He advanced through the corridors without pause and stopped before the Emperor's office. A single knock, and a quiet "Enter" came from within.
It was dawn. Even the servants had yet to stir. The Emperor, it seemed, had been working through the entire night without sleep.
Niklaus opened the door and stepped inside.
Emperor Leonard Valderin's study carried a formality that outweighed any other room in the palace—a vast chamber with walls adorned in gold filigree, towering shelves crammed with ancient tomes, and an enormous window that commanded a clear view over stretches of the imperial city.
But what caught Niklaus's attention upon entering was not the books; it was the photographs.
Several framed portraits sat carefully arranged on one of the shelves. Some showed the Emperor in moments of official duty. Others included Empress Elisia and Adrian.
There was no photograph of Niklaus. Not one.
It came as no surprise. Nor did it matter. He was simply a fixed piece in a story—written with precision, unchanging. And that was, in its own way, a comfort. He had no wish to entangle himself in this clichéd tale.
Niklaus said nothing. He offered no formal greeting, not even a perfunctory good morning. Nothing at all.
Only a glance met the Emperor's gaze—the man had just set down his pen, signaling the end of his work, his attention now fully given. Behind that rigid imperial mask, something flickered in his stare that Niklaus could not parse. Had anyone else been present, they might have thought the Emperor looked on with unease, wonder even, touched with sorrow. Yet his expression barely shifted. He also did not seem surprised to see Niklaus enter the study. He had certainly known of his approach long before Niklaus neared the door. The Emperor was not the continent's most powerful man in name alone.
The Emperor spoke: "So. What brings you here in the early morning, without having slept?"
Niklaus answered coldly, without preamble. "Did you go to the Forest of Death? Did you meet Empress Elisia there?"
In that moment, the Emperor's eyes widened in a way he could not conceal.
He had not expected this question. He had never imagined Niklaus could have uncovered anything about that meeting. It was something almost no one knew.
Niklaus noted the change, but gave no visible reaction.
He had no intention of mentioning the letter. From the very start, he had concluded there was not even a one-percent chance it had been written by the Emperor. And his conclusion was correct.
The Emperor remained silent for a few moments after hearing Niklaus's question.
He did not confirm. Neither did he lie.
Instead, he looked at him deeply, then spoke in a lowered voice that carried unmistakable weight:
"Stay away from these matters, Niklaus."
The words were direct, but they were more than a warning. They landed like a final decree, as though the subject must never be opened again.
Yet what unsettled him most was not the question itself, but how Niklaus had come to know of it.
A brief pause, then the Emperor asked quietly, curiosity barely veiled:
"How did you learn of this?"
Niklaus gave no answer.
He regarded him with the same habitual coldness, then said simply:
"If you won't answer, then I won't answer."
At that moment, the Emperor fell silent, as though his memory had carried him back to a far-off time.
To the moment he had first met Elisia inside the forbidden forest.
Over twenty years ago, beneath the shadows of ancient trees, Leonard had stood before a woman with hair as black as a long night, her eyes carrying a quiet light that held no small measure of defiance.
He had come to the forest with a specific purpose, never expecting to find another soul there. But when he saw Elisia, he felt as though she had been waiting for him—though she could not have known who he was.
He looked at her and asked, his voice clear yet edged with his own guardedness:
"Why is a noble lady such as yourself in a place like this?"
She did not answer right away. She regarded him with depth, then after a short moment replied:
"Why is a noble gentleman such as yourself here?"
In that instant, he realized this woman was not like the rest. She was different. She saw things in a way he was not accustomed to. She was alone here, with those eyes…
And so, in a manner he hadn't expected of himself, he let a faint smile show, then said:
"If you won't answer, then I won't answer."
Hearing Niklaus repeat those same words now, the Emperor smiled in the same old way—a subtle, not fully visible smile, but a real one.
He realized the past still found its way into the present, even after all these years.
Niklaus turned to leave, uninterested in the remainder of the conversation, which for him had already ended. He had what he came for: the letter did not lie about this part. Now, he would go to the forest and see what answers the letter's pathetic author was speaking of.
Before opening the door, he cast a cold glance at the wall of photographs.
As he pulled the door to leave, the Emperor's voice came again, quiet but resolute:
"Do not be curious about the forest. Forget this matter."
Niklaus did not reply. He simply left in silence, as if the words meant nothing to him.
Niklaus entered his room. He walked to the nightstand, pulled open the drawer, and retrieved a magical ring—a storage ring of polished black metal, set with a gleaming crimson gem. He slipped it onto his finger.
It was one of the items he had found here, in this room.
Into the ring, he placed the letter he had discovered, a few plain garments from the wardrobe, and a handful of silver and copper coins he had picked up in the garden—likely dropped by a servant.
He sat on the bed, running his fingers through his hair, thinking.
One thing remained: getting out of this palace.
His eyes moved to the magic crystal on the nightstand. A communication tool used in this world, and his means of contacting Ethan. He picked it up to reach him, but…
Ethan was already appearing at the window.
He bowed. "Forgive me, my lord. I know I'm late, but I've found what you were looking for."
Niklaus looked at him with quiet, cold expectancy, his gaze imparting a single command: out with it.
Ethan pulled a map from an inner pocket of his robe and immediately held it out to Niklaus. Niklaus took it and read it.
It marked the location of the Forest of Death, between the northern borders of the Empire and the Duchy of Vandemir.
The Duchy of Vandemir… one of the most important duchies in the Empire, for it guarded the Forest of Death—against anything slipping out, and against anyone entering.
Ethan's hesitant voice cut through Niklaus's thoughts:
"But my lord… why are you searching for the way to the forest?"
He had not expected this decision. He had not expected to hear his master speak the words that now left his lips:
"I will go there."
A beat of silence stretched between them before Ethan spoke again, his voice still colored with shock:
"My lord… are you certain? The forest isn't merely a dangerous place—it's forbidden. No one enters without an order from the Emperor or the rulers of the three kingdoms."
Niklaus did not waver. His eyes stayed fixed on Ethan, as if the decision had already been made. His gaze said plainly: do you really think I care?
Ethan looked at him with intensity. The one thing he knew about his master was that he never made a decision without careful thought. But this seemed like sanctioned suicide. So he said:
"My lord, if there's a reason for this, tell me. Why the forest? What drives you to go there despite all the danger?"
Niklaus rose. He looked at him coldly and said, "That's none of your concern."
Ethan froze in place, then lowered his head. "Forgive me, my lord. I overstepped."
Niklaus regarded him with indifference, his look saying: good that you understand.