Orlo offered a faint smile before giving a slow nod, then gestured for Arion to follow him down the dim corridor toward his office. Their footsteps echoed gently, accompanied by several prison guards who instinctively moved closer upon noticing the prince's unexpected presence in such a place.
Unlike the cold, distant atmosphere he often felt at the palace, here—in the damp, quiet underground prison—Arion was met with warmth. Some of the inmates even waved at him with small smiles, as if greeting an old friend returning home.
As he walked casually behind Orlo, Arion removed the oversized guard uniform he had been wearing. He handed it to a nearby warden, then patted the dust off his trousers with mild annoyance.
"You should be used to the air down here by now," Orlo remarked, casting a glance at the prisoners they passed. "The deeper we go, the damper it gets... and, well, less welcoming."
Arion simply smiled.
"I don't know why, but this place feels more honest. Here, I can be myself. No expectations. No pretending."
His voice was soft, yet there was a heavy honesty in it. His left hand gently stroked the head of the dark-furred dog that loyally trotted beside him. He called the dog by name: Lugter.
When they reached a large, steel-plated door, the guards halted. Four of them remained at their posts, alert and rigid. From their posture alone, it was clear this was no ordinary office—but a restricted room only accessible to a trusted few.
Inside, the atmosphere shifted. The space was plain but neat, filled with scattered documents atop a wide wooden table.
Moments later, a guard entered with two plates of breakfast. The scent of warm bread and boiled broth made Arion's stomach growl with renewed urgency. Without a word, he sat down and devoured his portion at a pace that left Orlo blinking in disbelief.
Before Orlo could even pick up his spoon, Arion's plate was spotless.
"Good heavens…" Orlo muttered, staring at the empty plate with a mix of awe and mild horror.
Once he finished eating, Arion stood from his chair. Before returning to the palace, he took a moment to sit cross-legged on the floor, tossing an invisible object into the air for Lugter to catch. The dog, full of childlike energy, leapt and spun in pursuit. Arion's laughter echoed through the dim room, bright and genuine.
Seated at his desk, Orlo watched silently. There was something in his gaze—a warmth laced with memory. He remembered the past: when Arion was just a small boy, running through this very place, laughing with Lugter, his joy unchanging even now.
"Your Highness…" Orlo finally spoke.
"Does the King know you come here so often?"
Arion paused, then answered quietly,
"No. Father's too busy. And I don't plan on telling him. If he found out, he'd forbid me from coming back."
He was silent for a moment, then turned to Orlo with a soft smile.
"Thank you for always welcoming me. You, Davian, and Father… You're the only ones who truly care. That's more than enough for me."
Orlo didn't respond. But inside, a mixture of warmth and quiet concern stirred. Arion hadn't realized it yet, but to Orlo—this young prince was far more than just a future king.
A few moments later, a guard entered and bowed respectfully.
"Prince Arion, the King awaits you in the grand hall."
Arion turned and nodded.
"Alright. I'll head there now."
Before leaving, he glanced back at Orlo and smiled.
"Thank you for breakfast… and for everything."