Chapter 3: The Echoes of Ash and Blood
The halls of the Draeven stronghold were colder than Rigorus remembered. Not in temperature—but in presence, in spirit. Yet, nothing chilled him more than the moment he stepped into the private quarters of his mother, Celestia Draeven.
The scent of herbs and bitter root teas filled the dim room, mingling with the faint sweetness of dried flowers. She lay on her bed—thinner, older, but still regal. Her hair, once a crown of gold and black, now streaked with silver. Her eyes trembled the moment they met his.
"Rigorus…" she whispered, voice breaking like ancient glass. She tried to rise, but the weight of her own sorrow kept her chained to the mattress.
He approached silently, dropping to his knees beside her. She raised a frail hand, tracing the scars across his cheek, and then pulled him into her arms. Her body shook as if years of suppressed guilt found their escape.
"I should've protected you," she cried. "I should have defied him… your father… I was a coward."
Rigorus held her tightly. "Mother… I don't hate you. I never did. I don't even blame you. You were trapped… just like I was."
She pulled away slightly, searching his eyes. "You… forgive me?"
"There's nothing to forgive," he said. "You're the only one who ever looked at me with love, even when you were too afraid to show it. Be at peace now. You don't have to carry that weight."
Tears rolled down her hollow cheeks as she exhaled sharply. "You have no idea how long I've waited to hear that."
Then, her expression darkened, as though a storm hovered behind her pupils. "Seven years after they cast you out, I couldn't bear it anymore. Your father—Gavric—he had to pay. I poisoned his tea. Not to kill, but to weaken. And that night, I went to him in the castle… and I finished it myself."
Rigorus's eyes widened.
"I told the clan he was assassinated in his sleep. Even Kairos and Liora don't know the truth. They believed it. They had to. But I couldn't stay with the man who banished my youngest child like a disease."
She leaned back onto her pillow, exhausted by the confession. "My soul has been screaming for seven years. But tonight… it's finally quiet."
Rigorus stayed by her side, holding her hand until sleep took her. Then, as the room dimmed and silence fell, a soft knock came at the door.
It was Liora.
"Come with me," she said gently. "Let's walk."
Beneath the pale moonlight, Rigorus and Liora strolled through the orchard trail. The air was cool, and the night calm.
"I was there that day," Liora whispered. "When he banished you. I stood in the shadows… paralyzed. I wanted to scream, to stop him, but I… I couldn't."
Rigorus glanced at her. "You were just a child too."
"But I was older. Stronger. I should have done something." Her voice cracked as tears welled in her eyes. "I thought about you every day. I trained harder, became the strongest, hoping that one day I could make it right."
Rigorus stopped. "You don't need to make it right, Liora. You just need to be here now."
She buried her face into his chest, sobbing softly. "I'm sorry, little brother."
The next morning, Rigorus wandered the clan's lower village, where the scent of ripe mangoes and medicinal herbs danced through the air.
That's when he saw her.
She stood behind a market stall, arranging fruit and dried herbs with care and grace. Her skin was soft bronze, kissed by the sun, and her long dark hair flowed like a river of silk. But it was her eyes that arrested him—emerald green, with flecks of gold, glowing like gems in morning light. Eyes that seemed to see him in a way no one had.
"Need anything, traveler?" she asked with a playful smile.
"I'm not a traveler," he said.
"No? You don't look like one of us."
"I don't know what I am," he admitted. "But your stall smells like peace."
She chuckled, handing him a fruit. "Then take some. Peace is free around here… for now."
Her name was Naelira—a healer, apothecary, and caretaker of her grandmother's stall. Their conversation flowed like old rivers rediscovered. Something subtle and warm stirred between them, like embers beneath ash.
But peace never lasted long in the Draeven clan.
Later that day, during a formal clan gathering, murmurs erupted.
"He's not even real Draeven blood," whispered one elder. "His aura is too wild. Unrefined."
"He's a blemish on our legacy," another said.
Liora slammed her fist on the table. "He's my brother. You will not dishonor him in my presence."
Before more words could be exchanged, a cold laugh echoed through the hall.
It was Kairos.
"Let him prove himself, then," he said, stepping forward. "A duel. Clan tradition. Let's see if the exile still remembers how to bleed."
"No!" Liora shouted, standing between them. "You'll kill him."
Rigorus calmly stepped forward. "I accept."