Lisa Bloodrose

I opened my eyes slowly, my body heavy and drained. It took a moment for everything to register. My limbs ached, my head throbbed. What happened? I remembered sparring with Bilric… but how did it end?

“You’re awake. How are you feeling, my little angel?”

The gentle voice pulled me out of the fog. “Mother,” I mumbled, still half-asleep. I blinked at the ceiling above my bed. “Why am I home? Last thing I remember, I was at the academy, sparring with Bilric.”

Mother smiled softly, her presence grounding me. She looked elegant as always, her hair a pale blonde—so light it was nearly white—and her hazel eyes, just like mine, full of quiet concern. She gently pressed her palm to my forehead.

“I don’t know, sweetheart. The guard said you collapsed during training—your energy channels overworked. Bilric was unconscious too when they brought you both back.”

I shot up, ignoring the soreness that rippled through my muscles. “Bilric was unconscious too? Why? Did I hurt him? Was it me?”

She hushed me with calm hands. “No, Lisa. He’s fine. Just exhausted like you. No injuries, so stop worrying. Now, tell me—what happened back there?”

So I told her.

Her eyebrows raised as I explained how far I pushed myself. Then she smiled, clearly amused. “Ah, I see. You went all out and started losing control again? That’s not like you, my little rose. Were you trying to impress someone?”

“Mom, stop!” I groaned, cheeks puffed out in embarrassment. “It wasn’t like that. I just… I wanted to show the class what I’ve learned.”

“The class, huh?” she teased. “You mean Bilric?”

I flopped back onto the bed, pulling the blanket over my head. “Leave me alone… I really was trying my best. But I lost control—again. I’m starting to hate this power.”

She gently ran her fingers through my hair. “You’ve got incredible potential, Lisa. But you don’t need to force yourself. Even if the family pushes you, you don’t have to carry that weight alone. You’ve already surpassed most kids your age. Let yourself breathe.”

“…Okay. Thanks, Mom,” I whispered.

“Good girl,” she said, still stroking my hair. “Now get some rest. You’ve earned it.”

I closed my eyes and let the calm wash over me. Slowly, I drifted back into sleep.

Serah Bloodrose

I quietly closed the door to Lisa’s room, letting her get the rest she desperately needed. Poor girl—she always pushed herself harder than necessary. Still, she’s strong. She’ll bounce back.

But something was stirring in the castle.

Movement echoed through the halls—unfamiliar footfalls, sharper voices. And then I heard it: he’s back. My husband, Vahmir Bloodrose. The lord of the house. The man who hadn’t stepped foot in our home for days, consumed as always by his duties at the central hall. For him to return this early… odd. Unsettling.

I raised my voice down the corridor, “Hello, darling! What brings you home so early? Is everything alright?”

He looked over his shoulder, gesturing to his guards and attendants to leave. Only then did he speak.

“Serah, can you prepare me a bath? I need to clear my head.”

That was strange. He always barked orders at the maids for such things—efficient, cold, detached. For him to ask me? Something was off. I raised a brow, teasing him to lighten the mood.

“A bath? What, with me in it?”

He shot me a sharp look. “Don’t be ridiculous, Serah. Not now. I just need to relax. And afterward… I need your advice.”

Oh, lovely. That never meant anything good.

When Vahmir, the unshakable second-in-command of the entire territory after Lord Dalfrid himself, came to me for advice—it usually meant trouble. On the surface, it might look like weakness. But I knew better. It meant he was planning something big. And as much as I sighed at the weight of it, a part of me loved him for it.

He was always composed, calculated, intense to the point of intimidation. His long, midnight-black hair fell perfectly down his back, and those eyes—pitch-black, endless, unnerving. They could freeze even the boldest of warriors with a glance. But to me… he was just Vahmir. My complicated, brilliant husband.

Well, there go my plans for giving Lisa a sibling tonight.

Still, I did as he asked.

I prepared his bath with the usual touch—petals from the crimson night-bloom, their essence slowly bleeding into the hot water, turning it a deep, rich red. It was his favorite when he needed to concentrate. A ritual, of sorts. Something that grounded him.

Once he was settled in the bath, steam curling through the room and the scent of florals thick in the air, I leaned against the frame and spoke softly.

“So, my dear son of war... what is it that’s troubling you, Vahmir?”

He opened his mouth as if to speak, but no words came out at first. His expression distant, thoughtful. I squinted slightly. Is he... high? He looked dazed—not in body, but in thought. Then finally, he spoke.

“Let’s say a group of dogs found a wolf pup and raised him. When he grows up… would he be a dog, or still a wolf?”

I blinked. Classic Vahmir—always with the strange metaphors and twisted analogies. But I knew better than to laugh it off. These questions always meant something.

I tapped a finger to my chin, pretending to think harder than I was. “Hmm... a wolf who loves his dog parents, maybe?”

He chuckled. Low, quiet, the sound of a man who found a surprising kind of comfort in the answer.

“Loved, huh,” he echoed. Then the laughter came—soft, warm, even genuine. “That’s a lovely way to see it, darling.”

He leaned his head back, the scarlet-tinted water lapping gently against his shoulders.

Then his tone shifted slightly, more serious, but still wrapped in velvet. “I have a favor to ask of you, my dear.”

I smiled. “Of course.”

And without a word more, I stepped into the bath, the warm water rising around us like a quiet promise between two people who understood far more than they ever said aloud.

Karl Benoit

Finally, back home.

“Home,” I muttered to myself… whatever that still means.

It’s been days wandering between the Charta Great Families. Now it’s time to report what I’ve learned—but how much to share, and how to word it? That depends on who’s listening. And he’s not here at the moment. Maybe that’s a blessing.

I think I’ll rest for a few days first. I’m an old man—my bones ache louder than my thoughts some days. Can’t afford to let my brain shut off completely, even if it’s been half on vacation since I stepped down. Retirement isn’t the end. It’s just another battlefield, slower maybe, but no less dangerous.

Back in Opeur… the capital, Frankia. Charta was pleasant—warm, alive, fully in bloom. But here? Still clinging to winter. A chill in the air, gray skies trying to remember how to be blue. Still, it’s good to be back. Familiar stone beneath my boots, familiar shadows behind every curtain.

Now I need to prepare. For the conversation. For the weight. For the families of this nation—my nation, or so I believed for a long time.

Yeah… my nation.

As I entered my dorm, expecting the long-awaited embrace of silence and rest, I was met instead by a voice—cool, collected, and unmistakably sharp.

“Finally you’re back. Where have you been?”

“I went to visit an old friend,” I said as I eased out of my coat. “Needed a break from the daily routine.”

“Is that so?” Miriam replied, her face unreadable, her tone neutral.

My daughter-in-law. She had turned thirty-four this winter, though she hardly looked it. With her flowing black hair cascading down her back and piercing dark-blue eyes, she still had the grace of someone in their mid-twenties. The small beauty mark under her right eye, perfectly sculpted nose, and soft lips added to her flawless appearance. She wore her signature white earrings—two delicate feathers carved from rose quartz—symbols of the name the public once whispered with awe: the Light Angel.

But beneath all that elegance was a woman with a mind sharper than most generals I’ve known.

“You haven’t heard anything about Dries?” she asked quietly, stepping closer.

I gave a small sigh. “No. Not yet. I swear, if I did, you'd be the first to know.”

“And my husband? Your son. It’s been three months, Karl. He followed Dries out… and he hasn’t come back either.”

I froze for a second. So much for rest.

“I don’t know what to tell you,” I said, slower this time. “I genuinely don’t.”

She held my gaze. “He didn’t run away too… did he?”

That cut deep. “What makes you think that?” I asked.

“You know him better than I do,” she said softly. “You know what’s been weighing on him. Don’t try to pretend you don’t.”

Sharp, as always. It wasn’t an accusation. Just a truth I didn’t want to confront. Had I missed something? Focused too much on the world outside, the politics, the shifting powers… and ignored the fracture lines forming within my own family?

Maybe this was my failing. Maybe this was the curse my legacy was handing back to me.

“Hey,” she snapped, gently but firm, “where did your mind wander off to? Go get some rest. You look tired… older than usual.”

I gave a weary chuckle. “Yeah. You’re right.”

Then, I added quietly, “Trust me, Miriam. I’ll do everything I can… to bring your son—and your husband—back to you. Whatever it takes.”

She looked at me deeply, silently, her dark eyes unreadable. Then she turned and left without another word.

I sat in the quiet that followed, trying to block the storm of thoughts I felt approaching. I lay back on the bed, and to my surprise, sleep came instantly.

I really must be tired.

Not just in body… but somewhere deeper.