The long, gilded hallways of the Luminari Castle felt colder than usual as Aldritch made his way back to the library. His footsteps echoed off the marble floor, each step a reminder of the pressure that weighed heavily on his shoulders. The laughter and chatter from the royal gathering still rang in his ears, though now they felt distant—faint, like a world that didn't belong to him.
As he reached the library, he pushed the heavy doors open. The scent of aged parchment and leather filled the air, the familiar comfort of the space immediately surrounding him. He needed to be alone.
A soft voice greeted him before he even had a chance to fully step inside. "Aldritch?"
He turned, his eyes softening when they landed on Seraphina, who stood by one of the windows, her gaze momentarily lost in the view of the castle gardens. When she saw him, she crossed the room toward him with a quiet grace.
"I thought you might need this," she said gently, holding out a small cup of tea, the steam rising from it, soothing and warm. She had noticed the way he slumped as soon as he entered the room, the fatigue in his movements. It hadn't taken much for her to understand he was not in a good mood.
"Thanks," Aldritch murmured, accepting the cup. He didn't drink from it immediately, though. Instead, he stared at the swirling liquid, as if it could somehow provide the answers he sought. The din of the royal gathering still lingered in his mind, a chorus of voices that made him feel smaller than he already was.
Seraphina remained silent beside him, her presence a quiet support. He didn't have to say anything for her to understand. She had seen him like this before, worn down by the endless demands of his family, the weight of expectations that seemed to suffocate him with every passing day.
"I'm not sure how much longer I can do this," he muttered after a long pause, his voice barely above a whisper. "I don't even know who I'm supposed to be anymore. I don't fit in with them."
Seraphina glanced at him, her expression softening. She reached out, placing a hand on his arm in a gesture of comfort. "You don't have to be like them, Aldritch," she said gently. "You don't have to follow the path they've set for you."
Aldritch's eyes met hers, and for a moment, the chaos of the evening seemed to fall away. Her words, her presence—it was all a small, fleeting refuge from the storm inside him. "It's not that simple," he said, his voice laced with frustration. "They don't care what I want. I'm just... there to fill a place."
Seraphina sighed softly. "They don't see you the way I do." She gave him a faint smile. "I see you. The real you."
Aldritch's lips twitched in a small, tired smile, grateful for her understanding. But just as he was about to respond, the door creaked open again, this time with a familiar weight—his mother entered the room.
Aldritch didn't need to look at her to know what this visit was about. His mother had always been protective, but tonight, there was something else in her eyes—something that reflected her concern more deeply than ever before.
"Aldritch," she said, her voice gentle but tinged with a soft authority. She took a step forward, her dark eyes studying him carefully, as if trying to assess the damage the royal gathering had left behind.
Aldritch couldn't help but stiffen slightly at the sight of her. "Mother," he replied, trying to mask his weariness with a casual tone. But she saw right through it, as she always did.
Seraphina stepped back, recognizing the unspoken tension between them. It wasn't that Aldritch's mother was unkind—far from it. But there was a particular weight that came with being the mother of someone like Aldritch. She saw the burden he carried, but it only seemed to make her more determined to keep him under her watchful eye.
"I know that look," his mother said softly, her voice filled with empathy. "Another exhausting evening with your siblings. They'll never understand, will they?"
Aldritch didn't respond immediately. Instead, he took a sip from the cup of tea Seraphina had given him, the warm liquid offering a brief moment of respite. He didn't mind his mother's concern—it was the constant reminders, the way she treated him like he was fragile, that irked him.
"They don't have to," Aldritch finally said, his voice quieter now. "It doesn't matter. I'll just... figure it out."
His mother's gaze softened, but the concern remained in her eyes. She had always been a little overbearing, always seeing the world through a lens of care that he could never quite escape. "Aldritch, you don't have to do this alone," she said. "You know I'm here for you."
"I know, Mother." Aldritch nodded, though he couldn't quite shake the feeling that there was no escaping the weight of his family's expectations. Not yet.
There was a pause, and then his mother turned toward Seraphina. "And you, dear, you've always been a support to him. I see it, the way you care for him."
Seraphina gave a small, polite smile, though there was a subtle warmth in her eyes. "It's nothing, Your Highness. I only want to help."
Aldritch's mother studied the two of them for a moment longer before nodding. "I'll leave you both to rest. But Aldritch, remember—whatever happens, you have my love and support."
"I know," Aldritch replied, his voice low but sincere. "Thanks, Mother."
As his mother left the room, Aldritch sank into a chair by the fireplace, the weight of the evening still heavy on his shoulders. Seraphina sat beside him, offering him a quiet presence, a reprieve from the pressure that never seemed to let up.
Aldritch sat at the long, polished oak table in the library, his eyes absently tracing the worn edges of the open book before him. The evening had drawn on, and the once lively halls of the palace had grown quiet. He should be preparing for his departure, but the tension from the royal gathering still weighed heavily on him.
The sound of footsteps echoed through the hall, growing nearer until the door creaked open. A slender woman in a simple, yet elegant maid's uniform entered, carrying a small stack of sealed letters.
"Your Highness," the maid said softly, her eyes respectful yet cautious. "Your mother has left these for you."
Aldritch glanced up, his gaze softening as he noticed the familiar handwriting on the envelopes. His mother's delicate script was unmistakable, even if it only reminded him of the distance between them. He nodded, accepting the letters with a wordless murmur of gratitude.
"Thank you, Aela," he said quietly.
Aela hesitated for a moment, as if she wanted to say something more, but then she turned and left the room, leaving Aldritch alone with the letters.
He held them for a moment, feeling the weight of his mother's presence in the paper. Then, with a sigh, he opened the first envelope.
"My dearest Aldritch," the letter began, the ink neat and precise.
Though Aldritch had read these words countless times in his mind, they still brought a sting to his chest. His mother's love had always been unwavering, even if the world between them was one of royalty and distance.
"Though we are apart, know that my thoughts and prayers are with you. I know you carry the weight of many responsibilities on your shoulders, but never forget that the heart of a leader is built not just on power, but on the compassion we show those who cannot stand on their own."
Aldritch's fingers tightened around the letter as he read, the familiar warmth of her words tugging at him, even as his mind resisted.
"I know that you are struggling, my son," the letter continued. "You want to prove yourself, to make a name of your own, but remember—true strength lies in helping those who need it most. You may not see it now, but your greatest challenge will not be in the grand halls of power, but in the quiet lives of those you govern."
Aldritch paused, his eyes tracing the words. Her advice always sounds so simple, he thought bitterly. But it's never been easy to follow.
He folded the letter and placed it down, reaching for the second envelope.
This letter felt different from the first. The tone was softer, more reflective, as if his mother were drawing from a well of distant memories.
"I met a people once, so often unseen by others, whose hearts are as wild and untamed as the winds they call home. Their lives are not easy, but they find joy in the simplest things—the way the wind touches the earth, the lightning that dances across their skies. They have much to teach us, if we are willing to listen."
Aldritch's eyes narrowed as he read the words. He'd never heard much about the Altai from his mother before, save for the occasional passing mention. He had always thought of them as little more than a curiosity—another minor race on the periphery of the empire. But the earnestness in his mother's words gave him pause.
"They are a people who struggle beneath the weight of neglect," the letter continued. "But they do not ask for pity. They only wish for understanding. Be kind to them, Aldritch, for you may find that they have much to offer."
Aldritch folded the letter with a sigh. His mother's words were clear, but his mind still buzzed with doubt. Why would she care so much about them?
He reached for the final letter, the heaviest of them all.
This letter was different. His mother's familiar handwriting was still there, but the words felt almost weightless in their delivery.
"My dear Aldritch, I have always wished I could have given you more. I know I was not always present, that I could not be the mother you deserved. But I want you to understand something—everything I have done, I have done out of love for you."
Aldritch felt a sharp pang in his chest as he read. The words were not unexpected, but they still stung. His mother had always been distant, wrapped up in her duties as an elder and her role in the royal family. He had always known it, but seeing it written down felt more real than it ever had before.
"I wish I could have given you a life free from burdens, Aldritch. I wish I could have given you the chance to find happiness without the weight of responsibility crushing you. But you are strong—stronger than I ever was. And that is why I am proud of you, even in my absence."
The letter ended with her final wish for him, the one he would carry with him most.
"Know that you are never alone. You have the strength to lead with kindness, to help those in need, and to make a difference. I will always be with you, my son."
Aldritch sat back in his chair, his chest heavy with emotion. The letters were full of love, but also full of expectation. His mother's voice seemed to echo in his mind, a constant reminder of all that he was meant to be.
His gaze drifted to the window, where the last light of day was fading. He felt a tug at his sleeve, and when he turned, he saw Seraphina standing at the doorway, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.
"You've been reading for quite a while," she said softly, her voice unsure. "Do you need any help?"
Aldritch hesitated for a moment before a small smile tugged at his lips. "I'm fine," he said. Then, after a pause, he added, "But… I was wondering if you'd like to join me? I think… you might understand some of this more than I do."
Seraphina's eyes widened in surprise, and her face flushed a deeper shade of red. "Me?" she asked, her voice almost incredulous. "I'm not sure I—"
"It's just… I know you and my mother shared some sort of bond, and… well, these letters are about her." He gestured to the stack of letters on the table, the words of his mother still lingering in the air.
Seraphina looked between Aldritch and the letters, her face a mix of flustered hesitation and curiosity. Finally, after a long pause, she stepped forward. "Alright," she said with a sigh. "But don't expect me to be any good at this."
Aldritch chuckled softly. "Don't worry, I'm not expecting perfection."
And together, they sat down, the two of them quietly reading the letters from the woman who had shaped their lives in ways neither fully understood.
Her cheeks flushed, but she didn't pull away. She nodded, sitting beside him. As they both read, the room seemed to grow quieter, the weight of the words they shared pressing in.
The letter spoke of things Aldritch had always known—his mother's unwavering belief in his potential, even when he doubted it. She spoke of his future, and though the words were kind, they seemed to carry an unspoken expectation.
Aldritch, she wrote, I know your heart is not as heavy as it seems. You carry the weight of many things, but you will learn that it is not the burden itself that matters. It is what you choose to do with it that will shape you into the man you are destined to be. I believe in you. I always have.
Seraphina hesitated as she read the final words aloud, her voice soft and careful. "I believe in you. I always have."
Aldritch swallowed, feeling a lump form in his throat. It was the words he'd always needed to hear, but they came with a burden he wasn't sure he could carry.
He placed the letter down slowly, turning his gaze to Seraphina. "She believes in me," he said quietly, almost to himself.
Seraphina nodded, her own eyes a little distant as she considered his mother's words. "It's clear she loves you. She wants the best for you. But you don't have to be what she expects you to be, Aldritch. You have the freedom to be your own man."
Aldritch let out a dry laugh, though it wasn't entirely without humor. "I wish it were that simple."
There was a pause, and then he picked up the next letter, almost reluctantly.
Seraphina leaned in, their shoulders brushing as they read together. This time, the words seemed a little lighter. His mother spoke more of her own dreams for him, hopes for a future where Aldritch had his own place in the world. The tone was less formal and more personal, more intimate.
Aldritch paused, a small smirk playing at the corner of his lips as he read aloud, "I know you might laugh, but I hope you'll find someone worthy of your heart. I imagine your future bride will be a woman of great strength, someone who will stand beside you, not behind you. Perhaps she will even read these letters with you, someday."
Seraphina's cheeks flared a deep red, and she quickly looked away. "She's, uh... quite forward, your mother," she muttered, her embarrassment apparent.
Aldritch grinned at her reaction, but his heart warmed. "She's always been that way. Perhaps she sees something I don't."
Seraphina tried to hide her embarrassment, but her gaze lingered on Aldritch for a moment longer than necessary. "Maybe," she said quietly, her voice betraying a hint of something unspoken.
The moment stretched between them, neither of them knowing exactly what to say. Aldritch sighed and set the letter down, the heaviness of his mother's expectations still weighing on him. But, for the first time in a long while, he felt a little less alone in it.
"Well," he said after a moment, standing and stretching his arms, "I suppose that's it for now. I'll be leaving soon. There's a lot to prepare for."
Seraphina nodded, standing as well. "I'll help however I can," she said softly, her voice sincere.
Aldritch smiled at her, though it was tinged with a quiet sadness. "Thank you, Seraphina. I... I'm glad you're here."
She nodded again, though her cheeks flushed slightly at the earnestness in his tone. "I'll always be here, Aldritch. Don't forget that."