Ciel halted by the door, his blue eyes softening at the sight of John.

John stood with his back to them, shirtless, his broad shoulders and muscular frame illuminated by the soft light spilling in from the small window. He was pouring water from a large wooden bowl, scrubbing his arm with deliberate, heavy strokes. His muscles flexed with the motion, his back a tapestry of scars—faint lines from chains, older marks from long-forgotten battles, and the signs of a life spent in gruelling labour

Without turning, John's voice rumbled, low and gruff, his thick Aureum accent adding weight to his words. "Whoever it is, you'd better knock next time. Or I'll knock you out myself."

Ciel couldn't help the faint smile that crossed his lips as he gazed at the familiar figure before him. For all of John's gruffness, he was a man of loyalty and strength—a father figure Ciel had never openly acknowledged but always relied on.

"Please don't. I've already had my ass knocked out a couple of times the past two days" Ciel said, his voice calm but tinged with cheekiness.

John's body went rigid.

He froze mid-motion, his entire body going stiff at the sound of the voice. The room fell silent, the only sound the faint drip of water from his hand back into the bowl and the water in the basin rippling slightly as John's grip tightened around the edge.

For a long moment, he didn't move, as if his entire body had turned to stone. Slowly, he straightened, his hands falling to his sides as he turned around, slowly, almost cautiously, he turned his head, his sharp, tired eyes locking onto the figure standing in the doorway.

When his gaze landed on Ciel, who had just pulled back his hood to reveal his unmistakable orange hair and familiar face, John's expression shifted.

Ciel watched as John's expression shifted, first confusion, then disbelief, then something raw and unreadable. His usual stern face twisted into something almost unrecognisable as he took a slow step forward, his brows furrowed so deeply it looked as if he was in pain.

He didn't speak. He didn't breathe. He just stared.

Like he had seen a ghost.

Ciel swallowed, his smirk fading as he took in John's face properly for the first time. The man looked exhausted, more than exhausted. The faint bags under his eyes, the hollowness in his expression, the weight of grief that clung to him like chains, it was all there, hidden well behind the hardened exterior, but not well enough that Ciel couldn't see it.

This wasn't just about me, Ciel realised. It was about Ralph, too.

John still hadn't spoken. His breathing was slow, measured, but the disbelief in his stare remained. His eyes flickered, as if trying to make sense of what was in front of him, as if waiting for Ciel to vanish like some cruel hallucination born of grief.

Ciel's chest tightened, guilt creeping up his spine.

"Hi, John." Ciel smiled, his voice soft as he spoke.

John took step forward, his boots heavy against the wooden floor. His fingers twitched slightly, his hands curling and uncurling at his sides, as if trying to grasp reality itself. Without another second of hesitation, he strode across the room in just a few steps, his heavy boots thudding softly against the floor. Without a word, he pulled Ciel into a tight hug, his large arms enveloping him completely.

Ciel stiffened slightly at first, caught off guard, but then he relaxed immediately, his own arms coming up to return the embrace, hugging him tightly.

John said nothing, holding him tightly as if trying to convince himself that Ciel was real. His grip was firm, almost crushing, but it carried a warmth that made the moment all the more genuine.

Artemis and Jackal stood silently near the door, watching the exchange. Jackal tilted his head, his expression curious but respectful, while Artemis crossed her arms, her icy gaze softening ever so slightly at the sight.

Finally, John pulled back, his large hands resting on Ciel's shoulders as he looked him over. His voice was rough with emotion as he muttered, "You're alive. By the gods, you're alive."

"But you..." John spoke, but the word was barely above a whisper. He shook his head slightly, as though trying to force his mind to make sense of what he was seeing. "You're dead."

Ciel gave a small, lopsided grin, though it lacked his usual teasing spark. "Apparently not."

John didn't laugh. His lips parted, but no words came.

Ciel smiled faintly, his voice quiet. "It's good to see you too, old man."

Artemis strode into the room without so much as a glance at Ciel and John's emotional reunion. Her sharp eyes swept the space, taking in the sparse furnishings, the utilitarian feel of the room, and the faint smell of soap and damp wood. To her it was just like any other medieval room.

She crossed her arms and stood in the midst of the room; her expression unreadable as she kept a watchful eye on the interaction.

Jackal, meanwhile, was wandering around the room, his gaze darting to the shelves, drawers, and even under the table. Though it wasn't the time to think about stealing, the boy's fingers twitched at the sight of anything remotely valuable. His small hands hovered over a brass candlestick but saw the look in Artemis eyes that said I dare you to touch it.

Jackal retreated his hand back with a sheepish smile.

Ciel and John, however, were oblivious to Artemis's aloof stance and Jackal's wandering curiosity. John's calloused hands remained on Ciel's shoulders, his face etched with a mix of disbelief, relief, and lingering concern.

"You're alive," John said again, his gruff voice softer now, his Aureum accent thick as he shook his head in wonder. "By the gods, I thought—" He stopped himself, clearing his throat.

Relief quickly gave way to anger, his grip tightening slightly on Ciel's shoulders and then, without warning, his fist came crashing into Ciel's gut.

Jackal tensed up while Artemis rose an eyebrow in question, her head titling to the side before a little smirk perking up on the corners of her lips.

The breath was knocked clean out of him as pain exploded in his stomach, his body doubling over instinctively. Ciel gasped, his knees nearly buckling from the unexpected force of the punch.

"You reckless, stupid bastard!" John's voice thundered through the room, raw and furious, the kind of rage that only came from deep, unbearable grief. "Do you have any idea what you've done?! What you put me through?!"

Ciel coughed, clutching his stomach as he forced himself upright, his blue eyes wide with shock. But before he could get a word in, John grabbed him by the front of his cloak and yanked him forward, his face twisted with pure, unfiltered anger.

"I buried a bodyless coffin, Ciel," John growled, his voice hoarse. "I mourned you! I had to hear the news that you were dead—dead—while Ralph was thrown into a prison cell, alone!" His grip tightened, his knuckles going white. "I couldn't even grieve properly before I had to fight to keep myself from losing another damn kid!"

Ciel gritted his teeth, guilt slamming into him harder than the punch itself. "John, I—"

"No! You shut up!" John roared, shaking him slightly. His breathing was ragged, his broad chest rising and falling heavily. "You think you can just waltz in here, alive, after I spent weeks thinking I lost another person I cared about while I wait to lose another one?!"

Ciel swallowed hard, his chest tightening. He had expected John to be pissed, but this? This was something else entirely. This was pain.

John let go of Ciel's cloak with a sharp shove, his hands trembling as he took a step back, raking his fingers through his hair. His body was taut, his jaw clenched so tightly it looked like he was fighting against something far deeper than anger.

"I couldn't grasp it," John muttered, his voice quieter now but still shaking. "First...Aurora. Then—" He cut himself off, exhaling sharply through his nose. "And then you. I thought - I thought I had to accept that you were gone too."

Ciel's stomach twisted at the raw pain in his voice.

John clenched his fists, his breathing still uneven. "And now you're just here," he muttered, his voice low. "Like none of it ever happened."

Ciel finally straightened fully, still rubbing his stomach where the punch had landed. He knew John's anger wasn't misplaced. He deserved that hit, deserved far worse, probably. He could only imagine what John had gone through, what losing both him and Ralph must have done to the man.

"I'm sorry," Ciel finally said, his voice quiet but firm. "I never meant to put you through that."

John scoffed bitterly, shaking his head. "Yeah? Well, you did."

Artemis side-glanced at the two of them, her expression cool and detached. She said nothing, her gaze lingering briefly on John before returning to the window, watching how the morning light shone into the room.

Jackal just stood their awkwardly, not knowing what to do. He stepped close to Artemis and looked up to see her not even caring about what was going on. She was minding her own business, hands crossed against her chest.

"You think we should be seeing this?" Jackal whispered in a hush.

"No" she whispered bluntly.

"Then should we leave?" He questioned with a whisper again, his hand beside his mouth.

"No" Artemis said.

"You sure?"

"Yes"

Jackal arms flopped by his side and then stared at the scene in front of him, awkwardly and out of place.

John's grip trembled as he shoved Ciel back, his breathing ragged, his chest rising and falling with uneven force. His face twisted, not just with anger, but with something deeper, something raw and unbearable.

"You don't understand Ciel. I thought I lost another kid," he muttered, his voice hoarse and shaking. His fists clenched at his sides, his nails digging into his palms as he struggled to keep himself from breaking apart. "My unborn child... and then you." He scoffed bitterly, shaking his head as his expression crumbled. "And now I have to watch Ralph be executed."

His voice cracked.

Ciel froze.

John swallowed thickly, but it did nothing to steady him. He looked away for a moment, blinking hard, his jaw clenched so tightly it was as if he was trying to physically keep himself together. But he was failing.

"This time... I have to watch him die," he rasped, his voice barely above a whisper. "Right in front of me. And I can't do a damn thing about it."

The words hit Ciel like a hammer to the chest.

John let out a shuddering breath, raking his fingers through his dark brown hair as he tried, and failed, to steady himself.

"I felt so lost," he admitted, his voice raw and unguarded. "So hopeless when I heard they killed you and were going to execute Ralph. I-I didn't know what to do. I couldn't eat. Couldn't sleep. Just kept thinking about how I'd lost two boys to death and was about to lose the other to a damn execution block."

His breath hitched. His hands clenched again.

"I couldn't save you. And now I can't save him."

His voice wavered dangerously, his throat bobbing as he tried to suppress the emotions clawing their way out. He blinked rapidly, but Ciel could see it—the gloss in his usually sharp eyes, the way his vision blurred as he fought against something he didn't want to show.

And then, for the first time in his life, Ciel saw John, the John, the gruff, unshakable man who always had an answer for everything, cry.

Not fully, not completely, but the pain was written all over his face, in the way he clenched his jaw, in the way his breathing was uneven, in the way his hands trembled.

The weight of it crushed Ciel.

His chest ached, and guilt twisted deep inside him, an unbearable coil of regret that made it hard to breathe. He had done this. He had made John feel this way.

His own voice was thick when he finally spoke. "You haven't lost me," Ciel murmured, his throat tight. "And you won't lose Ralph."

John exhaled sharply, as if those words alone nearly broke him. He squeezed his eyes shut for a brief second, running a hand over his face, trying to regain his composure.

The room fell into suffocating silence.

Ciel took a deep breath, his voice steadier now but still heavy with emotion. "I know I messed up," he admitted. "I know what I put you through. And I know I don't deserve forgiveness for it."

John didn't respond, but he didn't look away, either.

Ciel swallowed and continued, his voice resolute. "But I came back because I refuse to let Ralph die." His hands clenched at his sides. "I don't care what I have to do, I don't care if I have to burn this entire city to the ground, but I will get him out. And I won't let you go through this again."

John hesitated. His lips parted slightly as if to say something, but then his jaw clenched, and his expression twisted into something between rage and desperation.

John stood frozen, his entire body rigid, fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white. His breath came in short, uneven bursts, his chest rising and falling like a man barely holding himself together.

Then, without warning, he snapped.

John grabbed the young orange haired keeper, yanking him forward by the cloak, so close their foreheads nearly touched.

"No," John growled, his voice shaking with fury. "No, Ciel. You are not doing this."

Ciel saw the pure rage burning in John's eyes. But beneath the anger, beneath the harsh set of his jaw and the tension in his frame, there was something else.

Something raw. Something desperate.

"I won't let you," John snarled. "I won't let you go and get yourself caught again! I won't let you throw yourself into the fire again just because you think you have to!"

Ciel's hands went to John's wrists, gripping them tightly, but John refused to let go.

"You think you're invincible, but you're not!" John shouted, his voice cracking, the grief spilling over into every word. "You died, Ciel! You died in my mind! I buried a bodyless coffin! I mourned you! I thought I lost another damn kid, and now you think I'll just let you go and do something reckless again?!"

His voice was growing more hoarse, thick with emotion.

"I won't," John rasped, his breathing heavy. "I won't let you. You don't get to do this again."

Ciel's throat tightened, his heart hammering against his ribs.

"John—"

"No, shut up!" John roared, his voice shaking with unfiltered grief. "You don't get to tell me it's fine! You don't get to act like I didn't just lose you—like I didn't have to live with that! You don't get to come back just to throw yourself into another damn fight that's gonna get you killed again!"

Ciel froze, his breath hitching.

John clenched his jaw so tightly it looked painful. His hands trembled against Ciel's cloak, gripping onto him as if letting go would make him disappear again.

"I can't go through that again," he muttered, his voice raw, his fingers curling even tighter into the fabric. "I can't—I won't watch you die. If you get caught, if they execute you, if I have to stand there and watch it happen—"

He sucked in a sharp breath, his entire body shaking.

"I can't, Ciel," John whispered. "I won't."

Ciel's chest felt like it was being crushed.

For the first time in his life, he saw John break.

The man who had always been strong, always been unwavering, shattered in front of him. His voice was wrecked, his breaths uneven, his eyes glassy—so full of pain that it physically hurt to look at.

John's grip was tight, too tight, like he was afraid that if he let go, Ciel would disappear again.

Ciel swallowed, his own throat thick with emotion. Slowly, carefully, he lifted his hands and gripped John's wrists—not to pull them away, but just to hold on.

"You won't lose me," Ciel whispered, his voice steady despite the weight pressing against his ribs. "I swear it."

John squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, his fingers trembling.

Ciel inhaled sharply and continued, firmer now. "I won't do something reckless. I won't throw myself into this blindly. But I will get both Ralph and Rebecca out, and I will come back. I promise you."

John's body was still tense, his hands locked in place, his breath uneven.

Ciel didn't move. He just held onto John's wrists, grounding him.

The silence stretched, thick and suffocating.

John's breathing was still ragged, his hands trembling with barely contained frustration. His teeth clenched so tightly that the muscle in his jaw twitched, and his fingers curled into fists at his sides.

Then, in one swift motion, he turned sharply on Ciel, his eyes blazing with fury. "If you so much as think about stepping foot outside this barracks, I swear I will shackle you to this damn room like some chained-up dog," he growled, his voice deadly.

Ciel's brows shot up, his mouth opening in protest. "John—"

"No! I mean it, Ciel," John cut him off, taking a threatening step forward. "I will lock you up if that's what it takes to keep you from running headfirst into death again!" His voice thundered, raw with rage and desperation, his body practically vibrating with the force of his emotions.

Ciel's eyes flashed with frustration, and he threw his hands up. "I'm not doing this alone!" he snapped back.

John's nostrils flared, but he hesitated.

Ciel seized the moment, his voice firm but steady. "I have help. I need help. That's why I came back here. But I also need you, John. We have to do this right—we plan it carefully, and we all get Ralph out. No reckless moves. No half-baked plans. We do this smart."

John was still tense, his fingers twitching as he processed Ciel's words, but the anger in his face shifted ever so slightly into something wary, something calculating.

Then, just as he was about to speak, Ciel exhaled sharply and added, "And we're getting Demarcus out, too."

John froze.

His eyes widened, his posture stiffening as if Ciel had just spoken the most blasphemous words he had ever heard. His face contorted in sheer disbelief before a humourless, incredulous laugh escaped him.

"You—" He let out another sharp laugh, shaking his head as his expression twisted into something halfway between stunned and enraged. "You want to break a dragon out of the royal prison? A full-grown, battle-scarred, fire-breathing dragon?!"

Ciel lifted his chin, standing his ground. "Yes."

John's eye twitched. "You have clearly lost your mind," he seethed. "You don't just steal a dragon from under the royal family's nose, Ciel! That is suicide! That is worse than suicide! Do you crave death that much? Is that it?!"

Ciel clenched his fists. "John, we don't have a choice—"

"No, you don't have a brain!" John snapped. His face was red with fury, his body coiled like a spring about to snap. "You should've stayed dead if this is what you came back for!"

The tension in the room was thick, suffocating.

Then a cold feminine voice interrupted the two.

"I hate to interrupt," Artemis's voice cut through the thick air like a blade, calm yet sharp, "but if you're both done measuring your stupidity, maybe we can focus on the actual plan?"

Both men turned their heads toward her, their argument momentarily broken by her cold and unimpressed tone.

Artemis stood off to the side, arms crossed over her chest, her icy blue eyes half-lidded in pure exasperation. She had been watching