I find it curious that there was a royal child about your age that went missing around the time Idhron brought you to the High Hronthar.
Chewing on his lip, Eridan reached for his multi-device. He could look up if there were any three-year-old royal children that went missing around the time he was brought to the Order. Although the mere idea still seemed ridiculous, he doubted Tethru would make up something like that for no reason.
An hour later, Eridan set his multi-device down and stared at it blankly. At the picture of the boy. Crown Prince Warrehn of the Fifth Grand Clan went missing seventeen years ago—as well as his three-year-old brother, Prince Eruadarhd.
There were no later pictures of the younger prince, since it was forbidden to photograph young children of high-profile figures unless it was for some official purpose. The only picture Eridan could find was from the day of Prince Eruadarhd’s birth, when the royal couple had released a press statement that included the Queen-Consort holding the newborn.
Eridan stared at the Queen-Consort, at her golden hair and violet eyes. Just like his own.
I thought I was seeing a dear friend of mine who died a long time ago. The resemblance is quite uncanny.
Then he looked at the ten-year-old Prince Warrehn. Looking at his picture made something inside his chest squeeze. He was almost sure that he remembered him, but it could be just confirmation bias.
Could this really be his family?
Eridan traced the Queen-Consort’s lovely face with his finger.
“Does it matter?” he whispered.
If they were his family, they all were dead anyway. The King and the Queen-Consort had died not long before their children’s disappearance. Crown Prince Warrehn was presumed dead, supposedly killed by the rebels.
Eridan was skeptical about the latter part—that he was killed by the rebels. The rebels were actually harmless. But in any case, it was highly unlikely that Prince Warrehn was alive. It had been over seventeen years. The elder prince would have turned up somewhere if he were alive.
His brother was dead, just like their parents.
Eridan’s vision was suddenly a little blurry.
It was so stupid, crying over strangers, his blood family he almost didn’t remember.
He wasn’t Prince Eruadarhd. He was just Eridan, an apprentice of the High Hronthar.
The Grandmaster’s apprentice.
Eridan frowned. Regardless of what he thought about this discovery, the fact remained that his Master had been lying to him, or at least lying by omission. Castien had never told him that he was the one who had brought him to the Order.
Where had he even found him? These old reports said that the two princes had been attacked by the rebels in the forest at the foothills of the Great Mountains, which… made sense. It wasn’t far from one of the hidden hangar bays of the Order. It was possible that Castien had been traveling from the monastery to Hronthar on an aircraft and… and what? Found a lost child and decided to steal him for the Order? That part didn’t make sense. Eridan knew his Master found small children annoying. Try as he might, he couldn’t imagine Castien going out of his way to help some lost child.
That meant Castien knew exactly who Eridan was. He had known exactly who Eridan was when he claimed him preliminarily as his apprentice.
He had known all along.
Eridan’s mind raced with the implications of it.
He had never had delusions about his Master. He knew Castien never did anything on a whim, his every move carefully planned. Eridan had always found it strange that his Master had claimed him so early and yet had shown no interest in him when he was a child. Now it all was starting to make more sense.
Castien had shown no interest because he had no intention of keeping him as his apprentice.
Eridan swallowed the sudden lump in his throat.
“Don’t be too hasty,” he whispered to himself. “There could be other reasons.”
But deep down, he knew it was the truth. Castien had always known that one day he would use Eridan as another piece in his game, so there was no point getting attached.
A laugh, bitter and harsh, left Eridan’s mouth. He pressed his hands to his eyes, hating himself for how much it hurt. It was stupid. He was being stupid. He had always known what kind of a man his Master was. Castien had never lied to him outright, never pretended to care for him or love him.
In the grand scheme of things, this was nothing. Castien’s plan was hardly evil: if his parents and older brother were dead, Eridan would become the rightful king of the Fifth Grand Clan when he turned twenty-five. Having his own former apprentice as the king of one of the biggest Calluvian grand clans would obviously be a huge boon. This plan was hardly nefarious. Just cynical and cold-hearted.