Meditating silently on his bed, Owen reflected on the events of the previous night. His mother had refused to watch him take unnecessary risks, believing she could continue to endure… yet he could not accept it.

  At least the experience had revealed a new facet of his powers. Perhaps it would not work on his father, but he could divert the attention of guards and servants.

  An idea took shape: he needed to return to his mother’s room and attempt something.

  ???

  The following day, as soon as he had a free moment, he went there. The room was maintained as perfectly as before. He focused on the place where his parents had vanished—and saw them appear again before his eyes. Motionless, as if frozen in time, he approached and tried to touch them, but his hand passed through.

  His suspicions were confirmed: he could see the scene as if it unfolded before him, not merely in his mind.

  He summoned a passing servant and beckoned him over. Pointing, he urged the man to observe the illusory scene, but the servant looked at him questioningly. He saw nothing.

  To make him perceive the vision, Owen extended his power, projecting the scene directly into the man’s mind. The servant jumped back as the image materialized before him.

  With a satisfied smile, Owen left the room, returning to his usual activities, leaving the servant bewildered.

  ???

  Five days passed, during which Owen repeated the experiment with every person he encountered nearby, testing the limits of his power.

  No one seemed to comprehend what occurred. Rumors of a mysterious apparition began to circulate through the palace. Owen was pleased with his progress, yet he doubted the full utility of this discovery.

  He could not project just any memory, only this singular, potent scene. It only worked when he was physically present in the room and could establish eye contact with another person. Furthermore, no guard or servant possessed his father’s mental resilience.

  Against him, Owen still had to attempt it. No matter the risk, he would confront his father sooner or later. The thought of facing him again filled Owen with fear, yet he first needed to find the right moment.

  ???

  A few days later, during his lesson in the armory, Owen felt a powerful, almost hostile presence behind him. Sword in hand, he leapt back, pivoting smoothly.

  His father stood before him, silent, eyes probing. Owen could not suppress a shiver that ran through his entire body. He had not seen him since the incident in which he had been injured; being in his presence now reminded him sharply of his own smallness. They remained so for several minutes, engaged in a silent duel of gazes: the Emperor judging his heir, the son trembling like a leaf.

  Suddenly, the Emperor moved swiftly, a glowing sword appearing in his hand. Owen stepped back, a gesture of submission. Yet his father had no intention of stopping there.

  With fluid, precise motions, he struck. Owen blocked at the last instant, the clash of blades vibrating up his arm. The disparity was evident: each of his father’s blows was faster and sharper than the last. He had to stay focused, anticipate every move, feel the weight of his own sword meet his father’s.

  He did not understand: was he being punished for his transgressions, or merely tested? Why did his father speak not a word?

  Owen stepped back, pivoted, deflected a strike aimed at his shoulder, breath caught, heart racing. Each attack seemed designed to measure his reflexes, his speed, and his fear. His muscles screamed, arms weakened, yet he could not yield.

  For a fleeting moment, he thought he saw an opening and attempted a feint. The Emperor evaded effortlessly, barely grazing Owen’s blade. Owen staggered, stunned by the difference in skill. The duel was no mere fight: each move pushed him to the limits of his endurance.

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  When the Emperor’s sword brushed his neck, Owen felt beads of sweat form on his skin, muscles taut to the point of pain. Frozen, he dropped his weapon and gazed at his father, breathing heavily, silently pleading. The Emperor remained unyielding, sword raised.

  After what felt like an eternity, the sword finally vanished, leaving Owen trembling, heart pounding.

  The Emperor turned and said simply:

  “The lesson is ended. Return to thy chambers.”

  Owen exhaled in relief but quickly composed himself. Fear lingered, yet he could not let this opportunity slip.

  “Father! Wait!”

  “Hast thou something to say to me?”

  Owen paused, inhaled deeply, and spoke:

  “Yes… I… I am sorry…”

  The Emperor turned, studying his son carefully, whose eyes remained fixed on the floor. He smiled:

  “Good. A man must needs acknowledge his faults.”

  Hearing this, Owen clenched his fists.

  “Thou foughtest well, my son… though fear clung to thee. Continue thus,” he added.

  “Father… there’s something I’d like… to show you,” Owen said.

  “Oh? And what might that be?”

  “It’s… in Mother’s room.”

  He said nothing further, though Owen thought he heard a growl.

  “Very well. Show me what thou wouldst.”

  ???

  When Owen and his father arrived, the Emperor sat calmly, arms crossed, and asked:

  “Well then. What wouldst thou show me? I await.”

  Owen inhaled deeply, closing his eyes to feel every draft upon his skin and through his hair. When he opened them, he visualized the same scene, focusing intently… and asked:

  “Father, I would like to show you what I see… may I… enter your memories?”

  The Emperor, far from surprised, regarded him briefly, then replied with a smile:

  “Since when hast thou required my leave?”

  Owen flinched, suspecting mockery. He refocused, locking eyes with his father. A chilling sensation ran down his spine, as if his father gazed inside him.

  Moments passed with no change. The Emperor gave no reaction, maintaining his stare, unyielding, as if awaiting what would follow.

  Owen began to doubt. His father was on an entirely different plane. His feeble powers were no match—this he knew.

  “And? Is that all?” the Emperor asked abruptly, without a flicker of movement.

  “Father, I…”

  “Hadst thou naught better to do? Nothing more worthy than to show me this?”

  “This?”

  Owen could scarcely believe his ears. Had he truly shown him anything? The man’s smile was nearly imperceptible.

  “Aye, I see it. That moment when thou soughtest to defy my authority. Didst thou truly think a mere phantasm could reach me?”

  “N-No! Father, that’s not it! I wanted to talk to you… but I didn’t know how… I want to understand my powers.”

  “Thou canst read and sway the memories of men. Is it not plain? ’Tis a mighty gift, if thou knowest how to wield it.”

  “How do you know?! Can you do the same thing?”

  “Nay. This power is thine, and thine alone. Thou needest not my hand to learn. As I have said: the end doth justify the means.”

  The Emperor rose and left, leaving Owen alone with his thoughts, torn between satisfaction and a persistent unease.