Night had fully settled, wrapping the land in a heavy stillness—one that seemed to crawl across the earth, slow and unmoving, as if unwilling to leave.
Ophelia sat on a smooth rock near the edge of the hill overlooking the valley. The cold wind brushed through her black hair, stirring it gently. In her eyes lingered the fragments of all she had lost, and all she had yet to understand. Every part of her was searching—for answers, for something forgotten, for someone… missing.
Then, as it had happened in the past, quiet, unforgettable...Damian appeared.
No sound. No footsteps. Just presence. Sudden and undeniable, as if the very shadows had stepped aside to let him through.
A breath caught in her throat.
"Da… Damian?"
His name slipped not from her lips, but from her soul.
She stepped forward, hesitant, hands trembling. Slowly, she lifted her palms and touched his face.
"You really came back…"
She whispered it, voice shaking, before falling into his arms.
She held him with a longing that words could never express—with the ache of one who had found the heartbeat of life again.
He wrapped his arms around her, as if shielding her from a world that had tried too hard to take her.
Ophelia said nothing at first. Then, slowly, she looked up at him, her eyes filled with a thousand questions.
"But how? How did you return? And how… how did you bring me back?"
He looked at her, and in a voice so calm it seemed to echo the secrets of the universe itself, he spoke:
"Spirits are eternal. They do not die as the body does. Even when one fades—when its energy is drained—it can be remade."
"I gave everything… every ounce of strength I had… to bind your soul back to your body."
The silence that followed held more than words ever could.
Ophelia remained in his embrace, enveloped in a warmth that was not of flesh, but of soul—a quiet heat born of something lost and found again.
When she finally pulled back, it wasn't to let go—only to see him more clearly.
His face, so achingly familiar, bore subtle marks of time. He was changed… not aged, but deepened. Like something once mortal that had glimpsed eternity.
She looked into his eyes—eyes she knew better than her own reflection—and yet, there was something there now. Something new.
"The world… it was hollow without you," she whispered, as if confessing to herself before him.
He lifted his hand gently and took hers in his.
"And it wouldn't have been complete without you."
A new silence settled, but it was soft—gentle, like the universe itself had paused to grant them a moment of peace.
But Ophelia, with a soft glance, said:
"All my life, I felt like an outsider... belonging neither to my family nor to any place I stepped into. I was searching for something, for someone... for meaning. Then you appeared. You were the only thing that made me feel I wasn't a stranger... that I finally belonged."
Damian said nothing. Yet inside him, thoughts erupted like wildfire:
"You don't know the whole truth… and if you did, you might hate what you are. You might hate me...for keeping it from you."
Suddenly, he rose, and gestured for her to follow.
"There's something you need to see."
He led her through a narrow path between the trees, until they stopped before a massive old tree—its roots twisted as if they'd been guarding a secret for centuries.
He knelt and brushed away the earth, revealing a small, tightly sealed box.
"Here… Oscar left something. Something you weren't meant to see until now."
Ophelia froze. Something in her stirred—like the box had always been meant for her.
She opened it slowly… Inside, a letter bound with a black ribbon, and a pendant etched with a symbol she didn't recognize.
With trembling fingers, she began to read:
"To Ophelia, my daughter who never knew the truth…
You were never meant to know—not now, not like this. But I always knew this day would come. That you'd stand before the truth… alone.
Ophelia… you are not my daughter."
The paper trembled in her hands.
"Years ago, your real father—Count Arthur Verhard—came to me. He was once a nobleman, but he had lost his title, drowned in debts and disgrace. He feared what such a life would do to you."
"He didn't want you to grow up under the shadow of a ruined name. You and Adelia were the same age, and he begged me to raise you as my own."
"I couldn't refuse him. Arthur was the closest friend I ever had. Taking you in was the only way I could honor that bond."
Ophelia let the letter fall into her lap, her gaze snapping to Damian. Her eyes wavered—caught between betrayal and fear.
"You knew…"
Damian nodded slowly.
"I only knew part of it…"
Ophelia hadn't planned on returning to the palace that night—but the weight of the letter was too much to carry alone.
Her steps were fast, but unsure.
She entered the hall, where Oscar sat reading his usual evening papers.
He looked up when he saw her—but said nothing.
Ophelia stood before him. No smile. No tears. Just eyes that saw him differently than ever before.
"Since when?"
Her voice was low, but it struck the walls like thunder.
Oscar set the papers aside, exhaled deeply, and said,
"Since you were an infant."
She didn't need more than that.
"You knew? All this time? All these years?"
Oscar didn't reply. His silence was his confession.
"And Adelia? Did she know?"
"Yes."
At that moment, words were no longer enough.
Ophelia stepped back, then sank to the ground, as though her legs could no longer carry her.
"You all knew… and you let me live a lie."
Her voice trembled, but her gaze remained steady.
"Every moment I felt like I didn't belong… every time I questioned why I was different… you knew."
She looked at Oscar with an expression he had never seen from her.
"You were my father… or so I believed. But you never told me who I really am."
Then she turned to Damian, who had entered quietly, as if he'd been waiting for the right moment.
"And you… you were the closest to me. You knew, and still, you said nothing. Why?"
Damian didn't answer immediately. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft.
"Because I was afraid… afraid I'd lose you."
Ophelia let out a short laugh—but it sounded more like heartbreak.
"You all lost me… the moment you chose to protect me with lies."
She stood, looked at them both, and said:
"I don't know who I am… but I know I'm not one of you."
She walked out of the palace—first quickly, then slower. The earth beneath her feet, the trees, the stars… everything looked familiar, but no longer felt like home.
Behind her, the sound of Damian's footsteps followed—light, hesitant, but persistent.
"Ophelia…"
He called her name in a low voice, laced with something like pleading.
She stopped abruptly.
Turned around.
And looked at him—eyes full of something strange. A mix of anger, betrayal, and something quietly breaking.
"Why?"
The word struck like a blade, her voice trembling.
"Why didn't you tell me? Were you afraid I'd shatter? That I'd scream? That I'd hate you?"
Damian took a step closer—then stopped.
"I was afraid, yes... but not of you. I was afraid of the truth. Of how heavy it would fall on you."
Ophelia laughed—sharp, bitter, joyless.
"You didn't see me… when I was searching for meaning. When I was breaking from the inside. You let me drown alone, Damian, while you stood there with the answers."
His silence stretched—and that alone was enough to snap something inside her.
"Even when you came back… you said nothing. You let me stumble into it. As if I were a stranger to my own life."
He reached for her, slowly. But she stepped back.
"Don't touch me. I'm not ready to forgive you."