Torn threads

Inside the Kaiser's office, wooden shelves stood like silent walls—guardians of authority's memory. At the center, a glass table rested between two aged chairs, while a broad window flooded the room with daylight, leaving no corner hidden, no shadow spared.

At the heart of that solemn chamber hung a map of a small continent. On the bottom edge, a name had been etched: "The Dust Continent." Even an untrained eye could count more than twenty nations within its sketched borders.

The Kaiser entered, pale—as if years had been stolen from his life. Yet his expression spoke of success, of a goal reached, no matter how dark.

He lowered himself into the leather chair, paused briefly, then placed a single finger on the map. A red mark. He leaned back to retrieve a book from the desk drawer.

"You old man... do you want me to rip out what's left of your bald head?"

The insult hit so suddenly that the Kaiser instinctively raised a hand to touch his shimmering silver hair, checking if it was still there.

Bianca had stormed in, no announcement, slamming her hands down onto the desk. The wooden shelves groaned beneath the force of her fury.

"My dearest Bianca, I honestly don't know what you're talking about," the Kaiser replied with tired mischief.

Her eyes flushed red. She looked ready to strike, but her gaze caught on the map—on a red circle drawn around one of the countries.

The Kaiser seized that brief silence.

"Fenrir's falling hair causes problems."

Her eyes widened, realization dawning like a storm breaking through.

"I know it's wrong," he continued, "but... it's the perfect opportunity."

Bianca stepped back slowly, until her back touched the wall near the window.

There she saw Sartor, standing with Yasmin, wiping sweat from his brow.

She watched him quietly, until a memory flickered—of a little girl, laughing, with the same snow-white hair as her beloved grandson.

Her breath caught. She had come here for a reason. Not to argue. Not to fight.

"Kaiser..."

She gathered herself, and went on:

"I know what you mean. I even understand it. But I want him to be ready."

The Kaiser smiled, and rose to give his beloved wife a warm embrace—not as a head of family, but as a man weary of battles.