He finally stopped. His legs refused to carry him any farther; every breath tore through his chest like fire. All he wanted was to see his mother again—to go home. Slowly, he turned around.
What he saw froze his heart.
His house was burning.
Flames devoured the roof, swallowing everything he had ever known. For a long, trembling moment, he couldn't move, couldn't think. Then, with what little strength remained, he began to run. His steps faltered, his lungs screamed for air, but he pushed forward, whispering between gasps, "M—Mother… M—Mother!"
He stumbled and fell face-first into the dirt, then dragged himself forward, fingers clawing into the earth, nails breaking and bleeding. Panic seized his chest, a storm he couldn't calm. His mother had always been there to soothe him when these fits came—but now there was only the crackle of fire and the suffocating stench of smoke.
He fought to stay awake, but his vision dimmed. The world slipped away.
When he opened his eyes again, cold drops of rain struck his face. The storm above had come as if to mourn with him. He blinked up at the dark sky, dazed. "Haaah… Where am I?" he muttered, his voice trembling. With effort, he rose to his feet, wiping the mud from his face—then his gaze fell upon the blackened ruins before him.
His home was gone. Nothing remained but ash and broken beams. He staggered toward the wreckage, searching desperately through the debris. "Mother… Mother, where are you?" he called out, voice hoarse, tears long dried.
Villagers began to gather around him, their murmurs piercing the rain.
"What happened here, boy?"
"Where's your mother?"
He didn't hear them. His hands tore through the ash until his fingers brushed something—something that made his breath catch.
Two bodies lay there, burned beyond recognition. A man. A woman.
He stumbled forward and knelt beside the woman's body. With trembling hands, he reached for her. The charred bones crumbled at his touch, leaving behind a single silver ring that fell into his palm.
From behind, whispers rose among the villagers—vile and cruel.
"So this is how it ends for a whore like her."
"Poor boy… to find his mother burned with her lover."
The words echoed in his skull, igniting a darkness deeper than grief. His fist clenched around the ring until his knuckles turned white. Then he rose, his vision blurring with rage.
He struck the man who spoke first. Bone cracked beneath his fist. The others tried to stop him, but he didn't care—his blows fell like thunder, wild and merciless. One after another, they collapsed under his wrath.
"Stop, boy!" an old woman cried, reaching for him. He shoved her aside; she stumbled to the ground, fear flashing in her eyes.
"I—I'm sorry," she stammered. "I didn't mean it. But please… shouldn't you bury your mother first?"
The word mother hit him like a blade. Bury…
Only then did the truth strike him fully. She was gone. Truly gone.
His rage broke. He fell to his knees beside the ashes, clutching them to his chest, tears finally spilling once more. "Mama… please… what am I supposed to do without you? Please… don't leave me alone."
The old woman placed a trembling hand on his shoulder. "My condolences, child," she whispered, and walked away. The crowd followed—some still muttering words of contempt, others silent with pity.
Leo removed his coat and began gathering what was left of his mother, his body shaking with every breath. When he finished, he slipped the silver ring into his pocket and turned toward the forest.
Through the rain and the mud, he walked to the great tree that had always been their refuge. There, beneath its sheltering branches, he dug a grave with his bare hands. He laid her ashes to rest, his tears mixing with the rain, and carved into the trunk with a trembling blade:
Here lies the purest and most noble woman to ever live.
Here lies my mother.
"Hey, you—wake up."
Tyler's voice yanked him out of his dreams. Leo blinked, disoriented, the remnants of sleep still clinging to his eyes.
"What is it now?" he asked flatly.
"The Duke wants to see you. Come on."
Sorrow still weighed heavy on him, but Leo simply followed. Together they walked down the stone corridor until they reached the Duke's office.
"Ah, you've finally arrived," the Duke said, his voice echoing off the chamber's high walls. "Take a seat."
His sharp eyes shifted to Tyler. "You may leave now."
Tyler hesitated, glancing between the Duke and the girl sitting across from him. A knowing smile tugged at his lips. "Ah, I see… very well, excuse me." He slipped out, closing the door behind him.
The girl rose slightly, extending her hand. "We didn't have the chance to meet properly last time," she said. "I'm Eileen. I'll be your partner from now on—yours and Tyler's."
Leo reached out, curious, as if to test whether the icy chill he had felt before was real or only imagined. The instant his fingers brushed her skin, a jolt of frost shot up his arm, cold as a block of ice. He snatched his hand back quickly.
The Duke's eyes narrowed. "As for why I summoned you—"
"Yes?" Leo's tone was guarded.
"Simply to introduce you to your new partner," the Duke said evenly. "And to remind you—being my grandson does not grant you any privilege here. You will train and work like every other member."
"That's all?" Leo asked, his voice low. "I wasn't planning on seeking sympathy from you anyway. Don't worry."
"Then you're dismissed."
Leo left, bewildered by the short, strange meeting.
The door closed behind him. Only the Duke and Eileen remained. He turned to her. "Well? What did you see?"
Her eyes flickered. "Memories," she said softly. "When I touched his hand, I saw fragments—scattered, broken. But when I touched his ring… they weren't his at all. They belonged to a woman. The same woman I saw in the message. I'm certain—he's her son."
The Duke's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"
"In the ring's memories, she called him 'my son.' But the bond between them felt… strange. Like they didn't agree. Like they were at odds."
His voice hardened. "At odds? Are you saying she didn't love him? Are you sure he's Leora's child?"
"He is," Eileen whispered. "He's truly hers. Wait—let me focus…"
She closed her eyes, diving deeper into the visions. Then she gasped, clutching her throat as if burned, blood trickling from her nose.
"Eileen! Are you all right?" the Duke demanded, leaning forward.
"Yes, my lord," she said faintly. "It's just… the memories are too scattered. I didn't hold his hand long enough. But the woman—your daughter—she said she would rather die than let them find her child."
"Them?" His eyes darkened. "Who are they?"
"I don't know… I can't…" Her voice broke. She slumped back, her eyelids heavy with exhaustion.
A voice spoke from the doorway. "Don't push her so hard, my lord."
The Duke turned, startled. Veronica had entered silently, her gaze cool. "She's just a child," she said. "Every time she uses her gift, it weakens her. Be satisfied with what you've learned—that boy really is Leora's son. But tell me—what would you have done if he weren't?"
The Duke's expression turned to stone. His reply was cold and immediate.
"Of course," he said. "I would have ended him without a word."