"Begin packing your things," said Maria, her voice carrying a joy that had not been heard in months.
After so long away from home, at last the day of their return had arrived.
The months Maria and her children had spent in Elise's house could not—should not—be remembered as a misfortune. Of course, the tragedy that had driven them there could never be erased. Yet, as the days passed, Maria grew accustomed to Elise's presence—or better said, Elise grew accustomed to sharing her home with that grieving family.
Seated at the edge of the living room, Elise watched the children gather the few belongings they had. Nearly ten months under the same roof, and in every glance of the children lingered traces of that shared time. She looked at them with a bittersweet gaze, as if already anticipating the absence that would soon weigh upon the house. Her face, lined with age and years of burden, carried a faint sheen of melancholy.
"Tomorrow you return home, don't you?" Elise said softly, breaking the silence.
"Yes," Maria replied, her tone trembling with fragile hope. "It will be hard without Arthur…" Her voice faltered, threatening to collapse, but she steadied herself: "Still, we must move forward. We cannot continue to occupy your space, Elise."
"You were never a burden, Maria," Elise answered sincerely, her eyes revealing something rare in her—genuine affection. "To tell the truth, I'll miss having this house so full."
"I owe you much," Maria said, bowing deeply, her reverence filled with emotion.
As they spoke, firm footsteps echoed through the hall. Iolanda entered, her expression graver than usual.
"Maria," she said, pausing before continuing, "there is someone who wishes to meet you."
"Meet me?" Maria repeated, lifting her gaze toward the figure who followed.
The man seemed carved from shadow itself. He wore a black suit of impeccable cut, fitted as though tailored by mortal hands but finished by invisible enchantments. Its carmine lining gleamed like blood in the candlelight. His waistcoat, also black, was fastened with runic buttons that pulsed faintly. A crimson tie at his white collar rose like a silent banner, a symbol of command and power.
His trousers, dark as midnight, were streaked with crimson lines like searing scars. A brutal scar crossed his left eye, giving his severe face an almost tyrannical authority. In his left ear glinted an inverted-cross earring—another symbol, another weight.
Maria's first thought was that he must be a high noble. But that impression shattered the moment her eyes fell upon the insignia embroidered in his attire: the emblem of the Dark Throne.
He stopped before them, his presence filling the room, drawing breath from the air itself.
"Iolanda…" his voice was deep, serene, but with a weight that demanded respect. "Even if we are not within the branch, nor in the presence of others, you should not forget the deference owed to me."
Then his eyes fell upon Maria.
"My name is Marduk," he said, each word carved in stone. "Perhaps you know me better as… Elder Marduk."
Maria swallowed hard. The very air seemed heavier.
He turned next to Elise.
"A pleasure to see you again, Mage Elise."
"The honor is mine, Elder Marduk," she replied solemnly, bowing deeply—not only in respect, but in acknowledgment of old hierarchies that never truly died.
Only then did Maria fully understand. She stood in the presence of one of the most powerful men in the kingdom—the future mentor of her son, a name that weighed like iron in the corridors of power. Reverence and gratitude warred within her against repulsion and bitterness.
He had accepted Elian as his disciple, offered protection to her family, financed the building of their new home. All undeniable benefactions. Yet none of it erased the truth: this same man had also decreed the separation from her youngest son.
Maria was human—achingly human. And it was this humanity that consumed her.
Elder Marduk noticed. His eyes—cold as blades, sharp as a hidden judge—caught every flicker of her turmoil.
"There is no need for such reverence, Mage Elise," he said, his grave voice ringing like a bell. "You are not of my order. A simple bow suffices."
Maria blinked, only now realizing her own breach. She had not shown even the smallest gesture of respect. Her lips parted, ready to apologize, to bow at last before the weight of his authority.
But Marduk lifted a hand, cutting her off.
"There is no need, Lady Maria," he said. His voice carried no arrogance, only a strange calm. "I wished only to meet Elian's mother… to understand how he became such a prodigy."
Maria steadied her breath, her heart hammering.
"It is an honor to meet you, Elder Marduk," she said, finally bowing with due reverence. Her voice was firm, but emotion brimmed beneath it. "I am deeply grateful that you accepted my son as your disciple, and for all you have done for us."
And she was sincere. Gratitude flooded her—he had given them safety, a home, a promise of future. Yet beneath it all lingered the bitter taste of separation.
She had gained security but lost her husband. Gained a new house, but at the cost of distance from her son. Even if she could see him every six months, it was too long. Far too long. Each farewell would feel like dying a little. To love so deeply was to suffer equally. And suffering for a child is a wound no gift, no power, no promise can soothe.
"Your words please me, Lady Maria," said Marduk, every syllable heavy with solemnity. "Yet I cannot believe you had no part in your son's talent." His eyes gleamed, unrelenting. "And as for your daughter—she is to join the Tower of Wisdom, is she not, Mage Elise?"
He turned his gaze upon Elise, red eyes sharp, seeking not only an answer but a measure of her very character.
Elise straightened, posture rigid. He was not her Elder, but his presence pressed like a mountain. He bore the power to decide life or death—it was implicit in every breath of air around him.
If he knows Emanuelle will join the Tower, then he already knows I have returned… she thought, silently.
"You are correct, Elder Marduk," she replied firmly. "I was given full authority by Elder Azemir to serve as her mentor."
"A pity," Marduk rumbled, his voice echoing. "Perhaps I should have taken her as my disciple as well."
Maria's heart lurched. She wanted to cry out, to say she could not bear to lose another child. But she swallowed her anguish like venom, biting back every word.
Marduk continued, voice iron-clad:
"I expect you will make no game of pitting siblings against one another."
"As I assured Maria," Elise answered firmly, "I swear Emanuelle will never be used in such a way. That is why I was granted full authority over her training."
Marduk's eyes narrowed, scrutinizing her as one inspects a rare gem for flaws. At length, he nodded.
"It pleases me to hear it, Mage Elise. I do not wish to see siblings divided by the petty rivalries of men too old to accept difference."
Maria listened, her heart torn. Though her grief for Elian's looming departure still burned, she began to feel a reluctant respect for Marduk. One of her greatest fears—that Emanuelle might be turned against her brother—was now countered by his very assurance.
Marduk rose, his presence swelling until it seemed too vast for the room.
"Well then. I came only to meet you, Lady Maria." His eyes fixed on her. "But before I leave, I would ask you something."
"What is it?" she asked, lifting her gaze.
"Will you accompany your son tomorrow, at the founding of the branch?"
Maria hesitated.
"Yes, Elder Marduk… but why do you ask?"
"Because Baron Hoffmann will also be present."
At that name, Maria's world seemed to collapse. Blood drained from her face, her hands shook. To see again the man who had shattered her life, stolen her family, destroyed her happiness—was the last thing she desired. She knew, deep down, it was inevitable. But hearing it confirmed was like a dagger driven into her chest.
Marduk saw. He knew the weight that name carried for her. Yet he could not prevent the Baron's attendance—the lands were under Hoffmann's dominion, and the branch's founding demanded his presence.
"Do not fear him," Marduk said, his voice resonant as a vow. "Tomorrow I will present your son as my disciple before all. I will declare protection over your family—and that extends to your daughter as well, even within the Tower of Wisdom."
"Thank you, Elder," Maria answered, her voice trembling with gratitude and dread alike.
"Until tomorrow," he said, turning away.
Iolanda, silent until now, gave Maria only a brief bow before following her father out.
The room sank into silence. Maria stood motionless, watching the Elder's shadow recede. At last she collapsed onto the sofa, her body taut, her mind a storm. She knew the true battle would not be against monsters or mages, but against her own ghosts.
And the next day, those ghosts would wear the face of Baron Hoffmann.