"Not real?" he murmured, his voice barely audible. "It was real to , Aryl. Every touch, every mont."
He stepped back, arms falling weakly to his sides.
But before Aryl could respond, Shayla’s voice rang out—sharp and commanding.
"What is happening here?" she asked, stepping toward them.
Her brown hair flowed over her shoulders, and her eyes narrowed, taking in the scene—Vigg’s trembling hands, Aryl pinned against the wall—sothing was clearly off.
Both Aryl and Vigg startled, flinching in place as they turned toward her in panic.
"Mother," Aryl said softly.
She took a deep breath and stepped away from the wall, smoothing her gown awkwardly. She looked at Vigg, then back to Shayla.
"Vigg here seems..."
She couldn’t finish her sentence, the words freezing in her throat.
Shayla’s brows furrowed, her gaze sharpening as she stepped closer. "What...?" she asked, her tone firm but laced with a mother’s concern, her eyes flicking between her children.
Turning to Vigg, her hand reached out for his arms but paused just before the contact.
"Dear, what happened? What is your sister talking about?"
Vigg’s chest rose and fell rapidly. He t his mother’s gaze, a swirl of emotion twisting across his face.
"Mother," he said, his voice breaking slightly as he stepped back from Aryl. "Was everything a joke to you as well?"
The question hung heavy. His voice was strained, his eyes pleading for sothing—truth, maybe.
Shayla tilted her head, a faint smile curving her lips. She was his mother, after all, and the weight of their shared history lingered in her mind.
"No, Vigg," she said, laying a hand gently on his arm. "We are very serious. You are very much part of our family, of our legacy and rituals."
Her gaze locked with his—steady, unflinching.
Aryl’s breath hitched, her eyes darting between Shayla and Vigg.
"Mother," she said, her voice low and uneasy, "he... he wants to belong to him. Only him."
Shayla’s smile faded for a brief mont as her gaze shifted between her two children. The silence lingered. Aryl stood stiff while Vigg flinched as if bracing for punishnt—like a boy expecting to be scolded. But then, to his confusion, Shayla’s expression changed.
A laugh escaped her lips.
"What’s the problem here, Aryl?" She said calmly, her voice smooth but with an edge of sothing deeper. "He’s your brother, and you are his sister. In other words," she paused, letting the weight of her words settle between them, "you are his, and he is yours."
Aryl froze. Her breath caught mid-exhale. Her fingers curled at her sides, tension locking her in place. She wasn’t sure whether to accept or respond.
Vigg, however, stared at their mother, stunned. He blinked once, slowly, as if checking if he heard her right. Then, gradually, a smile crept onto his face.
Just as Aryl opened her mouth to respond, Shayla stepped closer and gently placed a hand on her shoulder. She t Aryl’s eyes and gave a subtle nod, silently asking her to hold her words.
Then, without looking at Vigg, she spoke.
"Vigg, go now. It’s already night. Tomorrow is important for all of us. We can’t afford distractions. Rest well."
Vigg hesitated for a heartbeat, then gave a slow bow. His grin stretched wider, and he looked both proud and oddly satisfied.
Without another word, he turned and walked away, leaving Shayla and Aryl alone.
Shayla sighed gently and let her hand slip from Aryl’s shoulder.
"Aryl," she whispered, her tone softer now, almost tired, "everything we do... everything that’s happening... it’s all been decided long ago. By your father."
Aryl turned to her, confused and wary.
"Vigg," Shayla continued, brushing a strand of hair behind Aryl’s ear, "he’s just a boy caught in the middle of it. He doesn’t understand the full weight of his words or the aning behind his feelings. Not yet."
She let the words settle.
"Don’t hold it against him. And don’t take it all so seriously—not right now. This path, strange as it may seem, is not his to shape alone."
Shayla smiled again—slightly, distantly.
"There’s a reason for everything," she said, almost to herself. "And when the ti cos, you’ll understand."
***
The night had already deepened, and with it the streets outside grew silent under the moonlit sky. Julian, after bidding farewell to Alina, made his way to the hotel he had booked earlier.
It was simple yet spacious and comfortable enough for him to not draw too much attention. As he entered his room, he took one last glance out the window at the sleeping town before slipping into the warm bed and letting sleep take him.
Just like that, the morning arrived sooner than expected. The first light of dawn crept through the curtains, casting a faint golden glow across the room. Julian stirred awake in his room, groaning lazily on the bed. He sat up and rubbed his eyes before rising from the bed.
There was no ti to waste.
He moved to the washbasin, splashing cold water over his face to shake off the last remnants of sleep. A short ti later, he stood tall before the mirror, dressing in his formal attire—the sa one he had worn the day he left Ares.
Eliz and the others had finally arrived in the capital, and it was ti for Julian to reunite with them.
Without wasting a mont, he teleported and reappeared in a secluded forest close to the main path leading to the Marquis of Ravenswood.
Ahead, the road was lined with carriages—three to five in total—each grand and powerful, pulled by powerful horses covered in golden armor.
The crest of the Easvil house was carved on each carriage door, gleaming proudly in the early sunlight. The banners fluttered slightly in the breeze, catching the attention of nearby onlookers.
An army of soldiers in polished armor stood around the caravan, positioned in disciplined formation. So held spears, and others rode on horseback, carefully scanning the surroundings.
Their capes also had a symbol of the Easvil family etched onto them. It was an impressive sight.
Julian stood silently for a mont, observing them. His presence, though hidden behind the trees, was already drawing glances from so of the knights.
User Comments
0 comments from readers