Chapter 33: The Silent Treatment

To go or not to go—that was the question.

Riley had been stuck in the same spot for the last fifteen minutes, scribbling like a madman in the margins of his notebook while flipping through random books. Every page number became a sign from the universe: odd meant go, even meant don’t. Fifty pages later, and the verdict was clear.

According to page 314, he wasn’t supposed to go.

“…”

Except… he really wanted to.

Because unfortunately, Riley had this annoying thing called a conscience. He’d told Orien he’d try. Not promise, but try. And if he didn’t at least show up with something, he’d look like a flake. Or worse, Kael.

Riley sighed and rested his forehead on the desk.

The smart part of his brain reminded him that he’d need to clear any kind of visit and any items from outside through his boss. You know, the Dragon Lord? The same Kael Dravaryn who had not spoken to him in days and had instead been sending instructions through silently floating parchments.

At first, Riley thought the silence was intentional. Maybe Kael just needed time to cool off before they could have an actual adult conversation. But now, several days had passed without so much as a grunt.

Days. Imagine?

And still, nothing.

At this rate, Orien’s birthday would come and go without a single word from Kael. Not that Riley missed being bossed around, but this kind of eerie, floating-silence treatment? It was weird. Creepy, even.

Honestly, it looked suspiciously like a tantrum.

Like he was sulking.

But no. That couldn’t be right. Kael Dravaryn throwing a tantrum? Over something as mundane as Riley wanting to leave? As if the mighty dragon lord could be that affected by someone as insignificant as him.

Riley sighed again, this time with the defeated acceptance of a man who knew he had to initiate the world’s most awkward conversation.

He found Kael in his usual spot, seated like an infernal statue behind a mountain of parchment. The moment Riley entered, he was greeted with the distinct sound of nothing. No greeting. No scowl. Just the silent whoosh of another paper folding itself in midair.

Riley cleared his throat. “Uh, My Lord… I was wondering if Orien could maybe… try some human food?”

Kael didn’t speak. Just stared.

Riley shifted in place. “Like a little fast food? Or something homemade? Hopefully, not junk food! Just… something different.”

Nothing.

Kroo Kroo. It pretty much sounded like this in Riley’s head because Kael was seriously saying nothing.

But maybe there’s movement since the dragon lord was now looking at him. It’s just that it’s with the gaze of someone trying to decide whether to roast him or smite him.

“I just thought, you know… it might help. He said everything feels the same, and food is usually a nice distraction.”

Still no answer.

Feeling brave—or reckless—Riley ventured further. “Is he allergic to anything? Like shrimp or nuts? Or maybe sensitive to—”

Kael’s expression shifted just enough to imply deep and profound stupidity.

Right. Dragons were basically immune to everything, except when bound by that artifact that makes them basically human-like.

“Okay, okay. Dumb question,” Riley muttered, then perked up. “What about bringing him games? Not, like, internet-connected stuff—obviously those won’t work in a pocket space—but, I dunno, board games? A few handhelds? Something simple. He’s bored, and I’m worried about finding him clawing at the walls.”

A pause.

Riley waited, and the dragon lord stared at him again.

They locked eyes. Kael’s gaze narrowed slightly.

And then, miracle of miracles, he gave the faintest nod.

Or maybe he just blinked slower. Riley couldn’t be sure. But things weren’t on fire, so that was probably permission.

Taking that as a win, Riley backed away with the speed of a man who had just won an argument with a volcano. “Cool. Great. Thank you. I’ll be back in a bit. Please don’t murder anyone.”

And with that, he escaped the room before Kael could change his mind—or worse, speak.

Kael stared at the retreating back rushing out of the room and felt his mood curdle further.

That idiot.

The flames in the hearth roared higher, feeding off his irritation. They had been burning hot ever since Riley dared speak to him about Orien like it was nothing, as if everything between them hadn’t just reached a critical tipping point.

He asked about food. About games. About allergy risks.

Not a single word about the dissolution.

Not a single explanation. No apology. Not even an awkward “by the way,” as if his attempt to sever their contract had been a casual afterthought.

Just now, he had been able to utter so many words about Orien’s apparent needs, but never had he mentioned any of those concerns in the past five years.

If he had the mouth to say such trivial things, then why not use the same mouth to properly protest?

Kael’s eye twitched.

How laughable.

He tightened his grip on the pen in his hand. A sharp snap rang out as the pen cracked, inking his palm before crumbling apart. That made four today.

The cabinet to his right opened with an obedient creak, revealing a neat row of identical golden pens. One of them shimmered, having just completed its self-repair cycle. Kael reached out and took it, already used to this quiet cycle of destruction and replacement.

Still, no pen in the world could help him concentrate right now.

Not when Riley Hale was treating their contract like an old sweater he wanted to donate and walking around asking permission to feed his nephew like they were all on good terms.

As if nothing had happened.

Kael glared at the parchment floating nearby, waiting for his approval. But the ink blurred in his vision, meaningless scribbles on a page. His claws itched to burn them all, to reduce the entire desk to ash and start over.

He didn’t, though.

Which meant he was still trying.

Whatever that meant now.

Tsk.

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