A sharp pain lanced through my frontal lobe, catching me off guard. The utensils clattered against the porcelain, a stark dissonance in the tranquil morning as the food tumbled to the floor. I leaned forward, a grimace carving through my composed façade, the pain slicing through my thoughts.
Henry was at my side in an instant; his usual impassive features creased with concern. “Your Grace,” he uttered, but I silenced him with a swift, dismissive gesture.
“I am fine. Just a passing migraine, is all,” I asserted, though even I could hear the tremor in my voice, a betrayal of the lie I was trying to sell. Henry hovered for a moment longer, his eyes betraying a storm of worry despite his stoic demeanor.
I picked up my fork again, forcing myself to continue eating, each bite a deliberate act of defiance against the discomfort that lingered like a shadow draped over my shoulders. I had been raised to conceal any ailment, to dine with the seamless grace expected of those of noble birth, but the food before me had lost all flavor. Despite my best efforts, I knew the men around me could see through my performance, recognizing it for what it was—a mere act for the sake of duty.
Finally, conceding to my body's protests, I dabbed at the corners of my mouth with an ivory napkin. Standing with a grace that belied my inner turmoil, I nodded to them and walked out of the small dining room where we had all gathered for breakfast, leaving the uneaten food behind.
The journey back to the study chamber felt like a trek through time. Each step echoed against the ancient stone walls, resonating with the weight of centuries. The portraits that hung on the walls seemed to watch me, their stoic expressions a testament to the strength and resilience of the North.
As I walked through the halls of the guild headquarters, I could not help but recall the history that had been ingrained into Belmont and me as children. This place within Aeloria had existed long before the creation of Lumicrestia, and its long history could be seen on its walls, just like at the ducal mansion.
I remember Father reminding us that the Northern Territory had been the final piece in the war against Elirius and his horde. Its allegiance with Lumicrestia secured victory, and because of this, the North retained a level of independence unknown to the other conquered lands of the kingdom. Though the King of Lumicrestia still ruled over us, we were allowed to handle our concerns however we wished, without royal involvement.
The heavy door to the study chamber creaked open as I entered. I was momentarily shocked to see Theo perched like an erudite raven upon one of the worn armchairs in front of the altar. He didn’t bother to lift his gaze from the red leather tome cradled in his hands.
“Finished with your breakfast so soon, Your Grace?” he quipped, the words leaping off his tongue with a casualness that contradicted the formality of my title.
Crossing the threshold, I allowed no response to escape my lips. I advanced toward my desk, an imposing slab of mahogany that was right behind the altar. The air around Theo seemed to vibrate with unspoken knowledge. I knew that my earlier discomfort at breakfast would not go unnoticed by the man who always seemed to catch whispers before they became rumors.
Theo had a peculiar knack for being the first to know anything that transpired within the mansion's walls. When I ascended to the role of Duke, this trait prompted me to delve into the secrets of the estate, probing into the network of hidden passages and concealed alcoves I suspected Theo of utilizing to his advantage.
Ever meticulous, Theo had documented these mysteries with the precision of a cartographer, producing a portfolio replete with maps and notes that divulged the mansion's most clandestine corners. Out of curiosity and needing to measure his efficiency, I pored over these revelations, pacing the corridors and passageways myself, stopwatch in hand, gauging the time it took to traverse the mansion's arcane shortcuts.
In those silent walks, trailed by the whispers of my ancestors, I had come to understand the depth of Theo's dedication. The man was not just a steward but a silent guardian, an ever-present wraith gliding through the shadows of the mansion with a loyalty that was as much a part of him as the blood that coursed through his veins.
Conceding that Theo's omnipresence was not solely borne of secret routes but of a commitment to his duties, I couldn’t help but admire his devotion. Theo was indeed a man who lived for his role, nestled in the fabric of the mansion, always a step ahead, perpetually everywhere, yet unseen—a master of the art of silent observation and unspoken understanding.
The silence between us hung briefly before I sank into my chair, the leather creaking under my weight, closing my eyes briefly as the pain ebbed away. Even with my eyes closed, I could feel Theo's gaze on me.
“It was a brief migraine,” I confessed, “Normal after the convergence spell.”
“I see,” Theo murmured, adjusting his glasses before extending a pile of papers toward me. “Here are the affairs from the past forty-eight hours and the dispatches from the Capital.”
I accepted the documents, quickly skimming through them, a sense of urgency driving my every movement. “The Church and its Holy Knights were on our land, Theo,” I spat, the mention of the Church leaving a bitter taste in my mouth.
“I was aware, Your Grace,” Theo responded, his voice calm and measured, “but I’m surprised that you are. I had instructed Pascal and the others to spare you from such distractions.”
My expression hardened, fury bubbling beneath the surface. “Explain.”
Theo remained unfazed, “The High Priest visited shortly after the convergence spell,” he remarked, almost as if the visit were a trivial matter. “Didn’t know we owned this volume,” he mused, tucking a book under his arm.
My patience was wearing thin. With a forceful jab, I stabbed the report with a silver letter opener, betraying my ire. Theo sighed, gently removing the opener from my grasp. “The late Duke bequeathed that,” he reminded me, his tone still infuriatingly calm. “Handle it with care, Your Grace.”
“Why did you conceal that the Holy Knights were in Zandel Forest from me?” My voice trembled with restrained rage, growing weary of Theo’s aloof demeanor.
His eyes widened slightly, genuine shock flickering across his features before he composed himself. “The High Priest mentioned a pressing need to converse with you but remained tight-lipped regarding the subject,” Theo began his tone even as always. “We withheld this information, believing that your recovery required undisturbed peace. Knowing the High Priest had visited unexpectedly might have agitated you, possibly impeding your healing. I had no knowledge of them venturing to Zandel Forest during their visit, your Grace.”
I locked eyes with Theo, a turbulent mix of anger and disbelief churning within me. Part of me wanted to lash out, but the cold logic of the situation—and Theo’s unflappable nature—kept me grounded. Despite everything, Theo’s reputation as an intelligent and logical advisor was well-earned, and his lineage had always shown unwavering loyalty to the Ducal family. Still, sometimes, I wished Theo would abandon his perpetual coolness. Being constantly surrounded by such calm made me feel even more irrational when my emotions ran high in his presence.
Theo continued. “I suggested that if the High Priest sought an audience with you, he ought to adhere to propriety and forward a letter detailing his intent.”
A smirk played on my lips as I imagined the haughty High Priest receiving a lesson in etiquette from someone he likely considered beneath him.
“He departed soon after,” Theo added. His gaze drifted toward a white envelope amidst the pile he had handed me. It was adorned with intricate silver and gold patterns—the unmistakable stationery of the Church.
Impatient, I grabbed the letter, tearing it open. My eyes scanned the brief note: well-wishes for my health, blessings for a swift recovery, and an inquiry about a suitable time for a visit from the Church.
“When do you propose they visit?” Theo inquired, his acute intuition guessing the letter’s contents.
“In five days,” I decided promptly.
“Very well.”
“The knights that were dispatched to Zandel forest, have they found anything?” I added.
“No, your Grace. They returned late last night with no news.”
It did not surprise me to hear that nothing had been found. I did not question the loyalty of the Ducal Knights; many of them came from long-time loyalists, but I knew that Zandel Forest was a place that stirred fear in even the most courageous of Knights. I would have to visit it if I wanted any concrete answers.
I glanced at the remaining notes Theo had handed me, thinking nothing else would catch my attention, but one word stood out before I could grant Theo his leave.
“Who else knows of the Xoltecas in Aeloria?”
“Knights and guild members have reported spotting them in the city. The reason for their visit is unknown. As far as I’ve gathered, the Capital is unaware of their presence.”
The presence of the mystic people of Xolteca seemed odd to me, especially their timing, but I had other matters to attend to at the moment. I gave Theo a slight nod and waved my hand to dismiss him.
*
I slowly stirred back to consciousness, my senses gradually reacquainting themselves with the world around me. Beneath me, the warm earth felt oddly comforting against my skin, though it didn’t take long for the disorientation to set in. Above, the dazzling sun was blocked by a cluster of townsfolk, their silhouettes forming a makeshift barrier against the glaring light.
I must stop waking up like this, I thought, a familiar sense of unease washing over me. Blinking away the haze, I found Adelia’s face, her expression full of worry. The deep lines of concern on her young face tugged at something inside me, and I mustered a faint smile, trying to ease the anxiety that hung like a cloud over the crowd.
As my vision sharpened, I noticed Tomlin and another man I didn’t recognize gently lifting me into a sitting position. The moment I was upright, a wave of nausea crashed over me, my stomach churning rebelliously. I’m going to be sick, I realized with dread.
Adelia reacted quickly, calling out urgently. Cyril soon appeared from the sea of onlookers, holding a small wooden cup filled with water. Adelia pressed the cup to my lips, and I gratefully gulped down the cool liquid, feeling it quell the rising tide of vomit.
Once I felt stable, I offered a weak but reassuring smile to the concerned faces around me. I tried to stand, flanked by Tomlin and the young man with golden hair and eyes that matched. As I swayed unsteadily, I fought against my body’s protest, gently pulling away from their support—a silent declaration that I could stand on my own.
Adelia dispersed the crowd with surprising authority for someone her age. Her voice was clear and commanding as she ushered the townsfolk back to their daily tasks. Their curiosity seemed satisfied, at least for now.
Tomlin and Adelia exchanged a brief but meaningful look before Adelia took my hand. She guided me through the thinning crowd and back to the safety of the house. Inside, she led me to the bedroom, pointing decisively at the bed.
Understanding her silent instruction, I gratefully sank onto the mattress, the softness a balm to my aching body. Lying there, I closed my eyes and focused on my breath, trying to anchor myself amid the throbbing discomfort.
I listened to the fading echoes of Adelia’s careful steps as she retreated from the room. The soft click of the door signaled her departure, leaving me alone with my swirling thoughts. My eyes traced the intricate patterns of the wooden planks above me, each line and knot weaving a story in the aging timber.
With each breath, I tried to make sense of the mysterious voice that had haunted my thoughts and lingered on the edge of my consciousness before the world plunged into darkness. It was unmistakably youthful, its tone laced with innocence yet carrying an undercurrent of urgency. A young boy’s voice... but who? And why those words? What was I supposed to keep? The questions spun around my head, elusive and teasing.
I sifted through my memories, trying to anchor the voice to a face. My friends hadn’t yet started families, their lives still free of the laughter and cries of children. And I hadn't kept in touch with my mother's extended family in years; I had no idea if any of them had children, though I assumed they must, but none that I had ever met.
At work, my interactions were strictly professional, with no innocent chatter to tie the voice to. The disconnect left me puzzled—the voice in my mind was an enigma with no clear origin.
I repeated the cryptic message over and over, trying to preserve its essence. But with each repetition, the authenticity of the memory began to slip away, replaced by my internal voice, a frustrating echo of what it once was.
The world outside moved on, but I remained anchored to the bed, lost in my thoughts. Hours slipped by unnoticed, and I was a silent witness to my solitary reverie.
Eventually, the steady rhythm of my heartbeat and the whispers of the house coaxed me back into a restless slumber. Now a haunting lullaby, the voice, and its message guided me into dreams where I hoped to find some answers.
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