"Has there been any word on Belvedere's whereabouts?"
Alaric's words hung unanswered at the table as everyone shifted uncomfortably in their seats.
At the head of the large banquet, even the patriarch himself grew uneasy at the mention of the man who had been driven to madness.
While the public wasn't aware of the details regarding the event, the eleven remaining families had been briefed by William Twynam on the incident.
Lord Elias Belvedere had come into contact with a mysterious substance while performing a routine investigation on the Oceanic Edge between the Sea of Wishes and the Abyss.
No records were ever reported of what he exactly witnessed; however, Cauron Thorn's analysis left the suspected cause to Divine Interference.
It was unique to the gods and the Sea Kings, making them fundamentally different from regular humans and allowing them to surpass their limits.
The rogue Sea King's body had been overloaded with such a substance, forcing his mind into a space far beyond that of reality.
Rumors of his appearance around the world after his escape had sprouted up occasionally, but by the time a Marshal could arrive, he was already gone.
These events, coupled with the near-total destruction of their neighboring family, the Brevmore, caused the environment at the table to become tense.
"Alaric… Let us not discuss these topics at the table…"
Griselda's voice whispered the words into her husband-to-be's ears, causing him to flinch, obviously displeased by her closeness.
Raphael, who watched from a distance, suppressed his urge to laugh, realizing that not even his brother liked the hideously deformed woman.
To his right, his mother shifted uncomfortably, bringing her white handkerchief to her mouth, and coughed gently.
Her complexion was unusually pale; however, as nobody else mentioned it, he didn't inquire either.
The patriarch briefly glanced around before opening his mouth, addressing the entire table.
"Alaric and I have many things we must discuss. Leave us at once."
His voice was firm and commanding, causing Griselda to jump up immediately, hobbling to the doorway faster than a startled deer.
Raphael's mother gently pushed herself away from the table, tapping her younger son on the shoulder and ushering him to the exit.
Both his brother and father scoffed at the sign of affection, yet the golden-eyed woman didn't look back once as they walked.
Only one sentence could be heard echoing from the chamber as the doors began to close, a phrase that would forever be implanted into the young boy's brain.
"Perhaps we should've sold Maria to the merchants so he wouldn't have turned out this way."
It was his father's voice, one that was filled with malice and contempt.
His mother flinched slightly upon hearing the words; however, as she gripped Raphael's hand tighter, she continued forward, more determined than ever to complete her mission.
…
Two weeks passed in a flash, bringing the winter to its final stages as February rolled by, melting the freshly fallen snow as it touched the ground.
Ever since the banquet, Raphael had not seen any members of the main family anywhere within the mansion.
There were no slaves, no maids, no chefs, and most importantly, no other members of his bloodline.
It was only him and his mother once again, allowing him to breathe a sigh of relief as he walked towards her room with a smile.
He hummed softly as he carried a painting down the corridor, careful not to smudge the still-dying ink.
He imagined his mother's smile that would brighten the room when she saw it, and the way she would gasp, pretending to be surprised even though she knew it was coming.
The scent of her flowery perfume still lingered faintly through the halls, making the mansion, for once, feel like home.
Hff—thud!
A loud noise echoed from within her room, followed by a pained moan which startled Raphael, who had stopped just outside the door.
Fear instantly shot through his body as he dropped the painting he had made, rushing forward and turning the handle.
His mother's chamber was a wreck, blood and hair coated the floor, while blankets were strewn out in every direction.
There wasn't any sign of an intruder, causing the boy to worry about other possibilities; however, the sight of his mother collapsed on the floor froze him in place, tightening the knot of dread in his chest.
For a moment, he thought she was asleep; however, the color of her lips suggested otherwise.
B-B-Breathing?
The boy's heart rate spiked as his entire world crashed down, only allowing an incoherent noise to burst out of his throat.
His knees buckled in on themselves with the cold touch of the marble flooring, sending a chill through his palms.
He let out a scream louder than anything he had ever mustered, one that was filled with such rage that even the servants tending to the fields trembled in fear as they heard it.
Maids swarmed the room faster than he could react, only to be followed by the healer shortly after, who carried his unresponsive mother away.
M-Mommy…
Raphael's face was as pale as snow with tears welling in his youthful eyes as he faced another crossroads that would change his life forever.
There was nothing he could do as the pitter-patter of rain rasped along the windows of the medical office.
He waited for hours, wishing for a miracle upon the heavens above, for it to all be a nightmare, one that he would wake up from in the arms of his mother.
As time drew on, his eyes grew heavy, forcing him into a light slumber where he was constantly roused by visions of the past.
Memories of their strolls along the sandy beaches flashed through his mind, the wind blowing their matching silver hair around like cloth.
Her smile illuminated the darkness that shrouded his life, shunned by the people who should've been the closest to him.
For one happy, fleeting moment, a warm feeling overtook him, reminding him of the life he once lived with her.
Then, in an instant, the horrifying sight of her white-hair matted with blood and rotted nailbeds that looked like death appeared before him, shocking him awake.
His heartbeat was erratic, sweat coursing down his face, drenching his shirt as he stared off into the night.
He listened to the sound of the rain as it whispered against the windows, a rhythm too steady for the chaos inside his heart.
Sometimes a maid came by to try and bring him to bed, while at other times he watched the coming and going of various healers proficient in magic and other medical professionals.
They didn't speak to Raphael directly; however, their grim faces sank the boy's hopes into the void.
Finally, close to one thirty in the morning, seven hours after finding his mother collapsed, the doctors spoke to the white-haired boy.
"You're mother has a terminal disease. Based on our estimates, we can guess she only has around three weeks left to live. The patriarch and the heir have opted not to prolong her life past this date. I'm sorry."
The gray-haired man looked down at the noble boy who stared at his boots, the faint scuffs near the toes, the trail of mud from outside.
The world had shrunk to the boy, only allowing him to see the bleakness in every second of life.
Furrowing his brow, he felt cold tears fall down the crevices of his cheeks, landing gently onto his plain white shirt.
The painting he had worked for days to make, a portrait of him alongside his mother, crushed beneath his tight grip.
Without her, he would have nothing, and a man with nothing is far more dangerous than one with a burden to protect.
Rage beyond anything he had ever felt before coursed through his veins as he imagined his father and brother reciting that line to themselves in their capital mansions.
Grinding his teeth together with such strength that bits of bone and blood fell from his lips, the boy looked up to the worried doctor, who backed up nervously.
Opening his mouth to speak, Raphael's eyes darkened, something inside him changing as he asked the question.
"Is my mother awake?"
There was a pause before the man hurriedly nodded, pointing towards the door from which he had come.
Without hesitation, Raphael walked forward, slamming his shoulder into the elderly man, nearly knocking him to the floor.
The man didn't react to the boy's provocation, only tipping his head towards the floor, not wishing to meet the young noble's face.
Raphael himself ever-so-gently stepped into the hospital chamber, hearing heavy machinery before even seeing his own mother.
Rounding a corner sharply, he was met with a scene that made his breath hitch at the very sight that unfolded before him.
The once-strong woman who always stood by his side lay frail and weakened in a bed hooked up to magical receptors that pumped her core with mana.
Her beautiful features were merely a ghost of what they had been as she looked up at the boy with lifeless gold eyes.
She cracked a small smile, tears welling in her eyes as she opened her arms like she had done time and time before.
And just like he had when he was a toddler, he ran to the embrace, feeling only bone around his mother's thin waist.
She was truly dying, and there would be no changing that without the intervention of a god.
"Raph…"
There was a pause as she coughed up blood, thick clumps that stuck to the white cloth she held in front of her mouth.
"Y-You should go…"
Sadness gripped every word she spoke as the sound of mechanical heartbeats coursed through the room.
Raphael pursed his lips, ready to speak before being hushed by his mother once again.
"I need you to abandon this place, Raph… Once I'm buried and gone…"
Another fit of coughing interrupted her speech; however, without missing a beat, she continued onward.
"You must survive my son… Live a long life…"
Her breathing became erratic as she forced out more words, clearly pushing herself to her limits.
"Go far away… Find friends… Make a family… and…"
Her voice cracked.
"Change this world for the better—"
The last word barely escaped her lips as the machine's shrill tone drowned her out, informing the doctors outside of the emergency.
Three healers rushed in, shoving the white-haired boy out of the room as they urgently tended to the sick woman who was on death's doorstep.
To Raphael, her words meant everything.
He had sworn that from the day he felt her trembling body next to his as the very continent shook, that he would follow his mother to the end.
But now, as she lay crippled and dying in a hospital bed, all he could do was watch and wait.
It crushed him deep inside, sending his mind spiraling into an undefinable chaos that would cement his personality, defining his future self.
And so, as he sat alone, he stared at the hazy reflection in the window glass, showing him his own face, yet also the face of the one who had taken everything from him.
Beyond the glass, the rain had stopped, but the world itself hadn't changed.
Somewhere in the darkest pits of night, her voice still whispered through his mind, the last request of the dying woman who had raised him.
After this night, Raphael von Steinfeste did not cry again.