SYMDF 8

Chapter 8

 

Just as Ion felt the grip on his hand tighten, a faint chirping broke the air. He realized the sounds around him had shifted and cautiously opened his eyes.

He expected to see Camillus’s face first—but he was wrong. Instead, Yomnyong had reappeared in his full, larger form, writhing.

“Kkuuuk, kkuuk!”

The little dragon dangled upside down, tail caught in Camillus’s hand. Ion cried out in alarm.

“Yomnyong!”

…Somehow, Camillus had drawn him from Ion’s chest, or perhaps Yomnyong had leapt out on his own. Either way, Camillus held him with a careless expression, gripping him firmly with one hand while the other still clasped Ion’s own. Yomnyong curled and stretched frantically, wings flapping in futile protest.

“Kkuunng, kkuung.”

Camillus’s grip held with casual ease, as if restraining the dragon were child’s play. Ion, unable to watch, pleaded.

“Let him go—please, set him down.”

Camillus arched a brow, then sighed as though relenting reluctantly.

“Shall I then?”

He opened his hand. Yomnyong fell with a thud, wings failing to open in time.

“Kkuuii…”

The pathetic groan that followed made Ion almost laugh outright.

What dragon’s dignity… if he ever had any.

Shaking his head inwardly, Ion glanced around. Only then did he notice their surroundings.

They were inside the parlor of some residence. From the lived-in feel, he guessed whose home it was.

Still chuckling faintly at Yomnyong’s sulky demeanor, Ion scooped him up again, nestling him back into his arms. For all the uproar, the house itself felt oddly ordinary.

Though no candles were lit, sunlight streamed through the windows, lighting the room with a dim but cozy glow. Rising carefully, Ion asked:

“Is this… your home, Viscount?”

Camillus moved close, steadying Ion by the arm as though fearing he might stumble.

“…Yes, Ion.”

Ah—that was right, casual speech. Camillus addressed him always by name, reminding Ion once more of how close they must have been. He looked, probing for reaction, but Camillus only offered a faint, wry smile.

“What happened to your body? Why are you like this?”

The emotion, sharp with grief, made Ion blink rapidly, caught off guard. With no memories, how could he possibly answer?

“Well, I…”

“Or is it…” Camillus’s gaze dimmed, searching, “that you don’t even remember who I am?”

On cue, a system warning flickered before Ion’s eyes:

[Status Effect: Amnesia]

Quick to perceive things, indeed. Or perhaps I’m simply witless.

Ion gritted his teeth—This isn’t my fault. Whoever erased my memories is to blame.

Still, he floundered for words when Camillus’s grip tightened around his hand. Looking up, startled, he met those blue eyes again.

Yet Camillus, instead of probing further, only smiled.

“Excuse me, but… may I try something?”

“…Excuse me?”

“Set the dragon on my arm, and lean against me for a moment.”

He knows it’s a dragon.

The word, spoken without hesitation, made Ion’s pulse skip. Outwardly, Yomnyong was hardly recognizable; how then had Camillus known? Could he read memories through touch? Was such sorcery possible?

Before he could muse further, Yomnyong himself toddled over and climbed Camillus’s sleeve, settling comfortably on his shoulder and fluttering his wings. Ion felt stingingly slighted at the sight—his own companion abandoning his arms without a second thought.

Then Camillus drew Ion against his chest and clasped both his hands.

“…Ah.”

It felt almost like being embraced from behind. Camillus’s quiet breath brushed his ear.

“Just a moment. Relax, and trust me. Can you do that?”

The tone—gentle, soothing as if calming a child—left Ion gazing upward. Between locks of black hair, those blue eyes gleamed with composure far beyond his years.

Camillus Valderas Clodel, sixteen.

Can any sixteen-year-old exude such presence?

Ion barely swallowed the urge to ask aloud, Are you really sixteen? It would have been far too suspicious—how could someone with no memories claim to know his age?

So he forced down the curiosity and nodded slowly.

“I can.”

“Good.”

At the reply, Ion’s vision filled at once with searing light, just as it had when they first arrived. He squeezed his eyes shut against the brilliance, wind rushing past him.

When he opened them again—they were outside. Ion barely had time to realize—before he noticed the ledge at his feet was sheer drop. He flinched back, only to bump deeper into Camillus’s chest.

“Ah…!”

The sudden intimacy jolted him, heat flooding his skin. But Camillus only tightened his arm around Ion’s waist, pulling him fully against him.

“C-Camillus?”

The pose—one in front, one behind—made Ion flush crimson. From above, he heard a soft chuckle.

“It’s all right. This is only the rooftop.”

“The… rooftop?”

Ion lifted his gaze at last. As Camillus said, they were atop the residence. Seeing the railing reassured him faintly, and his racing heart slowed.

Only then did his eyes take in the view.

Green stretched everywhere, thick forest canopy cloaking the surroundings. Were it not for the distant city skyline barely peeking beyond, Ion might have believed himself in the countryside altogether.

A chorus of birdsong rose as a flock darted skyward. The Duke’s mansion had been cultivated with taste, but this—this was different. Almost like something from a fairy tale: tranquil, dream-soft.

Ion turned his head at every rustle of leaves, lost in the sight. But the moment he felt Camillus’s gaze upon him, the tranquility broke. Catching the boy’s amused smile, Ion’s ears reddened, embarrassed.

“…Why bring me here suddenly?”

Perhaps to show him the view? Yet that guess died quickly. For Camillus’s hand reached forward and pointed.

“Do you see that tower, Ion?”

Following his finger, Ion saw it—a lone spire rising proudly, impossibly tall, high even from this distance.

He couldn’t be absolutely sure, but by its central position, it must be within the Imperial Palace. And not just by chance: even from afar, Ion could discern the faint outline of its magic barrier—the same one he had seen when the carriage halted before the palace walls.

Its mass dwarfed all other structures. Just as when seen up close, the tower was so colossal it seemed to stab the heavens.

How many floors does it hold? To reach the summit would demand not only time but immense strength. Not something his cursed, frail body could even imagine.

A stifling tightness crept into his chest. He pressed a palm over his heart.

“…I see it.”

Not seeing it would have been the real marvel. But before he could mutter as much, Camillus’s steady voice carried softly:

“I was imprisoned there.”

The words were quiet—yet they froze Ion to the core. His green eyes trembled with immediate shock and unease.

Footnotes:

• Viscount (자작): In Korean noble hierarchy as localized here, this indicates Camillus holds hereditary lordship, though his illegitimate birth stains his standing.

• Memory Warning: The system flagging [Status Effect: Amnesia] serves as a reminder trigger when Ion’s behavior risks exposing memory gaps.

The Tower with Barrier: A towering spire inside the Imperial grounds wrapped with a magical seal, symbol of state control and also Camillus’s captivity.