Chapter 431: Explain
"Explain."
One word.
Simple. Lethal.
Madeleina swallowed hard, willing her hands not to shake. "It… it was during the final retreat, Your Grace," she began, keeping her voice steady, though the edges frayed beneath the strain. "The vortexes had already claimed much of the fleet. The last survivors were being brought to safety. Lady Aeliana was… she was observing from the secured platform, as per your orders."
She hesitated, but she knew better than to falter.
Thaddeus' eyes burned into her, his expression unreadable—but his presence spoke for him.
Cold. Suffocating.
She continued. "The vortexes had begun to dissipate, but then—" she exhaled sharply, as if forcing the words from her throat "—another formed. Right beneath her."
Her hands clenched into fists at her sides.
"We tried. We all tried. The mages, the knights—we attempted everything. The teleportation sigils failed. The binding spells broke. The ship that was closest was pulled into the tide before it could reach her. And before we could react…"
She closed her eyes.
"…She was gone."
The words cut deeper than a blade.
The air cracked again. The weight of the Duke's mana surged, pushing outward.
A nearby bookshelf trembled, the neatly stacked documents fluttering as if caught in an unseen storm.
No one spoke. No one moved.
No one dared.
Madeleina had expected many things. A raised voice. A cold, lethal whisper. Even the clatter of an object thrown across the room.
But the silence was worse.
Because she could feel it.
The wrath.
It coiled around the Duke like a tidal wave held back by the thinnest barrier. A dam that, at any moment, could break.
Then—a voice.
Not loud. Not trembling.
But low. Deadly.
"…And you?" The Duke's eyes narrowed, cold and merciless as steel. "Where were you?"
Madeleina felt the words strike.
Madeleina kept her head bowed, her breathing controlled but measured, the weight of the Duke's words pressing into her like a blade poised at her throat.
"It happened too suddenly, Your Grace," she said, her voice steady but tinged with something raw beneath the surface. "There was no warning—no signs. One moment, she was safe. The next, the vortex had claimed her."
The chamber was deathly silent, but the Duke's rage was palpable. The oppressive weight of his mana pressed against every soul in the room, thick and suffocating.
"I have never betrayed Lady Aeliana," Madeleina continued, her fingers curling into the fabric of her cloak. "Not once, not ever. I have served her faithfully, protected her with everything I had. And at that moment, I did all that I could."
Her voice did not waver. She did not plead for understanding, nor did she ask for forgiveness—because there was none to ask for.
Thaddeus' expression remained unreadable, but his body was rigid with fury, the sheer force of it warping the air around him. He did not believe her to be a traitor—but that did not make him forgive her.
He had lost Aeliana.
And someone had to bear that weight.
His fingers curled at his side, his breaths slow, controlled—forced into control.
Madeleina, still kneeling, shut her eyes.
She had served the Duke for years. She had stood beside him through wars, through conspiracies, through the shifting tides of power. She had seen the ruthlessness in him, the cold precision with which he dismantled his enemies.
And now… she would bear the brunt of his fury.
The Duke exhaled.
And then, he raised his hand.
A hush fell over the chamber, thick with the crackling energy of his mana. The weight of it swelled, thickened, until the very air trembled beneath its force.
The knights instinctively stiffened, their grips tightening on their weapons, but none dared move. None dared interfere.
The pressure built.
The air warped.
The very walls seemed to groan beneath the force of it.
Then—
His hand moved.
Fast.
Faster than thought.
The killing intent that erupted from him was suffocating, dark and final, filling the entire room with the weight of an execution.
His palm cut through the air, streaking toward Madeleina's face.
And just before it struck—
He stopped.
His fingers hovered mere inches from her skin.
The force of the strike, the sheer velocity of it, sent a sharp gust through the room, making her hair whip back from her face.
The silence was deafening.
Madeleina did not flinch. Did not move.
The Duke's hand remained still, but his presence loomed over her like an inescapable shadow.
Then—
"Madeleina."
His voice was quiet, but it carried through the room like a command from the gods themselves.
She swallowed, her chest rising and falling with deliberate control.
"Raise your head."
Slowly, she did.
Her gaze, steady despite the lingering weight of his fury, rose to meet his.
Thaddeus' expression was unreadable, his face cold as steel, but his eyes—
His eyes.
They burned with something deeper.
Something sharp. Unforgiving.
"Look into my eyes," he ordered.
And she did.
And she did.
For the first time since she had spoken those damning words, she met his gaze without hesitation.
And in that moment, the storm within the Duke's heart raged silently between them.
The chamber was thick with silence, the kind that seeped into the walls and settled in the lungs of those who dared breathe. The flickering lamplight cast shifting shadows over the room, but none of them wavered as much as the weight in the air.
Madeleina did not blink.
She did not lower her gaze.
Even as the Duke's piercing eyes bore into hers, even as the suffocating force of his mana pressed against her skin like an unseen tide threatening to pull her under—she endured.
Thaddeus studied her, searching, measuring.
He was not just looking at her.
He was reading her.
For a sign of weakness. For deception. For the smallest crack in the composure she dared maintain beneath the weight of his fury.
But Madeleina gave him nothing.
She met his gaze with the same unwavering steel she had carried throughout the years she had served him.
She did not beg.
She did not plead.
She merely stood.
The silence stretched, taut and unbroken.
No one in the chamber dared to breathe too deeply. The knights remained frozen, their bodies locked in rigid discipline, but the tension in the air was suffocating. The very walls seemed to tremble under the force of the Duke's restrained wrath.
And still—Madeleina did not waver.
Seconds passed.
Then more.
The weight of his gaze was unbearable to most. But she held it.
It was not defiance.
It was duty.
And finally—
Thaddeus exhaled.
A slow, measured breath.
Not in surrender.
But in control.
The storm inside him did not subside, but he allowed the moment to end.
His eyes, still like burning embers, narrowed slightly.
And then, his voice cut through the silence.
"Don't appear in front of my eyes."
The words were final.
A dismissal. A command. A sentence.
Then—force.
A raw, unseen pulse of his mana surged forward, and before she could react, Madeleina was pushed backward.
The invisible pressure slammed into her, sending her stumbling—not violently, not with the intent to injure, but with a force that was meant to push her away.
To remove her.
She caught herself before she could fall, her heels skidding slightly against the polished marble floor.
And then, without another word, without another glance, Thaddeus turned away.
Madeleina did not move for a moment.
Then, she straightened herself.
She bowed. Low.
And without a sound, without protest—
She left.
Chapter 432: Loss
The chamber was empty now.
But the rage remained.
Duke Thaddeus stood motionless, his back to the door through which Madeleina had disappeared. His chest rose and fell in uneven, measured breaths. His fingers trembled at his sides, his knuckles taut, white with pressure.
He had wanted to kill her.
In that moment, when his palm had stopped mere inches from her face, when his mana had cracked the very air around them—he had wanted to pulverize her, to reduce her to nothing, to crush her beneath the weight of his grief.
But he had not.
Because he knew Madeleina.
He knew her father—the man who had once served this household with unwavering loyalty, who had trained under his own father. The blood of that same man ran through her veins. She had been raised as a shadow of duty, forged in loyalty, tempered by responsibility.
She was no traitor.
She had failed, yes. She had lost Aeliana.
But she had not abandoned her.
So, he had held back.
His fingers clenched into fists. But the anger remained.
No.
Not just anger.
Pain.
A sharp, guttural breath left him as he slowly turned, his steps heavy, deliberate. His vision blurred at the edges, not from exhaustion, but from the sheer fury burning beneath his skin, coursing through his very being like an untamed fire.
He lost her.
Again.
Just like her.
Just like his wife.
"You promised me."
A memory.
A whisper from a past that should have been buried, but never truly had been.
"Even if I am gone, you must protect her."
Thaddeus' breath stilled.
The rage twisted inside him like a wounded beast, coiling, writhing, unable to escape. It wasn't just the Kraken, wasn't just the sea—it was himself.
He had let Aeliana go.
He had allowed her to step onto that ship, even when his instincts had screamed at him to keep her locked away, to confine her within these walls where, at the very least, she would be safe.
He had told himself he was granting her a semblance of freedom.
But what was freedom, if it had only led her to this?
His fists slammed onto his desk, the impact sending a violent tremor through the wood. Papers scattered, an ink bottle toppled, spilling its dark contents across carefully written reports.
A sharp exhale, a growl of frustration escaped his lips.
His mana pulsed again, uncontrolled, wild.
The very foundation of the chamber quivered beneath it.
He turned sharply, pacing towards the window, his heavy boots striking the marble with force. His heartbeat pounded against his ribs, but it was nothing compared to the pressure building within his chest.
He stared at the sea.
That wretched, cursed sea.
The source of his daughter's disappearance. The abyss that had swallowed her whole.
The Kraken.
That thing.
It was more than a mere beast. More than some mindless force of destruction.
It had chosen its moment.
It had let men escape.
It had retreated deliberately.
And then, at the very last second—when victory had already been stripped from them—it had taken Aeliana.
That was no accident.
His fingers gripped the windowsill, nails digging into the stone.
Was it mocking him?
Did it know?
Did the Kraken—did whatever force controlled those unnatural vortexes—understand what it had taken from him?
A deep, primal fury surged through his veins.
The sea had taken everything from him.
His wife.
His daughter.
And now, it expected him to stand here, powerless, as if he were nothing but a grieving father with no strength left to act?
No.
No.
NO.
A sharp crack split the air as the very frame of the window warped under the pressure of his mana.
He turned sharply, his presence overwhelming the room, pressing against the very walls, his breath ragged, shoulders heaving.
He should have never let her go.
He should have kept her here.
Even if she hated him for it.
Even if she despised him.
Even if it meant imprisoning her.
Because at least she would have been safe.
At least she wouldn't have been lost to the same damned abyss that took his wife.
A violent surge of mana crackled around him, making the very air hum with unstable energy. The storm inside him—one that had been controlled, tempered, kept locked away for years—was breaking.
There was only one thought consuming his mind now.
He would not allow the sea to take her.
Not this time.
Not ever again.
His voice, low and laced with an unshakable resolve, echoed through the empty chamber.
"Summon every scholar. Every mage. Every researcher in this damned empire."
"Find me the ones who survived the vortex. Find me the ones who know the ocean's secrets."
"And if the sea is keeping her—"
His eyes burned, his mana surging with something beyond mere fury.
"—then I will rip it apart to bring her back."
The storm outside raged, but it was nothing compared to the storm inside him.
******
Elara sat by the window of her rented room in the inn, staring out at the sea. The waves rolled in with a steady rhythm, their ceaseless motion a stark contrast to the unease coiling in her chest. The faint scent of salt filled the air, mingling with the scent of wood and faint remnants of the bath she had taken earlier.
It had been nearly a week.
Seven days since the battle.
Seven days since the vortex swallowed him whole.
She clenched her fingers against the windowsill, her nails pressing into the wood. The feeling was strange, unsettling in a way she couldn't quite put into words. She had seen death before, had lost people before. And yet, this was different. It wasn't grief—not exactly. It wasn't just sorrow either. It was something in between, something hollow and restless.
She could still see it so clearly in her mind.
That last moment.
The way his smirk had never faded, even as the vortex consumed him.
The way he had pushed her away, ensuring that she wouldn't be dragged in with him.
His final words, teasing as always, but there had been something else beneath them. Something real.
"You're not ready to play hero just yet."
Elara exhaled sharply, running a hand through her damp hair. She had replayed that moment over and over again in her mind, trying to decipher what she had missed, what she could have done differently. But it always ended the same way.
With him disappearing.
And the worst part? There had been no sign of him since.
She had joined multiple search efforts, combing the battlefield, scouring reports from the knights and adventurers. The vortex had vanished without a trace, and with it, so had he. Just like that. Gone, as if he had never existed at all.
But that wasn't the only thing.
She wasn't the only one suffering from this uncertainty.
The Duke of Stormhaven had launched a relentless search operation—not just for Luca, but for his own daughter. The rumors were spreading quickly now. The Duke's only daughter, swallowed by the same type of vortex that had taken Luca.
And just like Luca, there had been no trace of her.
Noble forces had been mobilized. Elite adventurers had been hired. Some whispered that the Duke himself had ventured out beyond the safety of Stormhaven, personally leading teams to scour the surrounding lands and seas for any sign of the missing.
And yet, despite all of this, there were no answers.
Elara bit her lip, her mind spiraling with questions.
What were those vortexes?
Where did they lead?
Why had they started appearing so suddenly?
And why—why did she feel like something was missing? Like she was standing on the edge of something vast and unknowable, reaching out for something just out of her grasp.
She closed her eyes, her fingers tightening on the fabric of her robe. The weight of the unknown pressed against her chest, heavy and suffocating. And beneath it all, beneath the logic and the doubt, a small whisper lingered in the back of her mind.
"It was your fault."
A single thought that was not supposed to be there.
Chapter 433: Loss (2)
"It was your fault."
Elara clenched her fists, pressing them against her knees as she hunched forward. The dim candlelight flickered in her room, casting restless shadows against the wooden walls.
If I had been stronger… If I had tried harder… If I hadn't let myself falter even for a second…
The thought gnawed at her, sharp and relentless. She had spent the last five years clawing her way to strength, building herself up from nothing. The years after her exile had been brutal—surviving on scraps, working whatever jobs she could find just to keep herself moving forward. And then, her master had taken her in. Under their tutelage, she had pushed herself beyond limits she never thought possible.
All of it had been for one purpose.
Revenge.
For what Isolde and Adrian had done to her. For how they had ripped everything from her and left her to rot. That single drive had kept her going, kept her from falling apart under the weight of everything she had lost.
And in the last battle, she had seen the results of her work. She had felt it.
The ice in her veins had sung as she fought. She had controlled the battlefield, frozen monstrosities in place, held her ground against overwhelming odds. She had improved.
So why—why did she feel so weak?
She squeezed her eyes shut, gritting her teeth. No, she told herself, I am not weak. I have worked too hard for that to be true.
But then, his voice echoed in her mind.
"You're not ready to play hero just yet."
Elara's breath caught in her throat.
It was strange. Luca had only been in her life for a short time. She had met him—what? Three, four times? And yet, on the battlefield, fighting alongside him had felt different.
He had challenged her. Had pushed her, had forced her to keep up, to act without hesitation. Fighting with him had been—dare she even admit it?—thrilling. She had never fought alongside someone like that before. Someone who had treated her as an equal, who had expected her to match his rhythm and had trusted her to do it.
Even her master, despite their harsh training, had always looked at her as a student. And Cedric—Cedric always tried to protect her, always stepped between her and danger. But Luca…
Luca had smiled at the battlefield.
He had smiled at her, not in amusement, not in condescension, but as if he knew she would rise to the occasion. As if he had already decided she could keep up with him.
And she had.
But it wasn't enough.
Because, in the end, he had been the one to push her away. He had been the one to be swallowed by that void while she was left behind, powerless to stop it.
She lifted her head, her breath shaking.
That was what felt wrong.
Not just the loss itself, but the difference—the contrast between what she had been and what she still was.
On the battlefield, she had felt strong. She had felt like she was finally on the path to becoming what she had worked so hard for. And yet, when it mattered most, when everything was on the line—
She had been left standing, helpless.
Luca had saved her.
And that thought made her sick.
She hated it.
She hated that she had been the one to be protected. Hated that, despite everything, she still wasn't enough.
And more than anything—she hated that she missed him.
Elara swallowed hard, pressing her palm against her forehead.
What is wrong with me?
Elara's gaze flickered to the clock on the wall. The hands had crept forward while she had been lost in thought, and now, it was time once again. The expedition was about to begin.
A deep breath. Then another.
She pushed herself up from the chair, her muscles feeling stiff from hours of sitting in brooding silence. Enough. She couldn't afford to stay in this cycle of self-recrimination. She had a task ahead of her, and whether she liked it or not, time wasn't waiting for her to catch up.
Moving to the wardrobe, she pulled out her combat attire. It was familiar, well-worn but practical—made for movement, reinforced in all the right places to withstand battle. But she had made a few changes to it. A slight adjustment in layering, some modifications to the sleeves and gloves for better grip. Even though she hadn't fought in a week, she had spent her time refining her gear, making sure that the next time she stepped onto the battlefield, she would be ready.
As she slipped into her clothes, she caught sight of herself in the mirror.
Her sleek body, toned from years of rigorous training, but still carrying the traces of a malnourished past. She didn't eat much, never had—not since the years after she had been exiled. It wasn't intentional, not really, but the habit had stayed with her. And now, with everything that had happened, food had felt even more… irrelevant.
She sighed, pulling on her gloves, securing her belt, adjusting her cloak. The weight of her staff against her back felt grounding. This was who she was. A mage. A warrior. Someone who wouldn't be left behind again.
Just as she was fastening the last strap, a knock echoed against her door.
She turned, her brows furrowing slightly.
Cedric?
Cedric stood in the doorway, his expression dark and clouded with concern. His usual composed demeanor was absent, replaced by something more raw, something heavier. He looked at her—really looked at her—and the frown on his face deepened.
Elara met his gaze with unwavering resolve, but she knew what he saw. The exhaustion etched beneath her eyes, the faint hollowness in her cheeks, the way her posture, though still straight, carried a weight that hadn't been there before. She hadn't slept well, hadn't eaten properly.
She knew it.
And so did Cedric.
"Lady Elara," he began, his voice quieter than usual, more careful.
"What is it, Cedric?" she asked, fastening the last strap on her bracer, ignoring the way his eyes flickered with barely concealed frustration.
Cedric stepped further into the room, closing the door behind him. He hesitated for a moment, then exhaled, his voice gaining more force. "You should sit this one out."
Elara stilled, her fingers pausing against the leather strap before she straightened. She turned to face him fully, her expression unreadable. "I don't have time for this conversation."
"You should rest," he pressed, his hands curling into fists at his sides. "You've pushed yourself too far. I can see it. Everyone can see it."
She let out a slow breath, shaking her head. "I'm fine."
"You're not fine." His tone hardened. "You haven't been fine for the past seven days. You've barely slept. You're barely eating. And now you want to throw yourself back into battle when you—"
"When I what?" Elara interrupted, her voice sharper than intended. She clenched her jaw, frustration flaring. "When I should be sitting in this room doing nothing? Waiting? Hoping someone else will fix this?"
Cedric took a step closer, his blue eyes searching hers. "Lady Elara, I know what you're doing."
"You don't know anything."
"I do," he said, his voice quieter now, more careful. "I know you. I know how you are. And I know that right now, you're pushing yourself not because you want to fight—but because you don't want to feel."
Elara's fingers twitched, but she kept her expression firm.
"You're exhausted," Cedric continued. "You're hurting. And you're looking for something—anything—to keep yourself from thinking about him."
Elara's heart slammed against her ribs.
Him.
She clenched her teeth, but Cedric wasn't finished. He took another step forward, lowering his voice as he stared at her, frustration laced with something deeper. "Why, Elara?" His voice was tight, his fists still clenched. "Why are you doing this? For a man you barely even know? This—this doesn't make sense!"
The words cut deep, not because they were wrong, but because they weren't entirely right either.
Elara felt her breath hitch, her fingers tightening against her staff. She knew Cedric was speaking out of worry, out of care. But even so, the words stung.
Luca.
The thought of him pulled at something in her chest, something she didn't understand, something that had been gnawing at her since the moment he disappeared.
She hadn't known him long. Objectively speaking, Cedric was right. She shouldn't care this much.
But she did.
And she didn't understand why.
Elara straightened, her voice cold but composed. "Because I owe him."
Chapter 434: Cracks
Cedric stared at Elara, his fists clenching at his sides as a deep, unshakable frustration gnawed at him.
She was changing.
It had been happening ever since he disappeared.
At first, he thought it was just the shock of the battle, the exhaustion from surviving yet another close encounter with death. But as the days stretched into a week, Cedric saw it—felt it.
Elara was different.
She had always been strong-willed, relentless in her pursuit of power, but this… this wasn't strength. It was desperation.
She had been pushing herself harder than ever, as if the mere act of stopping—even for a moment—would shatter something inside her. She barely slept. She barely ate. She spent hours training, reading, searching for information on those vortexes. He had watched her shoulders tighten, her movements grow sharper, her words shorter.
And it all started when that man—when Luca—had fallen into the abyss.
Cedric gritted his teeth, his breath slow and controlled. He knew this wasn't just about the battle, or even about Luca himself.
It was about him.
His own shortcomings.
Because when it had mattered most, he hadn't been fast enough. He hadn't been able to reach her in time.
But Luca had.
And that was the part that burned the most.
Cedric hated it. Hated that his strength hadn't been enough. Hated that he had been powerless to stop it. And more than anything—he hated that Elara noticed Luca in a way that she never had with him.
And now, she was chasing after something that Cedric couldn't understand.
"Because I owe him," Elara had said, her voice calm but cold, her gaze unwavering.
Those words sent a flare of anger through Cedric's chest, though he barely let it show.
Owe him?
What did she owe him?
Cedric inhaled sharply, forcing himself to steady his thoughts. This wasn't about Luca.
This was about Elara.
She was driving herself into the ground, withering away before his eyes. She was pushing herself so far that it was harming her, and that was something Cedric could not accept.
His voice, when he spoke again, was low and controlled, but there was an unmistakable edge beneath it.
"Elara… this isn't you."
She tensed at his words, just slightly. But it was enough for Cedric to see it—to know that she was aware of what she was doing to herself, even if she refused to stop.
"You say you owe him, but at what cost?" Cedric continued, his frustration simmering just beneath the surface. "Look at yourself. You haven't rested. You haven't stopped. You're pushing yourself into the ground, and for what?"
Elara's expression didn't waver, but Cedric could see the flicker of something in her eyes. She knew he wasn't wrong.
But she refused to acknowledge it.
"I have to do this," she said simply.
"Why?" Cedric's voice hardened, his emotions slipping through the cracks. "Because you think you weren't strong enough? Because you think he was stronger? That he should have lived instead?"
Elara's eyes snapped to him, sharp and filled with warning. "That's not—"
"Then what is it?" Cedric pressed, stepping forward, refusing to let her retreat into herself. "What is it, Elara?"
She didn't answer.
Instead, she turned away, her shoulders tense as she pulled her cloak tighter around herself.
That silence—it was worse than any answer she could have given.
Because it meant that Cedric was right.
She did think that way.
She did believe that she hadn't been enough.
And that was what Luca had done to her.
Cedric took a slow breath, his hands trembling from the force with which he was clenching them. He wanted to lash out—to tell her she was being reckless, that this obsession was going to break her.
But he didn't.
Instead, he exhaled and spoke, his voice softer, but no less firm.
"You don't owe him anything, Elara," he said, watching as she stiffened. "You were strong before he came along. You were strong before he—"
Before he what?
Before he made her question herself?
Before he made her change?
Before he made her look at him in ways Cedric had never seen before?
Cedric swallowed hard, his jaw tightening.
He didn't know what it was that Luca had done to Elara in such a short time. He didn't know why his absence was affecting her like this.
But he knew one thing for certain.
There was something wrong with Luca.
Everything about that man—his presence, his fighting, his existence—it was unnatural. It didn't make sense.
Cedric had felt it from the beginning, an unease deep in his gut. And now, seeing Elara like this, seeing the way she was unraveling—he was more sure than ever.
That man had changed something in her.
And Cedric hated it.
"Stop this," he said, his voice steady but filled with quiet force. "Stop before you break yourself trying to chase something that isn't there."
Elara's head snapped toward him, her eyes narrowing as Cedric's words sank in.
"Stop before you break yourself trying to chase something that isn't there."
"What do you mean he's not there?" Her voice was sharp, laced with something that sounded dangerously close to anger. "He was there. He is there. You act like he just vanished from existence."
Cedric's patience, already stretched thin, finally cracked. His own voice rose in response, the frustration that had been simmering beneath the surface finally breaking free.
"Because he isn't here, Elara! He's gone—swallowed by that damn vortex! And now you're running yourself into the ground chasing after nothing! For what? A man you met a week ago?" His blue eyes burned with unfiltered anger as he stepped closer. "You have a goal. A reason that you've been pushing yourself for all these years! And now you're throwing it all away—for him?"
Elara's breath hitched, but her anger flared just as fiercely. "Throwing it away? You think that's what I'm doing?" Her voice was incredulous, almost mocking. She took a step forward, her frustration mounting with every breath. "Do you think I don't remember my goal? That I don't still want revenge on the people who ruined my life?" She jabbed a finger toward him. "Don't act like you know what's going through my mind, Cedric!"
"Then what is it?" he snapped, his chest heaving. "Why are you chasing after him like this? Why are you losing yourself for someone you barely even know?"
Elara let out a short, bitter laugh. "Barely even know? You keep saying that like it means something! Like time is the only thing that determines who matters to me." Her voice cracked slightly, but she didn't stop. "You weren't the one who was there when I was about to be pulled into that vortex."
Cedric froze.
Chapter 435: Cracks (2)
Elara took a step closer, her voice cutting through the tense silence between them like a blade.
"You were supposed to be my knight," she spat, her chest rising and falling with restrained fury. "So tell me, Cedric, where were you when I was about to get swallowed? What were you doing while I was reaching for help?"
Cedric's breath hitched.
The words struck deeper than he expected.
You were supposed to be my knight.
His hands curled into fists, nails digging into his palms.
The image of that day flashed through his mind, unwanted but relentless.
The swirling vortex. The deafening roar of the battlefield.
Elara reaching out, her fingers mere inches from salvation—
And Luca getting there first.
He clenched his jaw, but it didn't stop the flood of memories, nor did it stop the deeper, more festering wound that had taken root inside him since that moment.
Since that man.
Luca.
The duel.
The way he had dismantled Cedric with ease, like he was playing with a child.
The way his pitch-black eyes had gleamed with something cold and knowing.
And the words he left behind.
"Remember your place."
Cedric sucked in a sharp breath, his whole body tensing as the memory of that smirk resurfaced, mocking, belittling.
The memory of his own powerlessness.
The way his body had refused to move, locked under the weight of Luca's gaze.
And even now, even now, he couldn't shake it.
The suffocating feeling of being lesser.
He hated it.
He hated it.
His anger boiled over.
With a sudden, violent movement, Cedric's fist slammed into the nearest piece of furniture—a wooden table. The impact sent a deep crack through its surface, the legs groaning under the sudden force before it tipped and collapsed onto its side.
Elara flinched at the unexpected outburst, but she didn't step back. She only stared, her breath heavy, waiting for his response.
Cedric's chest heaved as he slowly turned his head toward her, his voice rough, raw.
"Lady Elara…" His hands were still shaking, whether from rage or something deeper, he didn't know. He took a step closer, his expression dark. "Do you think I didn't try?"
Elara opened her mouth to speak, but he didn't let her.
"Do you think I was just standing still?" His voice rose, his frustration spilling over. "Do you think I wanted to watch as you almost got swallowed whole? Do you think I chose to be too slow?"
His fists clenched even tighter, his shoulders shaking.
"I ran," he said through gritted teeth. "I ran as fast as I could. I pushed myself harder than I ever had before—but I wasn't fast enough."
The words burned in his throat.
His pride—shattered.
His strength—useless.
Because Luca had beaten him to it.
Because Luca had been the one to pull her back.
Not Cedric.
Never Cedric.
His blue eyes locked onto Elara's, a storm raging in their depths. "You weren't the only one reaching that day," he whispered, his voice lower, almost dangerous. "I was reaching too. But he got there first."
And that fact killed him.
Because Cedric had trained for years to be her shield, her protector.
And yet, when it had truly mattered—
It was Luca who had saved her.
Cedric's breathing was ragged, his vision blurred by the sheer weight of his emotions. His fists remained clenched, his knuckles white as the storm inside him roared louder, demanding to be heard.
Was everything he had done useless?
Had all the years by her side meant nothing?
He took a step forward, his voice shaking, not just with anger, but with something raw and deeply wounded.
"I was there, Elara."
His words were low, but they carried an undeniable weight, a tremor that ran deeper than fury.
"I was there when you had nothing," he continued, his jaw clenching so tightly it ached. "When you weren't Elara Valoria, heir to the Dukedom of Valoria. When you weren't Mage Elara, the one they whisper about now."
His hands trembled at his sides, his nails digging into his palms.
"I was there when you were just Elara—the banished heiress, the girl who had no title, no power, no one."
His breath was uneven, his emotions unraveling in ways he hadn't allowed them to before.
"I was there when you didn't know how to sew, how to take a job, when you barely knew how to survive outside of that damned noble estate." His voice cracked, but he didn't stop. "When people looked at you and saw an opportunity to take advantage of a lost, broken girl—I was the one who stood in front of you."
The room felt suffocating.
"I was the one who kept you safe when men approached you with disgusting intentions." His teeth ground together at the memory, at the nights he had spent keeping watch, making sure no one dared lay a hand on her. "I was the one who took on every damn job I could find—no matter how humiliating, no matter how low—just so we could eat, so you didn't have to starve."
His breath hitched, but he forced himself to look her in the eyes, his gaze burning.
"And now, now, after all of that—after everything—you're telling me that a man you met a week ago is the one who matters?"
The words felt like acid in his throat, but he didn't hold them back.
"That he—what? Changes everything?" His voice rose, his frustration spilling over in waves. "That because he pulled you back once, that somehow means more than the years I spent pulling you back every single time?"
The weight of it all crashed into him, and for a moment, Cedric almost felt like he couldn't breathe.
He had bled for her. He had suffered for her.
He had been there when she was nothing—when she had no strength, no pride, no name to call her own.
And now, she was looking past him.
For Luca.
That realization—more than anything else—sent a violent ache through his chest, deeper than any wound he had taken before.
His hands clenched so tightly he thought they might break.
"Cedr-"
Just as Elara parted her lips to respond, a voice—soft and soothing, like a lullaby—cut through the tension like a blade.
"My, my… youngsters these days…"