons. "How tragic," she drawled. "Mortals do love their cages."
Regulus ignored her, focusing on Cornelius. "You think holding onto a doomed nation is better?"
"I think strength is better," Cornelius snapped. "The scroll's prophecy mentions you for a reason. If the dragon's awakening is inevitable, then Babelonia will either meet it on its feet—or not at all." He bared his teeth in something too sharp to be a smile. "So no, little king. We won't be 'vacating.' We'll be fighting. And you'll decide soon enough which side of that fight you're on."