The Insane Regressor: Throne of Pride

Shmichael didn’t answer Ravian immediately.

He closed the notebook in his hand, set it down on the side table, and studied the young man standing before him.

The white hair and crimson eyes were impossible to mistake, and his quiet voice was just as familiar. Yet everything else had changed. Ravian’s features had grown sharper and more imposing, while his body possessed a balance and strength that hadn’t been there beside the river eight days ago.

"Good heavens..." Shmichael muttered, staring at the young man he could barely recognize.

"Before we discuss the heart, I need you to answer something," he said. "Beside the river, I offered you something before we parted. What was it?"

"You offered to take me with you," Ravian answered without hesitation. "I refused and told you to take Lady Larette and leave first, and that I would come to see you later."

"And what reason did you give me?"

"None," Ravian replied simply.

Shmichael remained silent for a moment.

Ravian’s answer contained exactly what he had needed to hear. The person they had met beside the river had never explained why they needed to leave, and that piece of information had never been shared with anyone.

Some of the tension left Shmichael’s shoulders.

"So it really is you," he said with a sigh.

"There’s no doubt about that," Ravian replied dryly.

"You can’t blame an old man for being cautious when someone disappears for eight days and returns looking as though he has undergone several years of physical refinement."

"I’m not blaming you."

Ravian nodded. In truth, he didn’t particularly care either way; he had come to offer what he had and take what belonged to him, nothing more.

Shmichael looked him over once again.

"We thought you might have died in the catastrophe. Lady Larette had our men search the shelters and the lists of the missing, but there wasn’t a trace of Rayan Veyr anywhere."

"You weren’t entirely wrong," Ravian said. "I came very close."

Shmichael’s eyes sharpened.

"What happened to you?"

"Nothing I intend to discuss," Ravian replied, leaving even less room for further questions than before.

Shmichael reached for the bell beside the door and rang it once. When a maid entered, he ordered her to inform Larette that Rayan Veyr had returned, then sent another servant to notify Earl Patrick.

"My lady is going to have questions," Shmichael warned him after the servants had left.

Ravian raised an eyebrow, briefly confused.

He truly didn’t care much about what Larette might say. He owed her nothing, and there was no relationship between them that entitled her to question him beyond what Shmichael already had.

Still, he didn’t dwell on it. His agreement with the Earl was far more important.

"And what do you expect me to say to that?" Ravian asked.

Shmichael turned toward him in surprise and caught the sincerity in his crimson eyes.

’Does he truly not care about my young lady at all?’

Shmichael couldn’t understand how Ravian’s mind worked, but his young lady wasn’t going to appreciate that attitude, and it might very well hurt her.

"Just reassure her with a few words or something," Shmichael said.

He knew perfectly well that Ravian was no longer merely a young man presenting them with an opportunity. Ravian himself was the opportunity—the chance to bring someone like him under Earl Patrick’s wing.

"I’ll try," Ravian said as he settled unhurriedly into one of the chairs.

...

Larette entered only a few minutes later.

"Shmichael, what do you mean he’s back? Did someone merely use the name, or have you actually—"

She stopped the instant she saw Ravian.

Her dark blue eyes widened as she took in the white hair, crimson eyes, and face she remembered from beside the river. She recognized him immediately, but that recognition was followed by confusion the moment she registered everything that had changed.

"Rayan?" Larette asked, her voice unsteady.

"Good morning, Lady Larette," Ravian said with a small smile.

"You’re alive," she said in disbelief.

Ravian glanced down and briefly examined his own body.

"So it would seem," he replied.

The relief that had surfaced on her face vanished beneath a sharp look.

"Do you think this is amusing?" she asked suddenly, her voice cold.

"Hmm?" Ravian didn’t understand what had angered her.

"You disappeared for eight days!" Larette crossed the room and stopped in front of him. "You said you would come here and explain your proposal to my father, but then an entire district vanished and no one could find you. Where were you? Were you inside the Ninth District?"

"I was close enough to the catastrophe to nearly die," Ravian answered, remaining perfectly calm despite her agitation.

Her gaze traveled over his body again.

"And this?" Larette asked, gesturing at him.

"The damage triggered a transformation while I was recovering," Ravian replied.

"What kind of transformation changes a person this much in eight days?"

"One I’d rather keep to myself."

Larette’s expression hardened.

"That hardly counts as an explanation."

"That’s all I have to say, Lady Larette," Ravian replied with complete calm.

Larette looked as though she wanted to challenge that answer, but something in Ravian’s expression stopped her.

He wasn’t teasing her, nor was he hiding behind one of his usual evasive smiles. Whatever had happened to him, he genuinely had no intention of discussing it.

"When did you recover?" she asked.

"Before dawn today. I had no clothes, no money, and not the faintest idea how long I’d been unconscious. I came here after learning what had happened to the capital," Ravian explained, lightly scratching the side of his nose.

"And the first thing on your mind was the heart?" Larette asked, giving him a strange look.

"It wasn’t the first thing on my mind," Ravian replied. "But it’s one of the reasons I came in person."

"One of them?" Larette asked, and this time her voice carried a trace of hope.

"The other is the project," Ravian finished.

Before Larette could respond, a deep, commanding voice came from the doorway.

"I should hope so."

Earl Patrick Viola stood at the entrance.

He was past middle age, with blond hair threaded with gray and dark blue eyes that matched his daughter’s in color. His clothes were elegant without being needlessly ornamented, while the black ring on his hand remained the only adornment he wore.

For Patrick, this was his first meeting with Rayan Veyr.

For Ravian, however, it was not.

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