Standing beside John, Bertha gazed at him with eyes filled with sorrow and tenderness.
She had learned everything from their teacher and rushed to Houston as soon as she could.
Now, seeing the look on John's face, her heart clenched.
John had always been a ray of light—cheeky, mischievous, even a little outrageous—but never in a way that was annoying. In fact, it was that very energy that made him so charming.
He was never the type to dwell in despair.
Always flashing that roguish grin to his sisters, always ready to tease and flirt, he lit up every room he walked into.
But today, that light was gone.
Silent, unmoving, John seemed like a completely different person.
Bertha could feel his grief like a storm crashing through her chest.
Yet she said nothing.
Instead of trying to comfort him with empty words, she simply stayed.
If he didn't stand, she wouldn't stand. If he didn't eat, neither would she.
She would endure everything alongside him.
The rain fell harder, turning into a torrential downpour.
The wind howled as if mourning with them, twisting trees and tearing through the air. The umbrella she held could no longer withstand the storm—it slipped from her fingers, swept away by the fury of the wind.
But Bertha didn't care.
She didn't summon a force field to shield herself, nor did she retreat.
She let the icy rain lash her skin, soak her clothes, drench her hair. Her dress clung tightly to her body, revealing her flawless silhouette, but modesty was the last thing on her mind.
Squatting beside John, she hugged her knees, resting her head against his unmoving arm.
Raindrops hit her delicate face and streamed down, mingling with the quiet tears she didn't realize she had shed.
She didn't know how much time had passed.
Eventually, the chill that had seeped into her bones was driven away by sudden warmth.
Opening her eyes, she realized the rain had stopped.
Sunlight pierced the gray clouds, casting golden light across the soaked earth.
And in front of her…
Was John's smile.
"Bertha, thank you," he whispered.
Bertha's lips quivered. Her puffed cheeks betrayed both anger and relief. "You little bastard! If you ever make me worry like that again, I swear I'll bite you!"
Her two dainty canine teeth glistened in the light, giving her the appearance of a petulant kitten.
John chuckled and scooped her into his arms, giving her a gentle pat on the bottom. "Silly girl. I'm fine. I just wanted to spend a little more time with my mother."
He looked up at the bright sky.
As the King of Horizon, he thought, how could I be broken so easily?
Bertha pinched his waist and scolded him with a huff, "You insufferable brat!"
Still smiling, John turned toward his mother's tombstone.
"Mom," he said softly, "look—your future daughter-in-law is a little unruly. But I know you'd love her."
Usually, Bertha would have retorted with something like, "Who's your future wife? Don't flatter yourself!"
But not this time.
Her cheeks flushed scarlet, and instead of speaking, she buried her face in his chest.
Shyness suited her, giving her a whole new kind of charm.
As they made their way to the cemetery gate, they ran into Alexandra, who had just arrived with a hot meal in hand. When she saw John standing tall again, her eyes welled up with relief.
Then her gaze shifted to Bertha nestled in his arms, and she smiled knowingly.
John approached her and said sincerely, "Auntie, I'm sorry for making you worry."
"It's fine," she sighed, rolling her eyes. "But you're far too stubborn for your own good."
After a pause, John asked, "Auntie, can you tell me his name?"
Alexandra stiffened.
She knew exactly who he meant.
Her heart wavered.
What good would it do to tell him? Even if she gave him the name, who's to say it was the man's real one? The family had spent years searching for him, all in vain.
Even if John managed to find him… then what?
Would they hurt each other? Would more blood be shed?
She didn't want John dragged into that darkness. It was a burden borne by the previous generation.
Seeing her hesitance, John offered a calm smile.
"Don't worry. I'm not as impulsive as you think. Just give me his name."
Alexandra stared deeply into his eyes, then finally let out a long, defeated sigh.
"His name is… Americo Kurds."
Americo Kurds.
John burned the name into his heart.
One day, if fate allowed, he would look Americo in the eye and ask him why.
Why do something so cruel?
And if he truly wanted to erase all evidence… then why leave John alive?
Turning back to Alexandra, he said solemnly, "Tell Grandpa… I'm not like that man. And when I find the truth, I'll give him the explanation he deserves. Please, look after him."
With Bertha in his arms, John walked away, the early sunlight lighting his path.
Alexandra watched him disappear down the road, stunned.
Then, as if remembering something, she turned toward the forest nearby and said, "Dad… did you hear that? He said he's not like that man."
A soft sigh drifted from the trees.
An old figure emerged—Warren.
"I'm going to see your sister," he murmured, his tone thick with emotion.
His steps were slow. Heavy.
Alexandra followed him silently.
When they arrived at the tomb, neither of them spoke for a while.
Then something glimmered near the headstone.
Warren walked forward and picked up the object. His eyes widened as if struck by lightning.
It was a token.
A black and gold insignia carved with ancient symbols—bold and unmistakable.
The Oracle Token.
The emblem of the supreme ruler of the United States.
Alexandra gasped. "He left this here? He's the King of Horizon?"
Warren's body trembled slightly.
He clutched the token to his chest, tears sliding silently down his weathered face.
"Have I really been wrong… all these years?" he asked softly, kneeling before the grave.
One man had brought ruin.
The other had protected an entire nation.
They were nothing alike.
If she were still alive… she would be so proud of her son.
Warren wept.
Eventually, he rose and returned home. From a drawer, he pulled out a wooden box and gently placed the token inside.
Then, with reverence, he returned to the cemetery and laid the box beside his daughter's tomb.
The token would no longer serve Warren.
Its place was here.
Beside the daughter he had wronged, as a final gift—
—and the only comfort he could offer her now.