...

Deep inviolable ruby eyes fixed on the crowd.

Silver eyes, he had mostly noticed. Peeking between the thick tent flaps. Glancing at him with curiosity and awe. Something he was already used to but roused no interest from inside him. His hands loosened on the reigns as he turned his gaze away. Adorned by the glorious insignia of the guild he ruled, his garbs were made of the finest fabric, enchanted with the rarest protection spells. His features, magnificent and refined like the mighty build of his body. His hair, fiery like the licks of auburn flames. The color he found hateful.

He was Ordan Cillius of the Cillius Archnobility, Guild Lord of the Guild of Dragor.

Although he received almost all the attention around him. Wondering eyes filled with curiosity and interest. He found it unintriguing. Silver eyes were rare. Not all could possess such eye color and be blessed with abilities at the same time. To be the center of attention in the crowd of silver-eyed people, one would probably feel lucky.

However, the man found it uninteresting instead. They were just ordinary people with different eye colors.

...

Stroking the head of Okleis, his mount, his fire gryphon, he moved to dismount. Legs skillfully swiveling on the saddle. His boots landed on the stoned ground heavily with a thud. The snow pressed beneath his heels.

His white cape swayed, elegantly dancing with the breeze. The golden scabbard hung on his belt, clinking as he moved. He patted Okleis as he turned away. Feet moving to head to a particular person's personal tent. When his eyes observed his noisy surroundings one last time, he stopped. Freezing in his place.

His gaze fixed on a certain youth a step before one of the hostage's tent. Indeed, his eyes were silver, however, it was brighter. Enthralling. Captivating enough to steal one's soul. Ordan recognized the youth. One of the promising recruits in the Recruitment Trials of Azuran.

He narrows his crimson eyes, recalling that this was the young man that Ilona, the Phrioric Guild Lord, wanted to obtain.

Their eyes met. Ordan felt a jump in his chest but his expression remained unmoved. The youth must have realized that Lord Ordan was staring at him. The young lord gave a brief nod to the white-haired young man before he shifted his attention, walking away. The moment he did, Okleis flapped her wings creating strong gusts of wind, slamming into the tents. She lifted herself off the ground and flew upwards.

"That..." Alexander muttered softly as he stared at the man in white, elegantly walking away. He blinked and shifted his eyes to his friend, Moulin, whose expression appeared dull as he stared at the flying fire gryphon, swiftly flying elsewhere. Alexander furrowed his eyes, "M-Moulin... Do you know that man?"

Moulin finally paid attention to him. His silver eyes deepened, annoyance seemed to flicker. "No." He replied.

"Impossible. He obviously acknowledged your presence!"

"... That so" Moulin uttered as he returned inside the tent.

"Wait! You don't- Did you not recognize him?" Alsander entered the tent and hurried to follow mear his friend.

"He's the guild lord of Guild Dragor," Moulin replied in a bored tone. "The Lord of the Archnoble house Cillius."

"..." Alsander turned confused. This guy- Can't you show even a bit of interest?!

"If you're thinking of trying to uncover why he acknowledges me, do try. However, I don't care about any of it. I predict that you will find nothing in the end." Moulin crushed Alsander's thoughts with his words. It made Alsander stiffen, watching Moulin's back as he walked through the beds, passing countless people. He blinked incredulously.

"W-Wait! Fine, I won't ask" Alsander sighed. "Then just tell me why the Dragor guild is here. There must be something..."

Moulin was subjected to the interrogating tone of Alsander's questioning for the rest of the day and he could do nothing other than try to entertain the young master with direct answers.

They spent two days in the island fortress. And as the snow began to pile and rise, it was time to leave. On the third day at midmorning, the people began to prepare their departure. Horses from Nordehl's general came to be a big help in carrying carts and wagons. The elves that came felt a deep sense of love for their princess at first sight. Indeed, she looked like the empress. They could not help but kneel before her. That day, everyone witness hundreds of warrior elves bowed before her in reverence. Eilhara was touched but inside all she wanted was to look for Moulin and spend the rest of the day cuddling with him. If only Moulin wasn't so slippery.

Moulin had noticed that most of the dragon guild that came to aid them were riders. He was fascinated by their way of reigning their mystical mounts. However, his interest only rose to the creatures. His impression of the riders and the rest of the men of Dragor that weren't apart of Relena's lead, only made his blood boil. They were despicable.

One time, Moulin witnessed a group of the men of Dragor surrounding a pitiful silver-eyed woman behind a dark and desolate part of the fortress. The woman looked frightened. It was dark and cold. Their expressions were kind and tender but Moulin knew the intentions of their hearts as they began to grab the woman's arms. If Moulin didn't slam a hill of snow on them, he would have witnessed something disgusting. The woman escaped, leaving the groaning men in Moulin's clutches. He made sure they were freezing their asses off until their departure.

The fourth day marked their departure. Moulin and the other ice-wielders of dragor created a thick bridge of ice at the front gates of the fortress. The bridge stretched further and further reaching the frigid lakeshores of the land. After making sure it was durable enough to support the weight of hundreds of people, the elves as well as the ice wielders lead the crossing.

Hearing the cries of the gliding creatures over their heads, everyone felt safe.

When the last person had finally stepped on the deep snow of the Rafelon earth a loud noise was heard.

BOOM!

As everyone turned their heads, they watched as the island fortress crumbled into the lake. As if a strong earthquake had hit it, ruining it completely. It was a good sign for the others it for the Hercullian lord, it was an insult. The trap had destroyed itself when it lost its prey. The Leonile lord wanted nothing more than to let it be destroyed by his own hand.

The journey to the Leonile camp back in the valley was not long. Nothing dangerous had obstructed their way. It did not take several laborious hours as they arduously travel through the deep snow. When they reached the transportation circle of the planted teleportation pearl did they stop. They arrived safely to the camps, entering hurriedly inside the barrier Moulin had invoked, just in time before the chaotic nightly blizzards came.

Tears were shed as the hostages finally realized their freedom. They are and drank while salty drops streamed down their cheeks. The sight was pitiful. A massive tent was put up for them and a separate tent for the royal princess.

Moulin collapsed on his makeshift bed. When the warm softness of his cot touched his skin, he sighed. He tied the ropes of the tent flaps together, wishing no disturbance from a particular princess or a noisy gossiper. He laid on his side, letting the contents of his satchel fell before his eyes, watching as Snow emerged from the bag and moved with his tiny feet towards his master. The little bandaged snow-white fox curled itself on its master's chest, seeking his master's warmth. With the presence of his little friend, Moulin closed his eyes. Alexander was working on replacing his barrier anyway. He needed rest.

Unknown to himself, he slept deeply for a day and a half.

.. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .

Under the warmth of the soft luxurious covers, toes curled comfortably. Lush lips parted in a soft sigh. Silver curling strands spread over the large tasseled pillows. Coiling into elegant roses. A translucent silk curtain weaved with golden threads draped down at the sides of the bed like a tent. Curving at the edges of the bed.

Lashes fluttered as the youth's rosy fingers twitched. Breathing evenly, the youth turned. Lying on his back, his sluggish countenance faced the little crystals hanging at the center of where the top of the curtains meets. His eyes were opened lazily. Moulin sat up slowly, his vision adjusting gradually. He yawned as his arms stretched. Feeling the silky sleeves fall to his upper arms.

His arms plopped on his sides as he stared blankly.

...

Calmly, his brows furrowed as the realization came to him. His gazes swiftly surveyed his surroundings. He was in some room in a tent, he guessed. A thick white curtain, serving as a partition draped like a wall with a visible split in the middle, five meters before the bed.

He looked down and realized his clothes were changed. He was no longer garbed in his guild uniform that he had worn for many days straight. A white silk robe had clothed him. His legs were bare. Tight cuffs around his wrists, loose and faintly translucent were his sleeves. His underwear...

Where was his underwear?!

He furrowed his brows as he looked around, clutching on a blanket, feeling exposed.

Where was Snow?

Suddenly, the curtains parted. The crease between his brows of Moulin his eyes flattened once he realized who it was that entered.

"You're awake. Good." Lord Hadrian's unfeeling tone filled his voice. His golden eyes fixed on Moulin's relaxed form on the bed. Watching as the youth stared at him. "You have been asleep for almost two days..."

What? Moulin frowned. But it felt like he had slept for a few hours.

"You... brought me here?" Moulin furrowed his brows. "Who changed my clothes?"

The man stared at him as if telling him 'who else?'.The man was wearing his usual black garb, except he had taken off his cape and his jacket. He only left his belt where his sword hung heavily. He looked absolutely domineering.

"Ao!"

Slipping through the space between Hadrian's boots, A little fox yipped happily as he struggled to hop on the tall edge of the bed. His tiny paws clawing on the sheets. He failed several times before Hadrian picked him up by the scruff of his neck and tossing him on the bed. Snow gave Hadrian a growl before jumping into his master's arms.

Moulin caught Snow, settling him on the lap, letting the tiny fox curl in his arms. Snow nuzzled comfortable, pitifully whimpering.

Snow: Master was asleep for a long time, wuwu. Snow is lonely. Comfort me, masterrrr (T□T)՞

A faint smile appeared on Moulin's face as he stroked the whimpering fox's head. Removing his gaze from the little brat, he met Hadrian's darkened eyes. Intently staring at him as if it would swallow him in the next second.

Moulin suddenly felt an ominous chill creeping up his spine the longer he stared at the man before the bed. He unconsciously closed his legs together.

"Let's talk, Moulin..." Hadrian neared him as his eyes turned profound.

Moulin swallowed.