"Hey, calm down," Yiwa waved a fan in Nytherael’s face, hoping the cool breeze could ease the blazing flame in his heart. "It’s a bit rough here. Please mind your step," he cautioned.

His caution went through deaf ears as Nytherael walked in aimlessly, with his mind lost so far off, he didn’t even know that were or how they had gotten there.

Nytherael’s anger, as a nine-tailed fox, made the rain begin to fall, thunder crashing across the clouds. A biting cold spread, and in his shadow, his nine tails became visible as his fox ears twitched with annoyance.

His eyes burned with rage as he recalled the contempt Sseraphis had shown him. Thinking of everything his beloved had done for him, he felt the urge to shatter and destroy everything.

A while back outside the spa~

"Intestines! Hot intestines!" a vendor passed by them, pushing his two-wheeled cart used for cooking and selling tripe.

"Buy intestines here! Delicious and affordable! Fried tripe, boiled tripe, grilled tripe. Get yours here!"

The vendor’s voice broke the tension between the three of them. Nytherael glanced at Aeltharion, remembering how much he loved tripe, especially the kind cooked by the roadside.

It took him back to the past, to a time before he messed everything up.

"Shards aren’t a problem for us. Why don’t we take you to eat tripe at a high-end hotel here in Lioris?" he remembered asking during one of their dates.

"Yes, Ael," Sseraphis had added. "The three of us combined have more wealth than anyone in the entire Lume dynasty. Why are you out here in the streets looking for wild tripe?" he had asked, his nose lifted high in distaste.

Though he came from a serpent clan that reside in the abyss. He had been born into a royal family, living a life surrounded by luxury, he had never once walked among commoners or eaten food cooked on the roadside.

"Wild tripe tastes better than anything served in fancy hotels or cooked at home by our staff. Today, I’ll open your eyes to this new wonder," Aeltharion had said, his eyes gleaming, his mouth already watering with anticipation.

The smell of the tripe in the air pulled him forward. He grabbed Nytherael and Sseraphis by the hand and dragged them along.

Even though they didn’t understand his obsession, they followed him without complaint.

Sseraphis covered his nose, clearly irritated by the smell of the street. He stayed close to Aeltharion, careful not to accidentally brush against anyone.

Nytherael suppressed a laugh. Aeltharion’s love for street tripe and Sseraphis’s disdain for commoners truly amused him.

After a while, they reached a small stall selling tripe.

"Three plates of fried tripe with groundnut rice," Aeltharion placed their order.

"Alright," the vendor said. "Take a seat, I’ll bring your food shortly."

"Okay." Aeltharion led his partners to a wooden table with three chairs.

"You want me to sit here?" Sseraphis asked, as if the chair carried all the filth in the world.

The table and chairs looked like they had lived their entire lifespan already. Sseraphis thought they might collapse under them at any moment.

Nytherael wasn’t pleased either. "Storm, how did you even start eating at places like this?" he asked in disbelief. As far as he knew, Aeltharion was the richest among them.

As a dragon, he had hoarded treasures from across the world, enough to fill entire cities. Someone like him should have been accustomed to royal life, yet here he was eating like a common laborer.

"Give this place a chance, Heartfire," Aeltharion said warmly, helping Nytherael sit. Then he turned to Sseraphis. "Sweet Venom, come sit."

They all sat, and soon the food arrived. Aeltharion ate wholeheartedly, clearly enjoying every bite.

Nytherael and Sseraphis tried the food as well. Nytherael found it tasty, though he still preferred the refined dishes he was used to.

Sseraphis, however, took just one bite before getting up and rushing away to vomit. Thinking about the hygiene and how the food was prepared disgusted him so much he threw up everything even his breakfast.

Nytherael and Aeltharion followed him, rubbing his back. "Sorry, my love," they said together.

Aeltharion picked up a white towel and cleaned the corners of Sseraphis’ mouth clean. "Don’t force yourselves. Let me finish eating, then I’ll take you both to a high-end restaurant so you can eat properly. My treat."

"Okay."

"Okay."

"Hot intestines here!" the vendor shouted again.

His voice snapped Nytherael back to the present. His gaze fell on Aeltharion, and he felt the urge to buy all the tripe and serve it to his dragon to show that he still remembered what Aeltharion loved, and to express his love in that way.

Before he could act, Sseraphis pulled Aeltharion toward the vendor.

"Boss, prepare two plates of tripe with fried potatoes," Sseraphis ordered.

"Add rice to mine," Aeltharion said with a smile, as though the tripe had been sent from the heavens to lift his mood.

"You and your rice," Sseraphis teased.

Nytherael watched their interaction, and once again, without doing anything, Sseraphis made him feel like an outsider. Like they were complete without him.

Sseraphis looked at the grilled tripe on the fire. "Can we taste this?" he asked the vendor.

The vendor beamed. "Of course, customers. Go ahead."

Sseraphis picked up a piece, blew on it to cool it, and tasted it. "Mmm... it’s delicious," he said, surprised at himself.

He picked another piece, cooled it, then fed it to Aeltharion. "Try it. It’s really good."

Aeltharion tasted it and was just as pleased, immediately ordering another plate.

At that moment, Yiwa stepped outside the spa and moved to stand beside his master. He, too, watched the warmth and closeness between Sseraphis and Aeltharion.

"Since when did Sseraphis start eating street food?" Nytherael asked. He felt like things had changed drastically while he was frozen in Qihera.

Yiwa thought for a moment. "I don’t remember the exact time, but..."

"But what?"

"After you broke their trust and disappeared from their lives, Sseraphis and Aeltharion grew close like twins attached to the hip. They do almost everything together now," Yiwa explained. "Over time, they learned to love what the other loves. And their bond... grew stronger."

Every word Yiwa spoke felt like a blade slicing Nytherael’s throat. He had been gone for a year and a half, and his lovers had learned to love each other without him.

They had been bound in a trio-soul marriage, and now, because of his actions, part of that bond was moving on without him. It hurt deeply.

"Even the fries are delicious," Sseraphis commented.

Nytherael stood frozen, stunned. Sseraphis was eating street food happily; nothing like before, when street food made him sick. Seeing him enjoy food made by commoners and giving praises was completely foreign.

Aeltharion shared his sentiments, "Mmh, so good."

Sseraphis licked his fingers and looked at Aeltharion. "You know, there’s something even sweeter than this tripe and fries," he said, biting his lip.

Aeltharion chuckled softly, clearly understanding what he meant. "Tell me. What is it?"

"I can’t tell you."

"Why not?"

"Why tell you when I can show you?" he said and from the corner of his eye, he glanced at Nytherael. Seeing that Nytherael was watching, he found the boldness to act right there, in front of everyone.

He rose onto his toes, placed a hand on Aeltharion’s shoulder to steady himself and kissed him fiercely.

As Sseraphis’ tongue invaded Aeltharion’s mouth, Nytherael felt his soul leave his body.

Present time~

Thinking back to that kiss, a clear intentional provocation from Sseraphis made his blood boil. The weather got worse and worse. Influenced by his worsening mood.

"You already destroyed our nation once by betraying your venomous lover to the point of him losing control. Do you intend to do so again, with your own hands this time?" Yiwa asked, continuing to fan him.

"I don’t have the energy to focus on that right now. My world is falling apart right before my eyes."

Yiwa got enraged by Nytherael’s indifference to the nations pain that he was solely respiratory for. In a moment of rage, he fired back without consideration for Nytherael’s feelings.

"And whose fault is that?"