Back at the Veldryn estate, Judith lay in her slumber, her body still recovering from the ordeal that had nearly claimed her life. The chamber was quiet, save for the soft rhythm of her breathing and the occasional rustle of curtains in the afternoon breeze.
In her private study, Margaret sat at her desk, surrounded by ledgers and documents. The accounts of the Veldryn family's weapon sales lay spread before her—numbers that would have consumed the attention of any ordinary strategist. But Margaret's mind was elsewhere.
Her family was a complex web of personalities. Her sister Agnes was hot-blooded and impulsive, quick to anger and quicker to act. Rowena, the eldest, was cool and calculating, her emotions locked behind a wall of ice that few could penetrate. And then there was Margaret herself—the strategist, the one who saw patterns where others saw chaos.
Her aunts were equally formidable. Judith, the eldest, was a legendary military commander whose very name inspired fear on the battlefield. And Edwina, the youngest, was the chief of the imperial police—a woman who had devoted her life to justice after the tragedy that had shattered their family.
The tragedy that had taken Evan.
Margaret's brother. The glue that had held them all together.
After Evan was kidnapped and killed, the family had broken from inside. Edwina, consumed by guilt, had thrown herself into her work with a fervor that bordered on obsession. She rarely visited the estate anymore, preferring the cold efficiency of her office to the painful memories that lingered in every corner of the Veldryn manor.
Margaret understood. She felt the same guilt, the same grief. And just like Edwina, she had found a way to channel it—into strategy, into calculation, into the endless game of power that defined noble life.
A soft sound interrupted her thoughts.
Margaret looked up to see a figure standing at the window—a woman dressed in the black uniform of the Veil, her face obscured by a hood, her presence as silent as a shadow. She held a bamboo container in her hands, sealed with the Veldryn crest.
Margaret rose and approached, taking the container without a word. The Veil operative bowed and disappeared as silently as she had arrived.
Margaret returned to her desk and opened the container, pulling out the parchment within.
Her suspicion had been correct.
The healer was a boy.
His name was Arin.
Margaret stared at the report for a long moment, her mind racing. Then she reached for the second item in the container—a sketch, drawn with remarkable precision by the Veil's operative.
The face that stared back at her was breathtaking.
Even in charcoal, Arin's beauty was undeniable. The delicate curve of his jaw, the softness of his lips, the depth of his eyes—he was not merely handsome. He was ethereal. Otherworldly.
*An angel* Margaret thought, remembering Judith's delirious words. *She called him an angel.*
She set the sketch down carefully, her fingers trembling slightly.
For a moment, she considered keeping this information to herself. Helena would react... predictably. The moment she learned that the healer was a boy—a boy with extraordinary magical abilities—she would send the full force of the Veldryn military to capture him.
Margaret had seen enough of her mother's methods to know what that would mean.
Arin had already suffered. The report from veil made that clear—the exhaustion, the fear , the desperate flight from the manor. He was a child. A boy. And in this world, boys were supposed to be protected, not hunted.
But Margaret also knew she couldn't hide this forever. The Veil reported to Helena as well. Sooner or later, the matriarch would learn the truth. And when she did, Margaret wanted to be the one to tell her—not learn from others.
Better to control the narrative than to be caught in its wake.
She looked up at the Veil operative who still lingered at the window.
"You are dismissed"
The operative nodded and vanished.
Margaret gathered the report and the sketch, her heart heavy with what she was about to do.
---
Meanwhile Judith's eyes fluttered open.
For a moment, she was disoriented—the ceiling above her was familiar, the soft light filtering through the curtains was familiar. She had accepted it and she had been prepared to die.
The curse had been consuming her for months now , and she had made her peace with the end.
But she was alive.
"Am I in heaven?" she murmured, her voice hoarse from disuse.
She turned her head slowly, taking in the room. The ornate furniture, the familiar tapestries, the scent of healing herbs—she was back in the Veldryn estate. Her home.
The attendant who had been sitting beside her bed jumped to her feet.
"General! You're awake!"
The woman rushed to the door, calling out to the servants in the hallway. Within moments, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed through the corridors.
Judith ignored the commotion. Her mind was still hazy, still struggling to piece together what had happened.
"What happened to the war?" she asked, her voice stronger now. "Is it over?"
The attendant returned to her bedside, her expression respectful but solemn.
"No, General. After your retreat, the second-in-command took over for months. No advance was made on either side. We seem to be at a stalemate."
Judith nodded slowly, processing this information. A stalemate. At least the situation hadn't deteriorated in her absence.
But that wasn't the question that burned in her mind.
"How did I heal?" she asked. "I thought I was gone for sure."
The attendant hesitated. "The Matriarch hired a healer named Aria to treat you. With her help, you were healed completely."
Judith's brow furrowed.
"Aria?"
"Yes, General. She arrived a few days ago and accomplished what all the other healers could not."
"No..." Judith shook her head, her voice firm. "No, wait. It was a boy. An angel. It was a boy who healed me."
The attendant looked confused. "A boy, General? You must be mistaken. The healer was a girl named Aria."
Judith's eyes narrowed. "No, I am sure. It was a boy."
Her voice carried the weight of command—the same tone she used on the battlefield, the tone that had made soldiers tremble and enemies flee.
The attendant went cold, her face pale.
Before she could respond, the door to the chamber swung open.
---
The Veldryn family poured into the room like a tide.
Agnes was first, her face streaked with tears. She rushed to Judith's bedside, grasping her aunt's hand with a desperation that spoke of years of fear and grief.
"Aunt, you're finally awake!"
Judith smiled—a rare, genuine smile that softened the hard lines of her face.
"Yes, darling. I'm here."
Agnes had always been closest to Judith. As a child, she had spent years training under the general's watchful eye, learning to master her strength and her temper. The bond between them was deeper than blood—it was forged in sweat and discipline, in the countless hours they had spent together in the training yard.
Judith had been the one to teach Agnes how to fight. How to channel her hot-blooded nature into something productive, something powerful.
And Evan... Evan had been the one who held them all together. The gentle brother who smoothed over conflicts, who reminded them that family was more important than power.
When he was gone, the family had fractured. But Judith had done her best to keep the pieces together.
Now, surrounded by her family, she felt whole she hadn't felt in years.
But there was still a question that needed answering.
Judith looked around the room, her eyes settling on each member of her family in turn. Rowena, cool and composed. Margaret, thoughtful and calculating. And finally, Helena—her sister, the matriarch, the woman who had built the Veldryn family into a force that could challenge empires.
"The healer who healed me," Judith said, her voice carrying across the room. "Was it a boy or a girl?"
The room fell silent.
Everyone exchanged glances, uncertain how to respond.
"It was a girl," Rowena said finally, her voice carefully neutral. "Aria. That was her name."
Judith shook her head. "No. I saw him. In those moments, when I was between life and death... I saw an angel. A boy with jet-hair and eyes like starlight."
She paused, her gaze growing distant.
"He was exhausted beyond anything I've ever seen. But he didn't stop. He kept going, kept fighting, kept... saving me."
The family was stunned.
Even Rowena, usually so composed, looked shaken.
"That's... impossible," Agnes said slowly. "We all saw Aria. She was a girl. I—"
"Agnes." Margaret's voice cut through the room like a blade.
Everyone turned to look at her.
Margaret stood by the window, the report and sketch in her hands. Her face was pale, but her eyes were steady.
"There's something you all need to know."
She held up the report.
"I sent spies to follow the healer after they left the manor. The Veil, our best operatives. They observed the healer for weeks."
She paused, letting the weight of her words sink in.
"The healer is a boy. His real name is Arin."
The silence that followed was deafening.
Rowena's expression didn't change, but her hands clenched at her sides. Agnes's mouth fell open. Even Helena, the matriarch, seemed momentarily taken aback.
And then Margaret held up the sketch.
"This is what he really looks like."
The image of Arin—beautiful, ethereal, undeniably male—stared back at them.
Agnes gasped. Rowena's eyes widened. Helena's gaze sharpened with an intensity that made Margaret's skin crawl.
"What..." Rowena began, but her voice trailed off.
"We've been scammed," Margaret said quietly. "By a ten-year-old boy and his guardian. They disguised him as a girl to travel safely. And we... we didn't even realize it"
Agnes stared at Margaret.
"Wait. He's a boy?"
Her first reaction was disbelief. She had spent enough time with Aria to remember her face, hier voice, and the way she had looked at her whenever she pushed her too far. None of it seemed to fit what Margaret was saying.
Then she remembered something.
The last time they had met, Aria had been almost crying. She had found it irritating and, at the time, almost amusing. She had thought she was simply too soft.
Agnes shifted uncomfortably.
"That little brat..." she muttered, then stopped.
She remembered the way she had treated him during the kidnapping. She hadn't held back her punches, and she had certainly not been gentle with her words. Back then, she'd thought she was dealing with a weak girl who needed to learn how to defend herself.
Now she learned that Arin was only boy and barley 10 year old.
Agnes glanced away, her expression souring. She didn't like the feeling settling in her chest, and she liked even less that she couldn't come up with a convincing excuse for herself.
"Well, that's..." She paused, searching for the right words. "That's a bit awkward."
Rowine, who had been watching her, raised an eyebrow.
"Awkward? You beat him up to a pulp"
"Do you have to say it like that?"
"How else should I say it?"
Agnes shot her sister an annoyed look, but the retort she wanted never came. She folded her arms and looked away again.
"I didn't know he was a boy."
"No, you didn't."
"And I didn't know he was ten."
"That doesn't make the beating any better."
Agnes clicked her tongue. "I know that!"
Her voice came out sharper than she intended. She fell quiet for a moment, then muttered, almost too softly to hear, "I shouldn't have gone that far."
Rowine's expression softened a little. She didn't tease her any further.
Agnes remained where she was, staring at nothing in particular. She wasn't suddenly a different person, nor was she ready to admit how badly she had misjudged Arin. But the memory of his frightened face was harder to dismiss now.
And for once, she had no clever remark to hide behind.
Judith slowly turned her gaze toward Agnes, glaring at her with such intensity that Agnes felt a chill run down her spine.
Agnes swallowed nervously, suddenly certain that if Judith had the strength to get out of bed, she would strangle her on the spot.
Helena, meanwhile, was silent.
Her eyes remained fixed on the sketch of Arin, her mind working at a furious pace.
*A boy,* she thought. *A boy who can use high-tier healing magic. A boy who can perform complex spells that even the most experienced female healers cannot achieve.*
Her heart began to race.
The value of such a person was beyond calculation.
If she could capture Arin, bring him under the Veldryn banner, she would control something that no other noble family could claim. A male healer. A male of extraordinary magical ability. A weapon that could turn the tide of any war.
And he was alone. Vulnerable. Undefended, save for a single warrior.
The opportunity was too great to ignore.
"Mother," Margaret said, her voice tight. "I know what you're thinking. But we need to discuss this—"
"There is nothing to discuss," Helena interrupted, her voice cold. "The boy is an asset. A once-in-a-generation asset. We cannot let him slip through our fingers."
"He's a child," Margaret protested. "A boy who has already suffered enough. We can't just—"
"He's a boy who healed a dying general," Helena cut her off. "A boy who possess magical abilities that should be impossible for his gender. Do you understand what that means?"
She rose from her chair, her presence filling the room.
"It means he is a tool. A weapon. And weapons are meant to be used."
Agnes looked up, her expression torn between guilt and loyalty.
"What do you want to do?" she asked quietly.
Helena's smile was cold.
"Send an army. Bring him back to the estate. By force if necessary."
"No."
The voice came from the bed.
Everyone turned to look at Judith.
The general had pushed herself up, her face pale with exertion but her eyes blazing with determination.
"No," she repeated. "We will not send an army after a child."
"Judith—"
"I was on the battlefield, Helena. I saw what war does to people—to boys who are captured , to males who are torn from their homes and used as tools." Judith's voice was hard as steel. "I will not be a part of this."
Helena's expression didn't change, but her eyes narrowed.
"And if he becomes a threat? If another family captures him first, uses him against us?"
"I don't care." Judith's voice was resolute. "There are lines that should not be crossed. Hunting down a ten-year-old boy is one of them."
The two sisters stared at each other, the tension between them crackling like lightning.
And then Helena smiled.
A slow, calculating smile that made Judith's blood run cold.
"You're right, of course. I've been too hasty."
Judith's eyes narrowed. She knew her sister—knew that smile. It meant Helena was plotting something.
"I'll be honest with you, Judith." Helena's voice was deceptively calm. "If you had refused to help, I would have had to act unilaterally. But you're right that we should approach this delicately." She paused. "We should convince him to join us willingly."
Judith stared at her sister, her instincts screaming that this was a trap.
"Go on."
"Consider the strategic situation." Helena began to pace. "We are at war. The empire is surrounded by enemies. How many soldiers fall every day? How many of them are lost on the battlefield? If we bring Arin under our wing, he can heal them. He can save our people."
"He can be used as a tool," Judith said flatly.
"Or he can be a hero." Helena stopped pacing and turned to face her sister. "Think about it. The healers of the Guild can save some soldiers. But Arin? He saved you, Judith. You, who were considered beyond saving. Imagine if he were attached to a legion. How many lives could he save?"
Judith remained silent, her expression unreadable.
"He's young," Helena continued, her voice softening. "I understand your concern for his wellbeing. But look at what he's already accomplished—at 10 years old, he saved a general's life when all the experts had failed. He is special, Judith. And special people have special responsibilities."
"This is manipulation," Margaret muttered.
Helena ignored her.
"All I'm suggesting is that we offer him a place here. A warm bed, proper meals, an education, the best tutors. We can mold him into something great." Helena smiled gently. "And if he grows stronger under our care, he'll be able to save even more lives. It's a win-win situation. We gain an incredibly valuable asset, and in return, we give a boy a home and a purpose."
Judith was silent for a long moment, her gaze fixed on her sister's face. She saw through Helena's pretty words—she knew her sister too well to be fooled by them. But the underlying logic was sound.
If Arin were under the care of the Veldryn family, he would have access to resources that could help him grow stronger, smarter, more capable. He could heal soldiers, save lives, make a real difference in the war against humanity's enemies.
And if he remained free... he could be captured by someone else. Someone less... principled than the Veldryns.
"Fine," Judith said finally. "But we do this my way. No more forced kidnappings. We send a formal invitation—a letter, signed by me, personally asking the boy to meet with us."
Helena's expression didn't change, but her eyes gleamed with satisfaction.
"Of course."
"Swear it."
Helena raised an eyebrow. "You don't trust me?"
"I trust you about as far as I can throw this bed," Judith said flatly.
Helena laughed—a cold, hollow sound.
"Very well. I swear it."
Judith studied her sister for a long moment, then nodded.
"Good. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to rest. I'm still recovering."
Helena nodded and turned to leave, gesturing for the others to follow.
Margaret lingered for a moment, her eyes meeting Judith's.
There was something unspoken between them—a shared concern, a silent understanding.
Margaret didn't like what her mother was planning. And Judith knew it.
But for now, there was nothing they could do.
---
That night, the Veldryn estate was quiet.
But in the shadows, plans were being made.