Whether he wanted her to succeed or not, Volhcard didn't know. But somewhere deep in his heart—a knot he'd long since forgotten had begun to slowly unravel.
And so it began.
Every single day, Fraye tried everything to make him smile. Jokes, even ones performed by the kingdom's best comedians. Stories from her childhood. Lessons and teachings straight from the Church of the Almighty Glorious Life. Even strange little skits she made up on the spot. Nothing worked.
Not a chuckle. Not a smirk. Not even a flicker of amusement in his eyes.
It was as if Volhcard was a machine built to feel nothing but annoyance and sarcasm, sealed away in a shell of indifference.
As the month neared its end, Fraye began to wonder if he would ever smile again—if he could even remember how.
That afternoon, he stood before the great doors of the church, hands tucked into his robes. Beside him, Fraye lowered her head in a polite bow before pushing one of the doors open and stepping inside.
Volhcard followed in silence, his eyes lazily sweeping across the sanctuary's interior. It had been a while since he'd last stepped through these doors. The smell of incense still lingered faintly, and the soft light from the stained glass washed the pews in color.
A study session was currently underway. Rows of young apprentices sat cross-legged beneath the altar, listening intently to Dareth, who stood at the front, lecturing with calm authority. Neither he nor the students paid much mind to the two late arrivals.
They were used to Volhcard coming and going as he pleased.
And they had come to understand one truth.
He may wear the robes of a priest, but he was still a long way from healing.
Fraye quietly entered one of the pews and knelt to pray, her hands clasped tightly together as she gently closed her eyes.
Volhcard turned his gaze toward Dareth, who stood at the front of the sanctuary, his expression unreadable beneath the faint glow of candlelight. Around them, the other young apprentices had also lowered their heads in prayer—each of them silently offering a wish for the same thing.
For Volhcard to let go of his grief.
"Look at them," Dareth began, his voice calm but laced with weight. "All praying for you to release your anger, your sorrow. To laugh again. To smile. And yet here you are... walking through life like a mindless, stagnant puppet. One who eats, sleeps, and breathes only because his body remembers how."
The words washed over Volhcard like water on stone—without reaction. But for Fraye, still kneeling with eyes shut, they pierced deep. Her chest tightened as the sting of failure spread through her heart.
She had tried everything. And still, she had failed.
"Nothing you say will change my mind, Master..." Volhcard muttered at last. His voice was dull, lifeless—but somewhere in his eyes, barely visible, a tiny glint of light had returned.
The air grew heavier.
The church, once still with reverence, now felt as though it held its breath.
"I raised you after you lost them," Dareth continued, voice low and rising like thunder on the horizon. "I trained you. I taught you. And she—" he gestured to Fraye, "she did everything she could to bring you back from the brink. And yet you continue to wrap yourself in grief like it's a shroud meant to protect you."
Fraye sucked in a shaky breath, her prayer faltering as tears welled up behind her closed eyes.
Just as Volhcard opened his mouth to respond, Dareth vanished in a blink of shadow and reappeared directly in front of him, his presence crashing down like a wave of pressure.
His voice echoed through the marble halls of the church, louder than any sermon.
"Do not hide behind that grief, Volhcard. If you must carry it, then carry it with pride. But do not let it become the thing that changes who you are."
"Now you're speaking about my ignorance? My grief? Just because someone is trying to change me, you think you can speak for them?" Volhcard snapped with a sarcastic chuckle.
He stepped closer to Dareth, his tired eyes staring deep into the hollow sockets of the skeletal mage.
He let out an exasperated sigh, almost trembling with restrained anger. "You really are something, you know that? First, you decide to take me in like some broken tool that needed fixing. Then you drown me in sermons and teachings, always expecting me to show up, to listen, to change. You're the worst kind of person."
He turned, scoffing as he looked at the other apprentices kneeling in the pews. His voice rose in a bitter shout.
"To hell with all of it! Why must I be the one to change just so everyone else can keep going? Why can't this kingdom simply forget me and move on? What am I, a deity?"
The church remained silent, save for the soft rustling of robes and quiet prayers. Fraye trembled where she knelt, her hands shaking as tears formed behind her closed eyes. One by one, they began to fall.
Volhcard turned back to Dareth, who returned the gaze without flinching.
Dareth bowed his head, exhaling gently.
"Volhcard, lower your voice. You are in the House of the Almighty Glorious Life. Everyone here is praying—hoping—you will smile again. And to answer your question..." he paused, his tone solemn, "...we do this not for ourselves, but because we love you. Because we made a vow under the name of our deity. We act out of devotion and necessity—because we want to."
Volhcard bit his lip hard, taking a step back as if struck. He looked ready to bolt from the church, but before he could turn away, Dareth reached out and gently clasped both of his hands.
Kneeling to meet the dwarf at eye level, the skeletal priest pressed his forehead against his.
"Please understand. Everyone here cares for you. Your parents, now resting in the arms of the Almighty Glorious Life, are asking—begging—you to smile, to laugh, and to live once more. All I ask—no, all we ask—is for you to return to the self you buried so long ago."
Volhcard turned his head, frantic, only to see the pleading gazes of his fellow apprentices. Fraye's tear-streaked face stood out among them. Her eyes were red, her expression fragile, yet she kept praying for him.
He turned back to Dareth, who had now bowed his head and whispered a prayer under his breath.
A storm of thoughts surged in Volhcard's mind. He wanted to scream but couldn't. Why are they doing this for me?Why not move on? Train, grow stronger, forget me.Why is Fraye still here… crying for me?
His breathing turned ragged. A single tear trailed down his right cheek. Another down his left.
He gasped as his voice cracked. "Damn it… Damn you all."
Breaking free from Dareth's gentle hold, he collapsed to his knees. Tears poured freely now, falling faster than he could wipe them away. His scream tore through the silence, raw and guttural.
The apprentices didn't flinch. Instead, they smiled faintly, closing their eyes in reverent prayer.
Fraye rushed to his side, kneeling and wrapping her arms around him. She brought his head into her stomach, gently caressing his tangled hair.
The dwarf sobbed uncontrollably, gripping her clothes like a lifeline. On that day, he shed his rage. He released his grief. And the faint light within him bloomed again.
If Dareth still had skin, he would've smiled. Instead, he rose to his feet and looked heavenward.
"Thank you, Almighty Glorious Life," he whispered.
Above them, the stained-glass ceiling shimmered in divine radiance. It depicted the form of the Almighty Glorious Life—an immaculate white eagle, crowned with a glowing halo, and balancing a golden scale between its beak.
However, just as he had accepted letting go of his hatred and regret, another tragedy struck only two months later—one that twisted the wheel of fate into the hands of Aldir.
In the middle of the park, Volhcard was dragged forward by the kingdom's guards. Tears streaked his face, his eyes wide with disbelief. In front of him, Fraye screamed, her right arm outstretched, finger trembling as it pointed directly at him.
Her once-radiant yellow-white dress was now torn and dirt-stained. Bruises marred her cheek, wrists, and neck.
Around her, a crowd had gathered—dwarves, humans, elves, even orcs—all staring with cold suspicion. Fraye's voice cracked as she shouted, claiming she had been assaulted by a dwarf… a fellow believer of the Almighty Glorious Life. None other than Volhcard.
"...Why?" was all he could whisper before chains bound him and a gag silenced his mouth. He was hauled into a carriage like a criminal.
There was no chance to resist. No chance to speak. To defend himself before the King was meaningless, especially when the victim was not only a woman—but a noble.
The verdict was inevitable. Death or life in chains.
"Tsk." The old driver, a dwarf near his eighties, clicked his tongue. "To think you'd betray that young lady's kindness... People like you deserve the worst punishment," he muttered, keeping his eyes fixed on the cobbled road ahead.
Volhcard said nothing. His gaze had gone hollow, the light in them extinguished. Yet within his heart was neither hatred nor grief, but acceptance. Acceptance of a cruel truth—he was cursed to suffer.
Still, one ember remained. He did not wish to die without an answer.
Thirteen days before the accusation.
In one of the many mansions owned by her father, Fraye lay alone in her bedroom. Her emerald eyes lingered on the ceiling, vacant and unblinking, while her mind wandered to the moments she had shared with Volhcard. She smiled faintly, replaying those memories one after another, clutching them as though by doing so she could remain inside them forever.
Here, in the quiet solitude of her room, thoughts of Volhcard eased both her heart and mind. For the past several months she had gladly accompanied him to his classes and sermons, cherishing every moment. Yet deep down, she knew it was all an escape—an escape from something she could not avoid.
The burden of inheritance.
She was her father's only daughter, the next heir to his vast trading empire. The thought filled her with unease. What awaited her was not a future of freedom, but a life shackled to responsibility.
That responsibility lay in the family's monopoly over the highly coveted "Black Stone," a mineral that rivaled even the famed ores of Vornum. Weapons, devices, fortresses—black stone was the core of them all, for from it came the nearly indestructible black steel. To keep the trade alive, her father sent miners and adventurers to the far reaches of the Karchellin Archipelago, where the stones were found buried deep beneath treacherous caverns.
Fraye loathed it. Not the stone itself, but the men her father dealt with—slimy, greedy merchants who saw only coin and power. The thought of one day taking his place made her stomach turn, but she had no choice. It was her duty.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps in the hall. They halted outside her door, followed by three gentle knocks. The latch clicked, and the door creaked open.
"Young Miss, what would you like for lunch?" came a voice both soft and familiar.
Fraye's face brightened with relief. It was a voice she could always trust. The head maid of the mansion, her caretaker since childhood, stood in the doorway. Mme Gretel was a woman in her late sixties, yet age seemed reluctant to touch her—her features still held traces of youthful grace, her skin free of wrinkles. Her silver hair was tied neatly into a bun, her brown eyes warm and kind.
For now, she would not think of black stone, or the empire waiting to fall onto her shoulders. She would not think of slimy merchants or greedy nobles. For now, she would simply enjoy the peace of her home—the distant laughter of the city, the calls of birds outside her window, and the sweet fragrance of flowers drifting in on the breeze.
"The usual." Fraye answered, softly hopping to Gretel as she took the older woman's hand.
The two walked down the long, sunlit hallway, their footsteps echoing softly against the marble floor. Fraye spoke with a light in her eyes, unable to hide the fondness in her voice.
"He's taught me so much, Madam. Like how to read the old scripts of the Almighty Glorious Life… oh, and then he showed me this beautiful cathedral garden once—it was so wonderful…"
Every word that left her lips was about Volhcard—his kindness, his patience, the way his voice softened when he spoke to her. Gretel listened quietly, a gentle smile resting on her face as the girl went on, her laughter filling the corridor like music.
But behind that smile, the old maid's heart sank. She knew Fraye's joy was fleeting, fragile like glass. The two of them could never truly be together—his vows bound him to the Church, and her blood tied her to the fortune and name of a powerful merchant family. To pursue him would be to court scandal, perhaps even ruin.
For a brief moment, Gretel slowed her pace, lost in thought. She pitied the girl—born into luxury, yet never free to choose her own path.
"Madam? Are you all right?" Fraye asked softly, tilting her head, her tone filled with concern.
Gretel blinked, her reverie broken. She chuckled under her breath, brushing it aside with a warm smile. "I'm quite all right, my dear. Come along."
Taking Fraye's hand, she led her toward the kitchen. The air there was thick with the aroma of bread and spices, sunlight spilling through the windows like honey. Gretel reached for a few vegetables from the counter, her tone turning playful.
"Why don't we prepare something for your dear priest as well? I'm sure he'd be delighted."
Fraye blinked in surprise, then smiled, her cheeks faintly flushed. "You really think so?"
"Of course," Gretel said, humming softly as she began slicing. "A good meal speaks louder than any letter."
Fraye joined in without hesitation, brushing her hair behind her ear as she began washing the vegetables. Whatever doubts or confusion she had, she set them aside, focusing only on the thought of making something special—something she could give to Volhcard with her own hands.