Duke Louis von Shelb strode down the hallway, his expression tight with determination. Eleanor's words still rang in his ears, a painful reminder of his shortcomings as a father. Frustrated and determined to act, he resolved to discipline Micheal and reprimand him for worrying his mother. However, as he made his way toward Micheal's room, his frustration bubbled just beneath the surface, threatening to spill over.
As he approached the door, however, he found Adrian leaning casually against the wall, his arms crossed and his usual grin conspicuously absent. Instead, his expression was stern, an uncharacteristic seriousness darkening his features.
"Adrian," Louis began, but his son cut him off with a sharp tone that left no room for rebuttal.
"Father, I'll warn you once," Adrian said, his voice cool but pointed. "Harm Micheal further with your words, and Ethan and I won't forgive you. Understood?"
Louis narrowed his eyes, annoyed at the admonishment but recognizing the unusual gravity in Adrian's demeanor. He let out a short huff, brushing past his second son with a wave of his hand. "I'll do as I see fit."
Inside Micheal's Room
The room was dimly lit, the curtains drawn slightly to allow only a sliver of the fading daylight to filter through. Micheal sat by the window, his profile silhouetted against the golden glow outside. His casted leg was propped up, and his arm rested in a sling. He stared out at the horizon, unmoving, his gaze distant and hollow.
"Micheal," Louis said gruffly as he entered, pausing just inside the door. His earlier resolve faltered at the sight of his youngest son, who looked as though he had been drained of life itself. It was a shock to see him like this, such a stark contrast to the Micheal he remembered—eccentric, refined, always quick with a sharp word or an unexpected idea. The last time he had seen him, Micheal had been looking at him with an accusatory glare, angry and half-mad after the battle. And instead of comforting him, Louis had packed him away to the estate without a word of reassurance. Now, the pieces began to fall into place. His family's protectiveness, their silent resentment—it all stemmed from this moment. Micheal had broken, both physically and mentally, after that day.
Micheal turned slightly, acknowledging his father's presence with a fleeting glance before returning his gaze to the window. "Father," he said softly, his voice devoid of its usual sharpness.
Louis opened his mouth, the words he had rehearsed tumbling away as he took in the fragility of the moment. The anger he had felt earlier ebbed, replaced by a deep ache he couldn't quite name. "You should rest," he said finally, the words clumsy and awkward in the heavy silence.
Micheal didn't respond immediately, his fingers idly tracing the edge of the blanket draped over his lap. "I am resting," he replied after a pause, though his tone lacked conviction.
Louis stepped closer, his hands clasping behind his back. He studied Micheal's profile, the faint hollows beneath his eyes, the listlessness in his posture. Something in him snapped, a pang of grief and helplessness cutting through his usual composure.
"Micheal," he began hesitantly, "about Magda…"
At the mention of her name, Micheal's expression tightened, though he didn't look away from the window. "I know you don't have answers," he said quietly. "I didn't expect much."
Micheal remained silent, struggling to reconcile the man who had raised him with the cold, calculating Duke from his visions. The weight of betrayal hung heavy in his chest, but he knew he wasn't ready to confront his father. So, he stayed quiet, letting the silence speak for his turmoil.The admission stung, and Louis found himself at a loss for words. For a moment, he simply stood there, the weight of everything unsaid hanging heavily between them. Finally, he cleared his throat and stepped back. "Take care of yourself," he said awkwardly before turning to leave.
Outside Micheal's Room
As Louis stepped into the hallway, he found Adrian and Ethan waiting just outside. Ethan's arms were crossed, his stance rigid, while Adrian's usual grin had returned, though it carried a sharper edge than usual.
"Well," Adrian quipped, his tone light but pointed, "see? It's not hard to be not rude for once."
Louis shot his son a glare but said nothing, brushing past him with a heavy sigh. Ethan glanced at Adrian, his expression unreadable, before turning to look at the closed door behind them. Neither of them spoke, but the silence between them was charged with understanding.
Location: Shelb Estate – Micheal's room
The room carried an uneasy stillness, the glow of the evening sun casting long shadows across Micheal's quiet space. Propped against the headboard, Micheal gazed out of the window, his mind a blur of unspoken thoughts. The stillness broke with the familiar sound of Adrian's voice.
"Hey, porcelain prince," Adrian teased lightly as he sauntered into the room, his com-tab in hand. "I bring you breaking news from the world of noble gossip. Care to guess who's at the center of it?"
Micheal turned his head slightly, a faint spark of curiosity flickering in his tired eyes. "Do I even want to know?"
Adrian plopped down on the edge of the bed with his usual flamboyant energy, holding up the com-tab. "Oh, you absolutely do. Ethan and Dame Vivian—yes, that Vivian—are officially the talk of the Empire. Everyone's convinced they're secretly a couple."
Micheal's brow raised slightly, the corners of his lips curving into a faint smile. "Ethan and Vivian? That's... unexpected."
"Unexpected?" Adrian grinned, scrolling through the barrage of messages. "Try hilarious. Our dear brother can't even use the family carriage without becoming a scandal. Look at this!" He angled the screen to Micheal, showing photos of Ethan and Vivian in various accidental poses that looked, to the casual observer, suspiciously romantic.
Micheal chuckled softly, the sound rusty but genuine. "I remember trying to set them up once. Didn't work."
Adrian leaned back, laughing. "Of course it didn't! Ethan's about as romantic as a training dummy. But now? Looks like fate decided to take over. It's brilliant."
For a brief moment, the air between them felt lighter, filled with the kind of banter they used to share. Micheal looked at Adrian, his voice softer. "I hope it works out. I've always wanted you and Ethan to find your own happiness."
Adrian's grin faded slightly, his gaze steady as he replied, "We'll find happiness, Micheal. But not without you. We need you with us."
The words struck Micheal harder than Adrian could have anticipated. A tightness gripped his chest, the weight of memories flooding back like a tidal wave. The vivid fragments of The Fake Rose is Better than the Real resurfaced unbidden, bringing with them the suffocating visions of what could await the von Shelb family: Ethan's noble sacrifice to save Fredrick Valenhart, only to fall to the merciless beast tide. Magda, left unprotected and vulnerable, succumbing not to the pandemic as the story claimed, but to a truth far darker—a betrayal from within. Her death shattered the fragile unity of the family, sending Eleanor into a spiral of despair. The Duchess's grief over Ethan and to what Micheal believed is the horrifying realization that her husband had poisoned his own unborn grandchildren drove her to retreat from life entirely. She perished just days after Magda.
Adrian's unyielding loyalty condemned him next. He was executed publicly, a grim spectacle designed to obliterate the family's honor as he bore the blame for fabricated crimes. Micheal—left alive yet broken—clung to Magda's pendant as his sole tether to hope. The Emperor, recognizing this, denied Micheal the solace of death, leaving him to endure the torment of survival. In his final act of defiance, Micheal made a desperate stand to protect the Duke—the man who had orchestrated their collective ruin. But in that moment, Micheal's heart unleashed a torrent of aura and mana, consuming his own lifeforce to shield the man he had once called father. The Duke's end came swiftly after, struck down by Fredrick on behalf of the Emperor seeking vengeance for Magda's death.
Each vision played out with agonizing clarity, hammering Micheal's heart and mind. The weight of their collective tragedy was suffocating, pressing against him like an iron vice. It wasn't just a memory—it was a prophecy he couldn't escape.
"Adrian..." Micheal rasped, his hand clutching his chest as his breathing grew labored. "It's... fate. It's coming."
Adrian's smile vanished instantly, his face tightening with concern. "Micheal? What's wrong?"
Micheal doubled over, a violent cough wracking his frame. Blood splattered against his hand as his tall body trembled uncontrollably. Adrian leapt to his feet, gripping Micheal's shoulders, but his brother's strength, amplified by his panicked state, made it a monumental effort to steady him.
"Doctor! Someone, help!" Adrian shouted, his voice carrying through the hall.
The sound of hurried footsteps echoed as Ethan and Duchess Eleanor rushed into the room. Ethan immediately crossed to Adrian's side, helping him restrain Micheal, while Eleanor froze momentarily at the sight of her youngest son in such distress.
"What happened?" Ethan demanded, his voice tight with worry.
"I don't know!" Adrian replied, struggling against Micheal's thrashing. "We were talking, and then this!"
The estate's doctor arrived moments later, his expression grim as he assessed Micheal. The same doctor who had diagnosed Micheal's congenital heart condition years ago frowned deeply as he examined the symptoms.
"His symptoms align with aura overexertion," the doctor said urgently. "But Micheal displayed aptitude for aura only once as a child, correct? He's never trained in it."
Ethan, his pyjamas disheveled from the struggle, shook his head. "Not to my knowledge."
Eleanor stepped forward, her voice trembling. "Why is this happening now? What's wrong with my son?"
The doctor shook his head. "Something has triggered an innate reaction. We need to stabilize him immediately."
Later – Micheal's Room
The chaos had settled into an uneasy quiet. Micheal lay unconscious, his breathing shallow but steady. Adrian sat beside him, his shirt torn and arms bruised. Ethan stood by the window, his forearm wrapped hastily after sustaining a gash during the ordeal. Eleanor remained in a nearby chair, her face pale and her hands clasped tightly together.
"We need answers," Adrian said finally, his voice steady but firm. "And we need them now."
Eleanor hesitated, her gaze lingering on Micheal. "There's only one person who might have them," she said reluctantly.
"The Emperor," Ethan stated, his tone decisive. "You need to write to him, Mother."
Eleanor's lips tightened, her voice trembling as she replied, "You understand what reaching out to him implies? It's not just about this family—it would insult the Duke's honor. He was once my fiancé candidate, and Louis has always carried his pride deeply. And the Emperor himself is mourning Magda's condition. Would it be right to burden him further?"
"Mother," Adrian interjected, his tone calm but laced with desperation. "We're not asking for much. Just information about Magda and any help the Emperor can provide for Micheal. He's spiraling, and we're running out of ways to help him. If Micheal could speak to Magda, even briefly, it might give him something to hold on to—a reason to fight through this."
Eleanor's hands trembled as she gazed at her unconscious son. "Fine," she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. "I'll write to him. But I don't take this lightly. You both know why."
The room fell silent once more, the weight of the decision settling heavily on their shoulders. For the first time in days, the von Shelb family found themselves united in purpose, their collective hope resting on a single, uncertain act.