Steam, Silence, and Shadows Between Them

The door eased open with a soft creak, and the two men turned instinctively.

A maid stepped inside—quiet, composed, pushing a polished trolley set with a silver teapot, delicate porcelain cups, and a small arrangement of dried herbs arranged neatly in a wooden tray.

She bowed the moment she crossed the threshold.

"Forgive the interruption, Young Master, Your Majesty."

Victor gave a small nod. Ben returned a polite one, though his eyes softened the way they always did around palace staff.

The maid guided the trolley toward the low table beside them. Each movement was precise, practiced, almost graceful. She unpacked the small set with careful hands: the teapot placed centrally, the cups to either side, sugar crystals in a narrow glass jar, a tiny spoon resting perfectly atop a folded cloth.

She poured the steaming tea into both cups without spilling a drop. The soft trickling sound filled the room for a moment—gentle, warm, grounding.

Then she stepped back, bowed again, and slipped out silently.

The door closed behind her, leaving the two men alone again.

Victor reached for one cup and offered it slowly to his father.

"Drink."

Ben smiled at the small gesture—not exaggerated, not dramatic. Just a warm, grateful smile that creased the corners of his eyes slightly.

"Thank you."

Victor took his own cup, and for a quiet moment they both simply held the warmth between their fingers, letting the steam ghost across their faces. It had been years since they'd shared something this simple.

Ben took the first sip, exhaling softly as the flavor settled across his tongue.

"…Good choice," he murmured.

"Violet picked the blend," Victor replied.

Ben chuckled. "Of course she did. She has taste."

Victor didn't respond, but the faint curve of his mouth gave him away.

They drank in companionable silence for a few seconds, letting the heat warm their throats. Outside the window, the night stretched deep and still. Inside, the room glowed with quiet gold from the chandelier above.

Then Ben set his cup down gently.

"About earlier," he began. "I meant what I said. I want to talk about your cultivation."

Victor leaned back slightly, one arm draped along the back of the couch. "Go on."

Ben gathered his thoughts before speaking—a habit of someone used to ruling, to choosing each word with intention.

"You know," he said slowly, "cultivation is more than strength. It's discipline. It's loneliness. It's surviving the moments when no one is there to guide you."

Victor's eyes flicked toward him—subtle, curious.

Ben continued.

"You're talented, but talent means nothing if you rely on it too much. Growth happens in the quiet hours. In the nights when you're exhausted and still choose to push forward. In the mornings when no one sees you practicing."

Victor lifted a brow. "Are you giving me moral advice now?"

Ben smiled. "Someone has to."

"I didn't ask for it."

"You never do," Ben said gently, "but you still need it."

Victor looked down into his tea, watching the faint ripples on its surface. He didn't like being lectured—but he didn't dislike this. Not when it came from Ben. Not when it came from the one person he wanted guidance from without ever admitting it aloud.

Ben studied him quietly before speaking again.

"You've grown," he murmured. "More than you think."

A pause.

"And you will continue to grow. Even when I'm not there. Even when the world feels too heavy."

Victor didn't answer at first. His jaw tightened just slightly—barely noticeable unless someone knew him well.

Ben did.

He reached for his cup again, took another sip, then added in a quieter voice, almost as if confessing to himself:

"You're strong. But strength means nothing if you lose yourself along the way."

Victor tilted his head. "You think I'll lose myself?"

"I think," Ben said, choosing each word with care, "that the path ahead of you is full of storms. And storms change people. Sometimes for the better. Sometimes… not."

He didn't finish the sentence.

He didn't have to.

Because in the back of Ben's mind—lurking behind the calm smile and the relaxed posture—there was something darker. A sense of looming danger. A shadow on the horizon he couldn't name.

He had seen signs. Whispers. Shifts in the political winds. Something was coming.

Something big.

But he refused to let that shadow touch Victor right now.

Not tonight.

Victor's gaze narrowed a fraction. He felt something in his father's silence—an unease, a tension—but Ben hid it well. Too well.

"What?" Victor asked quietly. "You're thinking something."

Ben forced a small grin. "I'm thinking you need more tea."

Victor snorted under his breath. "Liar."

Ben laughed, shaking his head. "I'm honest enough. I just… don't want to worry you."

Victor set his cup down. "I'm not so fragile."

"I know," Ben replied, looking directly at him. "But you're still my son. And a father worries even when he pretends he doesn't."

Victor didn't show it, but something in his chest tightened—warm, almost painfully so.

They kept drinking tea for a while. Talking about small things. Training. Lessons. Moments from their day. The kind of ordinary conversation they almost never had, but both secretly craved.

At one point, Victor asked, "Do you ever regret anything?"

Ben smiled softly. "Plenty. But not you."

Victor's fingers stilled on the cup's handle.

Ben continued, voice low.

"You being able to cultivate now… it's a miracle. And I'm grateful for it. But it means your life won't be simple. I want you to grow strong. I want you to face hardship. But I also want you to remember who you are. What you value."

Victor looked away, pretending to focus on the tea.

"…I know."

They spoke more. About the kingdom. About cultivation resources. About life. About random annoyances. About Violet's stubborn habits. About Sasha's laughter. About the twins' chaos.

A father and son talking about anything and everything because moments like these were rare—and precious.

Eventually, Ben stood from the couch, leaving his half-finished tea aside.

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