The night was calm.The wheels of the carriage turned steadily, a low rhythm in the hush of the road.Moonlight filtered through the trees like pale silk, brushing across faces, across thoughts.
Froy had stopped crying.Not because the pain was gone.But because it was no longer needed.
Now, he simply sat.Quiet.Staring out the small window, face drawn with a practiced sadness.
Amie noticed.
She scooted closer, her hand resting lightly on his shoulder.He didn't flinch.He just watched the trees go by.
"Hey..." she said softly."It's okay now, you know? You're not alone."
Her voice was steady.Kind.The kind that came from someone who'd seen people break—and didn't want to see it again.
Emily leaned over too, brushing Froy's hair gently with her fingers."You've been through something terrible," she whispered."But you're safe now. Really."
Froy didn't speak.But his eyes shimmered. Not with power.But something thinner. Softer.
Amie smiled again, hesitant but hopeful.
"We came from another continent, you know?""We left everything behind. War. Debt. People who didn't care if we lived or died."
She hugged her knees to her chest, looking up.
"We're going to start over in Zolon. My dad wants to open a tavern—he says he's always been better with a skillet than a sword."She laughed softly. "He used to be a knight. Like, a real one. He retired so he could be with us more. Said he's tired of taking lives."
Froy turned slightly. Just enough to show he was listening.
Amie's voice dropped a little.
"So… if you don't have anyone left. If you want…"She reached out and gently touched his hand.
"…you could be my little brother."
There it was.No tricks. No bargains.Just an offer.
"Mom and Dad would want that too. I'm sure of it."
Froy looked down at her fingers.Then at Emily, who was smiling, warm and tired and open.Then back at the night beyond the window.
He didn't answer.Not yet.
But something inside him shifted.Not broken. Not healed.
Just… moved.
Froy's voice came out small.So quiet, it barely touched the air.
"…Really? I can?"
Amie didn't answer with words.She just smiled.And wrapped her arms around him.
A full embrace.Warm. Steady. Unquestioning.
"You're my little brother now," she whispered into his ear."That's all there is to it."
Froy froze at first.Then, slowly, almost hesitantly, he let himself lean into it.
Emily joined them a moment later, her arms circling them both, the gentle weight of a mother's warmth settling over the two children like a soft blanket.
Owen glanced back from the driver's seat.He saw the three of them—his wife, his daughter, and the boy who might now be his son.A faint smile touched his lips.Then he turned his gaze forward again, reins steady in his hands.
The road was dark.But steady.
Ahead, somewhere just past the hills and woods and flickering shadows, was Zolon.A city of glass and stone. Of trade and ambition. Of secrets.
A new life waited there.
For all of them.
And for Froy…It would be the first time he had a place in anything called a "family."
Even if he didn't quite understand what that meant yet.
Not fully.
But maybe soon.
They had traveled for many kilometers since leaving Branlow.The road stretched far, winding through forests and hills, moonlight painting silver trails across the land.
Branlow had been a rural city—quiet, isolated.And Zolon, the capital of Solmira, still lay countless weeks ahead.It would be months before they arrived.And until then…They would be together.
Tonight, the carriage rocked gently beneath a star-washed sky.Amie had fallen asleep, her head resting in her mother's lap.Emily stroked her daughter's hair slowly, rhythmically.
Beside them, Froy blinked sleepily.
He didn't say a word.But when he swayed, Emily opened one arm without hesitation.He leaned into it.And she held him.As if he had always been hers.
It wasn't uncomfortable.Not cold.Not confusing.
Just quiet.
Just still.
Froy wasn't broken.He had been born with a flaw—something missing where emotion should have grown.And his family…His mother had died when he was five.His father, his brother, and his sister had been murdered by the Nameless Church.
Sethvyr had orchestrated it all.Every scream. Every flame. Every scar.
To craft the perfect piece.A pawn that could become a king.A boy without fear.Without hesitation.Without mercy.
A vessel shaped for a god.
He was given blessings.He was given power.
But in return…He lost something he could never name.Something no miracle could restore.
If this world had no gods, no demons, no outer faiths...Froy might have just been a strange boy.A little quiet. A little broken.But a warm family could have healed him.
Could have taught him to feel.
But this wasn't that world.
This was The Calamity of Faith.
And in this world, kindness came too late.
...And even angels cried for the wrong reasons.
Froy blinked slowly.His head rested gently against Emily's shoulder.Her breath was steady.Soothing.Real.
His eyes began to close.The weight of sleep crept in, soft and inevitable.
But just before the darkness took him, a thought rose.
"What is this feeling?""It's… refreshing."
"Relaxed.""And most of all... it's... it's... warmth."
A whisper of something he didn't have a word for.Not yet.Not ever.
Then sleep claimed him.
And inside that sleep—Sethvyr waited.
Not as a figure.But as presence.As pressure behind the eyes.As voices whispering through cracks in memory.
Dreams turned lucid.Lucid turned controlled.
Over and over again.
Visions. Orders. Doctrine. Symbols twisting across blood-soaked floors.The same lessons.The same commands.
Again.And again.And again.
It was always like this.
And the poor boy…
could not escape his fate.