"Story Time!" chapters are special entries that dive into the past—revealing untold scenes, hidden puzzle pieces, and truths left in the shadows of the main story. These moments may be brutal, violent, or emotionally intense. Others may be surprisingly gentle or tender.
This particular Story Time includes graphic and disturbing content not suited for all readers.
If you are sensitive to themes of abuse, violence, or psychological trauma, we strongly advise you to skip this chapter.
Proceed with caution. This is not a legend. This is what shaped.
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Living in a castle ruled by greedy nobles, alongside a repulsive family...
What more is there to say?
Impossible.
If you were raised in the Vantess household, surviving meant trying to be the smartest slave while clinging desperately to your sanity.
For any ordinary person, this would be nearly unthinkable.
Because in this house, nights don't begin with silence—
They begin with screams.
As always, the noises grew louder.
Nujah climbed into the wardrobe, sealing off every gap the sound might creep through.
He pressed a pillow hard against his ears—only then could he manage to sleep.
While his siblings endured torture for "not doing things properly," courtesy of their beloved family.
Since birth, he had seen the same scenes repeat: Shouts from the rooms above.
In the basement—bones breaking, begging, curses echoing.
Fight back?
Not once had the thought even occurred to him.
He only knew how to cover his ears, hide in a corner, and try to be the best servant they had.
That night, he barely slept.
And each time he woke, the same nightmare returned:
His home.
His family.
His siblings' cries for help.
Nujah had developed a survival tactic:
Never react.
No matter what happens—pretend not to hear.
It was the only way to keep the nightmare from beginning again.
That morning, he woke drenched in sweat, as if torn from a dream.
He rushed to the bathroom, then to the kitchen.
He had to greet the family.
No matter how rotten the wooden bones of the house were, the rulers of the Vantess family—Zirelda, Cassar, and the eldest child, Vareth—had decorated their rooms like those of true nobles.
Each morning, Nujah's duty was to visit their doors, one by one.
First stop: Zirelda's chamber.
Not gold, but classic—a graceful, refined door.
He knocked.
A cold voice gave permission from within.
He opened the door and bowed.
> "Is there an important task for me, Madam?"
Zirelda was staring at herself in the mirror. She turned her head slightly.
> "Your brother, Vareth, brought the wedding garments. Bring them to me."
He was surprised, but didn't show it.
He turned immediately toward the door.
He reached Vareth's room.
A grand door framed in gold. He knocked.
The moment Vareth opened the door, laughter spilled out — low, sharp, and wrong — carrying with it the scent of danger like perfume on poisoned silk.
> "Take these to my mother. Now."
The door slammed shut in his face.
He returned to Zirelda, the garments in hand.
The door was open.
Inside, Zirelda and Cassar were examining the clothes with a tailor.
They had already handed the most valuable piece to a servant.
Without even turning his head, Cassar spoke:
> "That useless brother of yours… Insect Thoren. Get him out of the cellar. Clean him up. Dress him.
We've got work to do."
The door shut.
As soon as he had permission, Nujah descended into the basement.
He opened the door and—
A horrifying sight.
Blood. Silence.
And Thoren, lying motionless on the floor.
But Nujah...
Part of him was relieved.
He stepped closer, quietly.
Carefully placed Thoren in an old burial box the family had kept hidden.
He took it himself, to the peasant cemetery outside Calvenhold Castle.
Such places were rare in that region—
But the family's old connections still had some use.
He paid the necessary bribe.
Oversaw the burial, in silence, alongside the peasants.
And then...
Returned home as if nothing had ever happened.
As of that morning, there were only three children left in the Vantess family.
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