A carriage was led through the streets with a horse's neigh. Each time its wheels struck against the roads, a particular sound could be heard.

It was this sort of clicky, belt-like noise created by the hollow insides of the ever-present marble that the centre of Saphrith was built off, adorning each pathway, be it a lane specifically built for such carriages, where people bearing white, lustrous robes repeated the same sound created.

The marble's pearl-like, alluring shine led many of the other districts in town to follow a similar colour scheme, even though many of them were much, much different from what people assume the entirety of the Lignorian capital was.

However, it seldom disappeared, either in place of stone or wooden bridges. Such crossed over the two rivers flowing through Saphrith, Visula and Odre, separating the Willia and Oldenklow districts before connecting near the town's southern end. Wood and stone sounded a little different, and while the clacky noise would be something to pay attention to if you didn't live in Saphrith, this sudden change of terrain woke Sebastian up.

He groaned, rubbing his face, feeling a few generous wrinkles splattered on his forehead. His long, grey hair rested on his shoulders before his gaze turned to the windows at either side of the carriage.

His long fingers, each adorning a golden ring pulled on the white material separating the outside from the dimmed inside, and as quickly as it woke him up, the sight of the Horvenha Bridge, pairing with the sunlight streaming in, blinded him.

His attention eventually turned to the other person sitting on his side.

"You told me about this place once, King Sebastian," Lamon uttered, fixing the sheets covering his armour. "The Horvenhas were-"

"The first ones to ever deem themselves royalty." he rubbed his face. "The fact that one man built a bridge that lasted two wars and never came undone separated him from other people." he closed his eyes for a moment.

"Which means we've finally stepped into the Willia district," Lamon uttered.

The King nodded.

"I looked outside earlier. The welcoming party is still a few minutes ahead."

The King sighed. "There are other things I'd rather for everyone to focus on. I came back for that one specific reason, and I don't think I'd prefer to stay longer then."

"I wholeheartedly understand, my dear King. After all, your life is something of greater importance."

"Surely." he fixed his crown, before placing his head on the small wooden bit separating the knob from the window. Squinting his eyes, he focused on everything they passed, be it, almost everything that made the Willia district.

Its architecture wasn't anything too special. Spare the fountain, here and there, or the decorations made from the ever-present vines, without much of a landmark, Willia would serve as a connector from the northern side of the town and into the centre.

It was dubbed after a Tributal, William Trembleheart. As Saphrith slowly made its gradual decision to split from Osmania, and with the Duke's passing, Trembleheart thought that people ought to focus on the good aspects of this war's end instead of dwelling on the past. Perhaps, one gateway was acting out the things that already happened, but trying to present them as educational or in some form of brighter colours.

In short, William was the one who brought the concept of theatres into the world of Errarion, and the first ever built was a small stage in Oldenklow, later moved into a hollowed and abandoned Demonear outpost and repurposed into the Royal Theatre Cat, now presenting itself as this massive wooden arena standing above the tallest of towers of Willia.

Besides that, it was also rather trivial to overlook the Filhemon Gardens. A massive green area, spanning from Oldenklow through Willia was characterized by various natural mazes, unique tree types or ponds.

Willia's inns or pubs were usually populated with Tributals, Erans or Morians, and if it wasn't there that they spent the night, it was usually in one of the homes neatly tucked away atop the mentioned places of interest, with a flowery staircase leading towards small, but homey environments.

However, someone like Sebastian wouldn't know any of that. If he was in Saphrith, he'd rarely step out of the castle, and if so, wouldn't leave the premises of Oldenklow. It has been years since anyone had seen him anywhere else, and not for the reasons most leaders or kings would be associated with.

Sebastian coughed out, and turned back to the insides of the carriage, with Lamon's careful gaze overlooking his calm, and slow moves.

"So?"

"Hm?" Lamon tilted his head.

"Who do you bet, Lamon?" The King smirked. "Who gets the Holy Crown?"

Lamon shook his head. "I believe I still have to learn of all the Royals in our world."

"You sent the invitations, didn't you? Must know a heap, then."

Lamon gulped. "I only checked what was written down in the Errarion Entrophy."

Such, being a general list of people who have done something for the sake of Mainland Errarion. People like Bancho, Axel and alike could be found inside by flipping pages, but most noblemen were also present. Many individuals strived to earn a spot as it was considered a rare prestige and could grant one a sense of royalty.

"Don't you remember any of the faces, though?" Sebastian asked, putting his hands behind his head. "Come on, anyone,"

Lamon thought for a second, placing his finger on his chin.

"Maybe someone from the Drasushes or... oh!" he stopped. "That family in Eldham!"

Lamon didn't recognize the King's words. It seemed he still had some catching up to do, but without too much knowledge, he stared back at Sebastian.

"...you?"

The King shook his head. "I wouldn't take it. Even if they forced it on my head."

Lamon scratched his neck.

"Told you thousands, maybe millions of times. Maybe it'd be better to stay in the castle once and for all and finally settle the things that should be taken care of," he muttered, coughing out again, covering his mouth with his hand.

Lamon glanced, and Sebastian soon revealed the small pond of blood in his cupped palm.

He stared at it, before rubbing it into a tissue passed on from Lamon. He flipped it for a second, seeing a few words written on its back, and the other quickly snatched it from his hands.

"I'm not a great King," he uttered. "Maybe better than that Nuil you always complain about," he spoke, looking forward. "But I just don't get it. I always thought that people should receive praise for something they did instead of latching onto people who exist to be enriched." he fixed his circular glasses, turning to Lamon. "You'd never think of speaking so casually with a King, but here you are, acting so nonchalantly over some tissue."

Lamon looked outside, a little embarrassed, the King slid down the seat and sat in an awkward position. "It wasn't me who fought for the Goldenleaf Castle or... the entire Filhemon bloodline. Hell, even some of the few Kris' out there probably did something in their lives to be more in line to wear this stupid crown."

He took the mentioned item off his head. Unlike the golden ones usually worn in stories or witchtales, Sebastian's was silver, and quickly reflected off the sunlight, streaming at his own, worn-out face again.

"That's fate to you," he muttered. "Filhemons eventually took over, and ever since my father passed, it's been down to this sickly brat. Bed to bed, specialist to specialist, magic spells to magic spells." he raised his eyebrows. "Doesn't it sound ridiculous? Years of sickness and it's finally wearing you out. Maybe if I wasn't born like this I could've proven to be a greater king, instead of turning to all the people worshipping someone that doesn't deserve even half the praise."

"You're smart, though, and..." Lamon muttered. "A fair ruler."

"What's a fair ruler to a fair fighter, Lamon?" he asked. "Nuil never fought for anything either, did he?"

Lamon looked down.

He yawned. "The moon never chose to peak out at night and the sun never decided to shine. They do what they were meant to do, and the things they were supposed to. We all have roles we were meant to fulfil, and there's no fighting that. You can cry about not being a Royal, but you won't change a thing. I can cry about always being sick, but alas... it's not a cure." he stuck his hands out. "I guess the Holy Crown will decide lots, you know?"

Lamon turned to him. "What do you mean?"

"The person who gets to wear it..." he muttered. "Will be a king, in one way or another. Maybe that's something that was decided from the very beginning. If it's not the late Bancho then... who else?"

Lamon clenched his fist.

"Don't say it's supposed to be me again."

Sebastian's laugh was followed by all the commotion outside the carriage, which finally made its way into the Oldenklow district. Within the music that played inside, vines which spread across balconies or onto bridges neatly crafted as archways connecting buildings, people were waiting on the pavement to welcome their King.

A minute later, every other sound present was greatly amplified. Even from the mountain on which the Goldenleaf Castle, as well as everything else in the Oldenklow district, rested, one could hear cheers, as the simple, modest carriage made its way into town. Soon, the King stepped out, carried atop bigger horses, but such could be barely seen if it couldn't be heard.

Atomu's ears were usually a little better than his eyes, but then again, he was not Royal to wear glasses. If he was, maybe things wouldn't have turned out the way they did.

His shaky hand was placed on the edge of the small, boarded window. The last cell he was in for the first three months of his stay was hidden underground, and when Yule came, it gradually became colder.

The only reason he sat near the top instead of the bottom was that the people who 'took care of him' complained about the conditions. Atomu couldn't say anything. Not that his mouth was sewn or something. Each time he'd raise his voice, he'd receive a beating for the filthy demon that he was.

After all, a dealt wound that didn't come from another demon would heal itself rather quickly, so it felt like psychological torture. Seven months of continuous beating weren't even the cherry on top of this poisoned cake.

The only thing Atomu thought about was his upcoming and promised death. He didn't care if they hit him, he didn't care to snap or attack his abusers. The only thing he asked for was knowing if this was supposed to be another, meaningless day or something he knew was coming. He wasn't afraid, or so he told himself.

The sound of a door opening caught his attention, and with a turn, his tired eyes landed on the well-known figure stepping out of the shadows, carrying a whip in his hand.

The shadow moved, revealing Kania's crooked smile as his hand landed on the cold metal bars. Atomu didn't flinch, despite how fast his movements were, and the latter hastily opened the door, stepping in and closing.

"I knew you'd be attracted to the commotion," Kania uttered. "You long to kill all of that happiness, don't you?"

He never struck back, he never complained, he never answered.

Kania's hand landed on Atomu's long hair, and the other found itself placed over his bare chest, sliding up his neck to temporarily choke him.

"I'm used to it." Atomu thought, his eyes reflecting absolutely no light, contrasting the twitching of Kania's. They were vibrant as if he took all the pleasure in showing Atomu that humans are more powerful than one demon who never fought back.

Kania stepped to the side, forcing Atomu's hands back into those dirty cuffs hanging from the ceiling. His legs were already bound together with a tight rope, so there was no point in doing anything else. Atomu faced his oppressor, and Kania took a massive swing before landing a hit matching its power.

It hurt, as it usually did, but Atomu didn't close his eyes.

Kania quickly broke a sweat, taking his shirt off. Maybe it was something with him trying to assert power. Kania's body and muscles looked much better than Atomu's beaten skin. He sat shirtless for months now. He used to be self-conscious about his general appearance, but that didn't matter anymore.

If he'd shown weakness, Kania would exploit it. Even if he didn't, he already found out by continuously asking questions without receiving any answers.

A few more swings, and soon it was over.

Kania let him go and Atomu crumbled to the floor. The pain seeped in greatly.

"The King came back," Kania muttered, breathing out. He dropped the whip outside Atomu's cramped chamber. "Seems you've survived to the end."

A chuckle followed.