The storm battered the quaint village for three days. Three days spent inside the inn made the young king grow increasingly anxious.
He couldn't help but ponder how long this journey had already taken. They had been gone for fifteen days, yet they seemed no closer to finding the man they sought. Ceremus could only hope that Hael was doing well and that his condition wasn't worsening.
Rising early that morning, the king took out a piece of parchment and penned a quick letter to Anemone, inquiring about Hael's condition. He also made sure to update the advisor on their progress, assuring him that they were closing in on Tiresias and, by extension, the plant. Once finished, he glanced out the window and saw that the snowstorm was beginning to ease up—soon, they would be able to leave.
By the following day, the weather had finally cleared, allowing Atilla and Ceremus to depart from the inn. They thanked the young woman who had hosted them, and Ceremus made sure to pay her well before they left. Moved to tears by his generosity, the innkeeper offered them a piece of advice in return.
"There's a base not far from here where one of the Brotherhood's leaders resides. Though they don't usually cause trouble around these parts, I hear the Chief is currently looking for a foreign warrior who recently entered our village. You seem to match his description, so please, sirs, be careful not to cross paths with them."
Ceremus and Atilla exchanged a glance, sharing the same thought. It must have been those mountain bandits they encountered a while back. Their leader must have caught wind of their skirmish and was looking to settle the score.
Yet, the king showed no concern about people searching for him. If anything, he looked eager at the prospect of another fight. After being confined for three days, his body craved action.
Without hesitation, the two set off toward the place the shopkeeper had mentioned—the land where the sun never sets. Their journey would take them further north.
As they rode in silence, Ceremus sensed a presence trailing them. He wasn't sure where it originated, but he knew it was close.
"Looks like we have company," he murmured to the young knight, who furrowed his brows in confusion.
"What do you me—" Before Atilla could finish his sentence, a group of men emerged from the snowy landscape, causing his eyes to widen.
His gaze flickered to Ceremus, but the king remained indifferent, his expression unchanging. Even as twenty men surrounded them, clad in northern attire with weapons concealed beneath their heavy coats, Ceremus remained utterly unfazed. His calm composure made Atilla's eyes shine once more with admiration and respect.
One of the men leading the charge stepped forward, his gray eyes gleaming as he studied Ceremus. "Oh my, who is this tall cup of nutmeg cider presented before me?" the chief mused.
Behind him, Orion resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Their chief always became a fool in the presence of someone he found attractive, and even he had to admit—the man before them was a sight to behold.
Bukara, standing further back, audibly gulped as he recognized Ceremus, recalling the humiliating fate he had suffered at his hands.
The king remained silent, observing from a distance. To him, these men were merely obstacles in his path. A mere gesture could clear the way. However, he sensed no immediate hostility from them, which piqued his curiosity.
What was their intent?
"Are you the travelers from the east?" Orion asked before Kishar could speak again.
Atilla narrowed his eyes. It was obvious they weren't from here, so why ask such a pointless question? Was it a ploy? A distraction? Or something worse?
As he considered the possibilities, Ceremus stepped forward. The moment he did, the once-casual demeanor of the chief and his men shifted. They held their breath, their eyes straining to take him in more clearly.
They all had the same thought: Does he possess the divine eyes?
Ceremus tilted his head slightly, his golden eyes narrowing as he observed them. He didn't miss the change in their stance—the arrogance had faded, replaced by something sharper. Cautious curiosity. Perhaps even reverence. It was almost amusing.
"The travelers from the east?" he echoed, his voice laced with lazy amusement. "You already know the answer to that, so why even ask?"
His gaze swept over the group before landing on Bukara, flashing him a knowing look. The burly man flinched, quickly averting his eyes.
Orion's gaze flickered, but he didn't refute the claim. Instead, he studied Ceremus more closely, his expression unreadable.
Kishar let out a slow exhale, resting a hand on his hip. "You're right, my beautiful stranger. I was just trying to be polite." His smirk remained, but there was an unmistakable edge to his tone. "You see, it's not often we encounter someone like you in our territory. Someone who, let's say… doesn't belong."
Atilla bristled at the remark, his hand instinctively moving toward his weapon. "And what is that supposed to mean?"
Orion ignored the knight's agitation, keeping his gaze locked on Ceremus. "Tell me, traveler, why are you here?"
Ceremus remained silent.
The quiet stretched between them, thick and weighty. A breeze stirred the snow-dusted ground, clearing the air between them. Now, they could see each other clearly.
A gasp escaped Yuri's lips. There was no mistaking it—Ceremus' golden eyes pierced through them, rendering them frozen in place.
Then, as if to shatter the moment, Kishar let out a low whistle, his grin widening. "Oh-ho, I knew it. You're something special, aren't you?" He turned to Orion with a practiced calmness. "He has the eyes."
"I told you!" Yuri exclaimed behind them, causing the two leaders to shake their heads.
Things had shifted now, the atmosphere thick with unspoken understanding. Orion let out a discreet breath of relief, grateful they hadn't attempted to engage in combat.
"Not only do you have such beautiful eyes, but you have a handsome face to match," Kishar mused. "I would love to take you home with us."
Atilla's grip on his sword tightened, his confusion growing. "What exactly are you implying?"
Orion gritted his teeth while Kishar kept his gaze fixed on Ceremus, who still hadn't spoken a word. He wanted to hear him speak—to find out what the beautiful man before him sounded like.
And as if answering his unspoken wish, Ceremus finally spoke.
"Unfortunately for you, I am already spoken for," he said simply.
Kishar raised an eyebrow. "Why am I not surprised? I wonder who this woman is that managed to capture the heart of such a cold man. She must be something special."
He observed Ceremus carefully and caught the slightest twitch of his brow at the word 'woman.'
Kishar's smirk bloomed into one of pure delight. "Oh? What's this? Perhaps I was wrong to assume it was a woman who has captured your heart?"
Ceremus exhaled slowly, as if the conversation bored him. "That's none of your concern."
Kishar chuckled. "That makes a lot more sense. No woman could ever handle all of this," he said, his gaze unabashedly trailing down Ceremus' form, lingering on a certain area that will not be named.