⚠️Warning

This chapter contains murder. Read ahead with caution.

Scene 18:

Serelith sat beside her grandfather, clutching the wet cloth in her hands.

Patience was wavering, and frustration grew. Now her tears had turned into helplessness. Tharald’s face was pale.

The most astonishing thing for her was how her healthy grandfather could be in such a terrible state.

“Little flame…” Tharald mumbled.

“Yes, Grandfather,” Serelith whispered, her hands shaking in fear.

Tharald put his hand on her head and patted it lightly. Serelith cried silently.

“Please don’t leave me, Grandpa. I’ll be alone here.”

Tharald smiled, but suddenly he coughed up blood. Serelith shivered in fear, her hands trembling. Tharald told her not to worry, but her heart beated fast. Tharald lay down.

Meanwhile, Marlena paced her room, walking back and forth. And Elric? He was reading a book, clueless about what had happened. Out of curiosity, he asked,

“What happened? You look worried.”

“Me? Worried?” she scoffed. “Why is that old man still living? I thought the poison would work. Had I known it would take this much time, I would have used a stronger poison instead.”

“Poison?” Elric raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, poison,” Marlena sighed.

“Until he is living, my Celene’s future will be in danger. She will be cast aside, and Serelith will be in the spotlight.”

“So you gave him poison?”

“Yes. I slowly increased the poison in his food as time passed, but he is not dying.”

Elric laughed.

“What are you laughing at?”

“Why would I not laugh? Oh, my dear wife, you don’t know, but my father is quite healthy—a simple poison won’t kill him. But if you are worried, then how about vanishing him away forever?”

“But what if we get caught?”, Marlena asked in fearful tone.

“It’s our estate and mansion now. Also, Father can’t do anything; he is lying weak in bed. We can bribe the servants to stay quiet and finish his chapter when no one is around.”

“Makes sense,” Marlena pondered.

“Sleep now, darling, because tomorrow we will be free from him.” Elric smirked wickedly.

Tharald’s body and mind were both weakened. He gazed at the moonlight streaming through the window, memories flashing before his eyes—from his childhood to the present moment. Every moment of joy, every struggle, every decision that shaped his life seemed to pass through his mind in a single, fleeting heartbeat.

At dawn, Tharald’s eyes snapped open abruptly. He sensed movement outside his chamber. Someone was approaching. And he knew immediately who it was. Elric and Marlena. Of course it was them. His heart sank, a cold dread creeping through his weakened body.

Elric stepped into the room first, his expression calm but calculated. Marlena followed closely behind, her presence deliberate, almost sinister in the soft morning light. Tharald’s breath hitched as he tried to gather strength, but his body refused to respond.

“Good morning, Father,” Elric said, his voice smooth, almost mocking. Marlena’s eyes glimmered with a mixture of anticipation and satisfaction as she watched him struggle. Tharald’s mind raced. He knew he had been betrayed, poisoned slowly over time, yet the sight of them both entering together ignited a mix of fear and helplessness that he could not suppress.

The room felt smaller, heavier, as if the walls themselves conspired with his enemies. Tharald tried to speak, to warn or reason with them, but his voice cracked before a single word could leave his lips. The moonlight that had once comforted him now seemed distant, cold, and unreachable.

He could only watch silently, heart pounding and body trembling, as the two figures advanced. The memories of his life—the battles fought, the loves lost, the joys treasured—swirled around him, yet offered no comfort against the inevitable.

Still living, old man? It’s time for you to go now. Elric grabbed a pillow, pressing it to make him breathless.

“Such an ungrateful son I raised, hmmph… hmmph…” Tharald struggled.

Marlena was shivering in fear. Elric applied enough force to finish him. “If I don’t remove you, my wife and daughter will be cast aside.”

Celene woke early from nightmares. She went to her parents’ bedchamber but found it empty. As she approached her grandfather’s room, she froze behind a wall, shaking in fear. She stayed still, unsure what to do. Tharald gasped for breath, then lost it completely — dying at the hands of his own son.

Celene ran forward, tears streaming down her face. “Traitor! You killed grandfather!”

Marlena saw her and quickly tried to mask the incident. She knelt down and said, “It’s not like that, dear.”

Celene panicked. “How can you do that? What did he do? Grandpa…”

Marlena shook her and shouted, “Do you think we wanted to kill him? It’s all because of you! If he had stayed alive, you would have been cast aside in the social world, and Serelith would be in the spotlight. And do you think she thinks of you as a sister? No! She thinks you’re a leech who came to steal her position that actually belongs to you.”

“Believe me, dear, I’m doing this for you. Serelith is your enemy, not your own sister. She’s a witch who can throw you aside anytime she wishes.”

Celene mumbled, “Serelith is my enemy.”

Marlena encouraged her, “Right, it’s Serelith’s fault. She killed your grandfather, not us. We were forced to do this because of circumstances.”

And just like that, that little girl was slowly brainwashed.

The whole mansion was steeped in sorrow. The walls seemed heavier, the air thicker, as if the grief of the household had settled into every corner. Servants whispered quietly in the halls, trying to hide their own tears, while the noble family moved through the rooms like shadows of themselves. Candles flickered, casting long, trembling shadows across the grand chambers, as if even the light mourned the loss of the man who had once held the heart of the estate together.

Serelith stayed silent. No tears fell from her eyes. Her gaze was fixed downward, unfocused, as though the weight of everything pressed upon her so heavily that even grief had no room to surface. She was not heartless; far from it. She had loved her grandfather, trusted him, clung to him as the hand that had always given her solace, warmth, and safety. Yet now that hand had turned cold, lifeless, leaving her alone in a world that suddenly felt colder and emptier than ever.

But Serelith’s silence and the steady, unreadable expression on her face only fed Celene’s conclusions. The little girl’s mind, fragile and impressionable, jumped to one thought, one false conclusion: it must be Serelith’s fault. How else could the grandfather, the protector, the gentle guide of their lives, now lie cold and lifeless before them? In her young, anxious mind, Serelith became the enemy, the cause of all the pain, the thief of what should have been hers.

After the mourning ended, after the servants and family members slowly drifted away, leaving rooms empty and echoing with their grief, Serelith remained. She stood there alone in the dim light of the early morning, shadows stretching across her face. Slowly, almost reluctantly, tears began to slip from her eyes, tracing delicate paths down her cheeks. The grief she had held at bay now began to pour, not in loud wails or dramatic sobs, but in quiet, burning sorrow.

Then Shyamu ran toward her. He had woken up to the news of Tharald’s death and had come as quickly as he could. Seeing Serelith alone, the tears beginning to fall, he gently patted her shoulders, a small gesture of comfort amidst the immense sadness. Yet even his presence, even his attempts to soothe her, could not reach the storm within her heart.

Serelith clenched her fists tightly, nails biting into her palms as she cursed the helplessness that consumed her from the inside. She cursed the unfairness of life, the cruelty of fate, and the betrayal of those around her. Anger and sorrow battled within her, a silent war that no one could see, no one could understand.

And there she stood, alone in her grief, feeling the emptiness left behind, a girl forced too early to face the harshness of the world, her heart both heavy with loss and fierce with the first sparks of silent determination.