In the halls of the Orthea Duchy, the Duke sat trembling at his desk, the reports in his hands shaking so violently they nearly slipped from his grasp. His silver hair, usually neatly tied, now fell disheveled around his shoulders. His black eyes were filled with disbelief and dread.
"My family… gone?" he whispered, the words barely audible. His knees buckled, and he fell heavily onto the floor, the weight of the world pressing down on him.
The knights standing before him exchanged uneasy glances. Their hearts ached for their master, who had always been a pillar of strength. But this was different.
The Duke's voice cracked as he spoke again, louder this time. "Assassins? My wife… my son?!"
Grief clawed at his throat as tears began to well in his eyes. He clenched the report tightly, crumpling the parchment in his trembling hand. "Adele… my wife…" he choked out. "Evan… my son…"
Images of his gentle, kind wife filled his mind. He remembered her laughter, her soothing voice, the way she always held their family together. And Evan—his bright, curious boy who never let go of his hand when they walked together. His stomach churned as regret surged through him.
Why hadn't he gone with them to the lake? Why had he stayed behind for his duties?
Unable to contain his anguish, the Duke staggered to his feet and ran down the stairs to where the recovered body lay. His heart pounded as he reached the white-draped form resting on the table. With trembling hands, he pulled back the cloth, revealing Adele's lifeless face.
He reached out, his fingers brushing her cold cheek. "Adele…" he whispered, his voice breaking. "What have they done to you?"
Grief overwhelmed him, and he fell to his knees beside her, clutching her hand as tears streamed down his face. His knights watched, silent and heavy-hearted.
One knight finally spoke, his voice quiet. "Your Grace… we recovered Madam Adele's body, but we found no sign of young Duke Evan."
The Duke's head shot up, hope igniting in his dark eyes. "He might still be alive?"
The knight hesitated. "Your Grace, the Death Forest is unforgiving. The chances—"
"Gather the troops," the Duke commanded sharply, his tone brooking no argument.
"Your Grace!" the knights exclaimed, their voices filled with concern.
"I said, gather the troops!" His voice thundered through the hall, but it was laced with desperation.
The head butler, Terkia, stepped forward, his expression filled with worry. "Your Grace, please reconsider. The Empire's situation is precarious. As one of Winterbell's pillars, your absence could destabilize everything. Even as a swordmaster, survival in that forest is nearly impossible—"
"And my son is out there!" the Duke cut him off, his voice hoarse but full of desperation. He turned to Terkia, his eyes pleading now. "Do you understand? My son is out there, alone, scared, and possibly hurt. I must find him."
Terkia's lips pressed into a thin line. He had never seen his old friend like this—so vulnerable, so utterly broken.
"Your Grace…" Terkia's voice softened. "I beg you to think this through. If you fall, what will happen to the duchy? To Lady Diana?"
The Duke's face crumpled, his grief momentarily overtaken by guilt. He looked at Terkia, his shoulders slumping.
"I am a Duke," he said quietly, his voice trembling, "but I am a father first. Anyone can take my seat, Terkia, but only I can be that boy's father."
The hall fell silent.
Suddenly, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed through the corridor. A young woman in silver armor ran into the room, her face pale and stricken with worry. Her silver hair, so much like her father's, was tied back tightly, and her green eyes brimmed with unshed tears.
"Father," Diana called out as she approached.
The Duke turned to her, his expression filled with regret. "Diana… I've failed you. I've failed your mother. I…" His voice cracked as he struggled to continue.
Diana knelt before him, placing a steadying hand on his arm. She took a deep breath, swallowing the bile rising in her throat as she glanced at her mother's lifeless form. The sight made her heartache, but she pushed her emotions aside for now.
"Father," she said softly, her voice trembling but resolute, "I'll oversee the funeral. You… you go. Bring Evan back."
The Duke's eyes widened, and for a moment, he seemed lost. Then he nodded. Carefully, he lifted Adele's body and placed her in Diana's arms.
"I'll bring him back," he said quietly.
Diana nodded, her tears finally spilling over as she cradled her mother's lifeless body. "Come back with Evan, Father," she whispered.
As the Duke turned to leave, neither of them noticed the figure watching from the shadows. Hidden behind a curtain, his younger brother, Lord Victor Carlisle, smirked to himself. His plan was unfolding perfectly, and the duchy would soon fall into his hands.
Victor's malicious smile grew wider as he whispered, "Go ahead, brother. Chase your son into the abyss. Your downfall will be my greatest glory."
*****
Evan sat quietly on the wooden porch, a cat curled up on his lap. The boy gently stroked its soft fur as he waited for his next meal. That morning, he'd watched the man kneeling solemnly by the river, his hands clasped in silent prayer. Then, with what seemed like a holy gesture, Ian had healed his wounds.
"Is he a priest?" Evan wondered aloud, his small voice lost to the valley's calm breeze. The memory of Ian's overwhelming power from the night before made him shiver. "But if he's that strong, could he be from the Holy Knights?"
The questions churned in his mind as Ian approached, holding two freshly grilled fish skewers. Evan hesitated but accepted the food. Even though Ian scared him, there was something about the man that made him feel... safe. Maybe it was the way Ian had created holy water to purify the valley.
The cat nuzzled against Evan, its purring soothing his nerves. He smiled faintly, stroking its head, but his smile faltered as he recalled the nightmare that had shaken him awake last night.
Evan had bolted upright in bed, drenched in sweat and gasping for air.
"Aghhh!" He clutched his chest, trembling.
The vivid image of his mother's smile played in his mind—a warm, gentle smile that had always made him feel safe. But then, the scene shattered like glass, replaced by the horrifying vision of her blood pooling around him.
His cries woke Ian, who appeared by his bedside in an instant. Ian's hand gently rested on his shoulder.
Evan's tear-filled eyes met Ian's calm blue ones. For a moment, he froze. Ian's eyes reminded him of his mother's cerulean gaze—soft yet piercing. The resemblance tugged at something deep inside him, a memory of comfort and love.
"Go back to sleep," Ian said quietly and kindly.
Evan nodded weakly, his breathing slowing. Without realizing it, he leaned into Ian's presence and drifted back into a dreamless slumber.
Ian sat by the river, his thoughts troubled as he watched Evan play with the cat.
He could easily send the boy to the Orthea Duchy. It was the logical choice. Yet, something held him back. Ian clenched his fists as conflicting emotions bubbled to the surface. This boy wasn't just a random child; he was his cousin—Joanne's son, his aunt's son.
"If I save him, can I change the future?" Ian muttered under his breath, his gaze fixed on the boy.
He thought of his aunt, of the pain she endured. He thought of his mother, the current empress, who suffered in silence. He could have saved them, but he chose not to. Was it too late to change his path now?
Ian sighed and ruffled Evan's hair gently, trying to push aside his doubts. "Perhaps, just this once..."
Before he could finish the thought, a sharp arrow whizzed past him, embedding itself in the ground. Ian's blue eyes narrowed as Theoarize, the cat-turned-companion, immediately took a defensive stance.
Ian scanned the surroundings, his sharp gaze locking onto the intruders. These weren't monsters—no creature could breach the barrier he'd created. His blue eyes clashed with a pair of golden ones as a man emerged from the trees.
Evan's head snapped up. His eyes widened in recognition. Without a second thought, he bolted toward the figure.
"Father!" Evan cried, his voice breaking as he ran.
Ian stood still, watching as the silver-haired man knelt to embrace his son. The tension in his shoulders eased slightly as he observed the reunion.
Theoarize's voice broke the silence. "The falcon led them here by order." It wasn't a question—it was a fact.
Ian remained silent for a moment before replying, "I didn't plan to interfere. Perhaps..." He trailed off, watching the Duke clutch Evan tightly, tears streaming down the man's face.
The Duke rose slowly, his golden eyes locking onto Ian. Recognition flickered in his gaze. Ian stood calmly in the valley, dressed simply in a white shirt and black pants, his hands now full of freshly picked fruit.
The Duke approached cautiously, his hand instinctively reaching for the hilt of his sword.
When he was just a few feet away, the Duke drew his blade and pointed it at Ian's neck.
"Who are you?" he demanded. His voice was steady but edged with suspicion.
Ian didn't flinch. He merely turned back to his task, placing the fruit into a basket.
"A wanderer," Ian replied simply. "A passerby."
The Duke's eyes narrowed. "What is a young man like you doing in the Death Forest?"
Ian remained calm, continuing to sort the fruit. "I told you, I'm just passing through. Now go. You're not welcome here."
The Duke hesitated, lowering his sword slightly. He glanced at Evan, who clung tightly to his side, his small hands gripping his father's cloak. The boy's tear-streaked face made his heart ache.
"Thank you," the Duke finally said, his voice softer now. "For keeping him safe."
Ian glanced up briefly, his blue eyes unreadable. "I didn't do it for you."
With that, Ian turned away, walking toward the riverbank where Theoarize waited. The Duke stood for a moment longer, watching the man retreat. Then he knelt to scoop Evan into his arms, holding him close as if he would never let go again.