Adam stood there in the open courtyard, the cold evening wind slipping beneath his tunic and brushing along his damp skin, but it wasn't the wind that made him shiver. It was her voice. That low, disdainful tone that cut cleaner than any blade. She didn't shout. She didn't need to. Her words, spoken with icy calm, sank into his bones and made his insides squirm like worms under salt. He felt it then, down to the marrow—this wasn't the teasing of an older sibling. This was judgment. Total and absolute.
And yet… she laughed.
A clear, elegant laugh that rang out into the empty courtyard, bright as silver bells. Even her mockery was beautiful. The kind of laugh that might've once made a man fall in love, had it not been for the sheer scorn wrapped around it like poison lace. She took a step forward, then another, her boots tapping sharply on the polished stone underfoot. Her fingers curled into fists, and before Adam could even stammer a single word of explanation—
BOOM!
Her fist slammed into the column beside his head, and the stone wall exploded. Dust and jagged fragments of marble burst outward in a sharp blast, and Adam flinched instinctively as a splinter grazed his cheek. He could feel the residual heat steaming off her knuckles, could hear the faint crackle of flame coiled just beneath her skin. She hadn't even looked at the wall. Her eyes—those piercing emerald eyes—were locked directly on him, as if she were staring not at a brother, but at some wretched intruder who dared crawl into her home under a stolen name.
"When," Laylee whispered, her voice so soft it almost didn't reach him, "did I fall so low… that a pig like you could lecture me?"
Adam opened his mouth, then shut it. His thoughts spun in circles, trying to form a sentence, an excuse, anything. But nothing came. His throat felt dry. His tongue was lead.
"Pathetic," she muttered. "You're not even worth screaming at."
She leaned in closer, her breath warm, yet filled with venom. "Do you even hear yourself, Adam? With that fat tongue flapping like it knows magic? You're a joke. A disgrace."
Her words came sharp, deliberate, every syllable a knife. "You walk around like some overfed mutt. You can barely fit into your own robes. Your face looks like a cursed loaf of bread—bloated, dotted with grease and holes. And you have the audacity to give me advice?"
He winced, but didn't move.
"I've watched you, you know," she continued, straightening. "Not because I wanted to. Because I had to. We all did. Mother. Father. Crystal. We knew about the way you treated the servants. The tantrums. The groping. The threats. And still… they said nothing. They said you were family. That you were just confused. Just 'lost.'" Her lip curled, furious. "Well, I was never one of them. I never pitied you. I saw you for what you were—rotten. Spoiled. Filth in noble clothes."
The disgust in her voice had weight, and it pressed down on him harder than her fist ever could. "If there was any fairness left in this world, you would've been cast out of this family a long time ago. You should've slit your own wrists and spared us the shame of calling you a Blake."
Silence followed. The words echoed in the wind.
Adam stood there, trembling, his eyes lowered. The breath caught in his chest refused to come out, not yet. He wanted to scream. To run. To hide. But he didn't. Because he'd already known—he had seen Adam Blake's storyline. The Adam of the game didn't even make it past Act One. He died a coward's death. A victim. Forgotten. Unmourned. He had been written to be hated.
But Lloyd… he wasn't Lloyd anymore. He was Adam now.
So he raised his face.
Laylee continued, turning around. "With you around, I would never accomplish my ambition-"
Adam cut in, "Ambition of being the world's strongest fire magician before the age of twenty, right?"
The change in Laylee's expression was immediate.
Shock flashed across her eyes—not outrage, not sarcasm, but real, unfiltered surprise. She blinked once, as though trying to process what she'd heard. Her mouth parted ever so slightly, and for a brief moment, her body language faltered.
"How do you—?"
Adam smiled sadly, cutting her off before his courage broke, "I've also always been watching you, dear sister."
It was a lie. A beautiful, ridiculous, magnificent lie. And he leaned into it like a pro. His expression softened, and he let his voice lower to something more raw, more human.
"I know what I look like. What I've done. What people think of me. I am weak. I was useless. I lashed out. I hurt people. I used my status like a shield and a club because deep down, I was just scared of being left behind." He took a step forward, hands unclenched at his sides. "But even then… I always watched you. You and Crystal. The way you both worked. The way you burned. The way you earned everything."
He breathed out, shoulders shaking.
"And I hated myself for not being like you. For being the one who always needed to be carried. And instead of changing, I just—broke more things."
He looked up at her now, voice quivering but firm.
"I don't expect you to forgive me. I don't deserve that. But tomorrow, I'm going to apologize. To every single person I've hurt. Every servant. Every staff member. I'll bow. I'll kneel if I have to. I'll do whatever it takes."
He swallowed hard.
"Because I've finally realized… I don't want to be the shame of this family anymore."
Laylee didn't respond.
The wind passed between them again. The courtyard felt wider somehow. Emptier.
"…You think I'm stupid?" she said after a long moment, turning her back on him. "You think a few sweet words and teary eyes make you a new man?"
"No," Adam said, shaking his head slowly. "But if I'm wrong—if I fail—then I'll leave this family. I'll walk out of this manor by sunrise and never come back."
She stopped mid-step.
"…What?"
"I'll exile myself," Adam repeated, voice louder this time. "No need for a trial. No need for a family meeting. I'll disappear. And the Blake name won't have to suffer another moment with me dragging it through the mud."
She turned back to face him fully, expression unreadable.
"You're serious?"
He nodded once.
"On my soul."
The clouds rumbled above.
And then—lightning cracked across the heavens, blinding white, accompanied by the deep toll of divine thunder. The gods had heard. A soul oath. Binding and eternal. Break it, and your soul would be shattered. Forever.
Laylee stared at him for a long time.
"…You're an idiot," she said at last. "But a brave one."
She looked down at her own hands. Her expression was unreadable.
"So what do I wager?" she asked. "What do I stake, to make this fair?"
Adam smiled, small but earnest. His round, blemished face made the expression look awkward, almost comical. But there was no guile behind it. Just sincerity.
"Nothing," he said. "Just trust."
Laylee tilted her head, the corner of her mouth twitching slightly—not quite a smirk, not quite a frown.
"…Fine," she murmured, brushing her hair behind her ear. "Then I'll give you one sentence."
Adam blinked.
"Just one?"
"One sentence to convince me. That's all you get. I'll check it immediately. If it doesn't hold up… I expect to see your shoes at the gate by dawn."
A beat passed. Then Adam smiled again, firmer this time.
"That's all I needed," he said softly.
"Trust."