Rajendra took a deep breath, the scent of incense mingling with the tension hanging in the air.

  "Tonight," he continued, his voice growing heavy, "Carta’s nobles will prepare. Not for a feast, but to welcome the darkness. The door... the seal holding back the underworld... will open slightly tonight. Enough to release thick black gas into the sky."

  "Is that what is called a Shade Walker, Uncle?" William asked, confirming a term he had once read briefly in a forbidden book in the palace library.

  Rajendra nodded slowly. "Correct. That gas is not merely smoke. It is the physical manifestation of shadow entities. They will walk among us, unseen by common eyes, searching for cracks in human hearts."

  Hearing that explanation, strangely William actually felt a little relieved. His stiff shoulders slowly dropped.

  He wasn't too worried.

  History recorded Carta had experienced this at least six times in its long history. Every five hundred years, this cycle repeated. This wasn't an unexpected apocalypse; this was a terrifying cosmic routine.

  Father surely knows this, William thought, his faith in King George strengthening again. The King must have prepared everything well. The 500-year protocol. We have a manual for this.

  Screeeech.

  The sound of the wooden sliding door opened roughly broke the heavy discussion about the world's fate.

  William turned. His eyes narrowed seeing the sight before him.

  Arka walked out from the back room casually. Only a piece of white towel wrapped his slender yet muscular waist, while his wet messy black hair dripped water onto the old wooden floor. Warm steam billowed from his body, contrasting with the cold night air.

  Without a shred of shame in front of the Crown Prince, Arka rubbed his hair with a small towel.

  "Gramps, lots of presents outside," Arka remarked while walking toward the drinking water jug.

  Rajendra was startled. His white eyebrows shot up. He turned to William with an apologetic look. "Truly? Ah, Prince... You didn't need to bother bringing so many gifts for this old man..."

  William was just about to open his mouth to deny it, but Arka cut in first while pouring water into a glass.

  "No, Gramps. Not from the Snotty Kid," Arka corrected lightly, then gulped his water. "That's from Grandpa's old girlfriend."

  The atmosphere fell silent for a moment.

  Rajendra’s wise face, previously full of authority, suddenly went blank. His eyes blinked twice.

  "Huh?" Rajendra responded spontaneously, innocent, and very humanly. "Which one?"

  Gulp.

  William swallowed saliva that felt stuck in his throat. His eyes bulged in disbelief staring at the old grandfather who looked so pious.

  Which one?

  That question echoed in William’s head. Damn, he thought, shaken. So this Uncle Rajendra... this hermit living in seclusion... used to be a high-class playboy? How many 'old girlfriends' did he have until he had to ask 'which one'?

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Rajendra’s image as a holy grandmaster cracked slightly in William’s eyes.

  Arka placed his glass down with a loud clack. He grinned mischievously.

  "You know... from a beautiful girl named Cheng..." Arka gave a dramatic pause, enjoying the panic on his grandfather's face. "...whose house is entirely filled with snake paintings, Gramps."

  Hearing that specific name and description, Rajendra’s calm face instantly turned deathly pale. Cough. He choked on his own spit.

  "Snake..." Rajendra hissed softly, hands trembling gripping the edge of the table. "Mistress Cheng?"

  Rajendra leaned forward, eyes wide with horror. The shadow of Mistress Cheng—a woman whose poison was deadlier than her smile—made cold sweat drip on the old grandfather's temples.

  "Arka! How did you end up in that snake pit? Hah?!" Rajendra bombarded, his voice rising an octave in panic. "Did she not strangle you to death? That woman doesn't ask permission to kill!"

  "Yeah yeah yeah... almost..." Arka answered while picking his ear with his pinky, as if 'almost dying' was a boring everyday occurrence.

  "Almost what?!" Rajendra exclaimed impatiently.

  William, sitting beside the small tea table, massaged his fiercely throbbing temples. He was truly dizzy hearing this absurd conversation. How could the topic of the most dangerous assassin leader in Black Keep be discussed as lightly as discussing a fierce neighbor?

  "Relax Gramps, turns out she's a tsundere. She still loves Grandpa very much," Arka said with a convincing tone, combing his wet hair back with a faux-handsome style.

  "I am now adopted as her grandson," Arka continued proudly. "Over there I was pampered, given delicious food... look here, my skin is getting more glowing, right?"

  Arka patted his cheeks which now looked cleaner and fresher. "I was given nice clothes, I was even forced to join the beauty and body care sessions of the handmaidens. Body scrub, volcanic mud mask... so good, swear."

  Arka’s eyes then sparkled, grinning wide displaying his rows of white teeth.

  "And most importantly... Grandma sent a fantastic amount of balance to my account. Hehe. Enough to buy a new tractor for Gramps."

  Rajendra’s face turned crimson. Between shame of his past exposed, fear of Cheng, and emotion seeing his grandson’s materialistic behavior. The veins in his neck bulged.

  His hand snatched a nearby chair cushion and threw it with all his might at Arka’s face.

  THWACK!

  "Grandma my eye!" Rajendra yelled angrily.

  William sat quietly in the corner of the room, his teacup suspended in the air. He felt like an audience member trapped in the front row of the most absurd family drama in the world.

  He stared at Rajendra’s face. The red color on the old face had surpassed the blushing phase; now the color aged into dark red, almost purplish. William wasn't sure if that was due to sudden high blood pressure, embarrassing memories of youthful romance, or peaking murderous intent toward his own grandson.

  Meanwhile, Arka—without the slightest sensitivity to the life-threatening atmosphere—was busy hauling gift boxes back and forth from the yard to the central room.

  Thump. Thump.

  The piles of luxurious boxes now stained the ascetic aesthetic of the temple living room. Arka began opening them one by one with the enthusiasm of a kid tearing open Christmas presents.

  "Gramps, look at this!" Arka exclaimed, lifting a styrofoam cooler box.

  He opened it, cold steam bursting out.

  "Premium beef, Gramps! The marbling is crazy, look at it! If this is grilled with soy sauce, whew... heaven on earth!"

  "Whoa..." Arka moved to a dragon-carved wooden box. He opened it and his eyes sparkled. "Wild ginseng, Gramps! This must be hundreds of years old. Supposedly good for stamina. So Gramps has strength to run if chased by a tiger... or a debt collector."

  Rajendra still stood frozen, his breathing sounding heavy and short.

  However, Arka’s final attack was the most lethal.

  The youth reached into the pocket of his new cloak and pulled out an elegant, small, flat black box. He opened it, revealing the latest smartphone whose screen was still flawlessly shiny.

  "And look at this..." Arka said, grinning wide, thrusting the advanced device in front of Rajendra’s stiff face.

  "A new phone for Gramps. Screen is clear, camera is high definition."

  Arka winked mischievously. "I've already set it up. Unlimited data. So Gramps can video call Grandma anytime you miss her badly."

  Silence.

  William saw Rajendra’s face change color to a very dark crimson, as if all the blood in his body rushed to his head. The veins on his temples throbbed horrifyingly. The old man's mouth opened slightly, closed again, then opened again.

  Words seemed stuck in his throat. No ancient spell or ancestral wisdom could save him from this situation.

  The Sagara Patriarch, guardian of the gate of darkness, tonight was truly checkmated by technology and the past.