Izan stood motionless, his gaze fixed on the figure being dragged across the bloodied floor of the estate. The boy's green eyes, wide with fear and confusion, locked onto his for a brief moment, and something in Izan's chest twisted painfully. It was as if time had momentarily slowed, and in that fleeting connection, he saw not just the Duke's bastard, but a shadow from his past.
Those eyes… they were so familiar. Too familiar.
As the soldiers hauled the boy closer to the entrance, Izan's mind raced. He tried to dismiss the thoughts creeping in, telling himself that it was impossible.
A deep, nagging feeling clawed at Izan's mind, insisting that he knew those eyes. They reminded him of his green-eyed boy.
But it couldn't be. His green-eyed boy was just a servant, a nobody. This boy was the bastard son of Duke Marcelo, a child of privilege and power, no matter how much that power had crumbled now.
Still, the doubt gnawed at him. Why did he feel like he was making a mistake? Those eyes, they were almost identical to the ones he remembered, the ones he had been searching for all these years. The thought unsettled him, and he couldn't just brush it aside.
Dillon," Izan called, his voice tight with uncertainty.
His loyal guard, Dillon, who had been meticulously cleaning the blood from his sword, looked up at him, concern flickering in his eyes. "Yes, Your Highness?"
"When did the Duke's bastard arrive in the household?" Izan's voice was strained, each word laced with uncertainty.
Dillon's brow furrowed in confusion. This was an odd question for his master to ask, especially given the circumstances. "Since birth, Your Highness. The boy has been with the Duke's family his entire life."
Izan's heart sank. If the boy had been with the Duke since birth, then he couldn't be his green-eyed boy. Yet, the resemblance was undeniable, stirring memories Izan had buried deep within him. Memories of a small, frightened child with eyes that seemed to see right through him, a child who had once given him a reason to believe in something more.
His hand instinctively went to the half-heart pendant resting against his chest. It was all he had left of that boy, a piece of a promise made long ago. He had searched for him for years, holding onto the hope that one day he would find him again. But now, faced with this boy, this Duke's bastard, he didn't know what to think.
"I need to be sure," Izan murmured to himself, though the words were barely audible.
He turned to Dillon, his voice low but commanding. "Send some men to check the boy. See if he has a half-heart pendant around his neck."
Dillon hesitated for a moment, clearly puzzled by the request. But he knew better than to question his master, especially when it came to something so personal. With a nod, he left to carry out the order.
As Izan stood in the midst of the carnage, the stench of death and the sight of lifeless bodies surrounding him, he felt a weight settle on his chest. He watched as his men cleaned up the remains, their faces grim as they moved through the aftermath of the massacre. It was an image of horror, yet Izan's mind was consumed by a single, desperate prayer. He wasn't even sure what he was praying for, was he hoping that the boy was his long-lost savior? Or was he praying that he wasn't?
The wait felt like an eternity. Izan's thoughts spiraled, torn between the past and the present, between hope and dread. He couldn't bear the thought of being responsible for the downfall of the one person who had shown him kindness in a world of cruelty. If this boy was truly his green-eyed boy, how could he ever explain? How could he ever make it right?
When Dillon finally returned, Izan's heart pounded in his chest. The anticipation was almost unbearable.
"No such necklace was found on the Duke's bastard, Your Highness," Dillon reported, his voice steady.
Izan felt a rush of conflicting emotions wash over him, relief and disappointment, entwined so tightly that he couldn't separate one from the other. The boy wasn't his green-eyed boy, and yet, a part of him had hoped he would be. But now, he didn't have to face the unbearable guilt of having destroyed the life of the one person who had mattered to him.
He took a deep breath, trying to steady the turmoil within. "Round up the rest of the prisoners," he ordered, his voice regaining its usual calm. "Sell them to the Velvet Moon Pavilion. Let them curse their father for their misfortune."
Dillon hesitated again, sensing the conflict still simmering beneath his master's composed exterior, but he nodded and turned to carry out the command.
As Izan walked towards the entrance, Dillon following closely behind, the weight of what could have been lingered in his mind.
The half-heart pendant pressed against his chest, a cold reminder of the boy he had lost, the boy he desperately wished to find.
As the estate faded behind him, Izan left with a heart heavier than when he had arrived, haunted by the eyes of the late
Duke's bastard .
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I'm doing a major edit on this story, please kindly reread it from the beginning.
I'm sorry for the inconvenience
(๑´̥̥̥>ω<̥̥̥`๑)