The castle did not sleep that night.
From the highest tower to the lowest kitchen hearth, whispers spread like wildfire. The boy had been found. He had been saved. But he was not the same. Servants huddled in corners, eyes darting nervously whenever they spoke of the baron's heir. Some called it a miracle, others muttered of curses, but all of them spoke Madeleine's name.
In the courtyard, the guards who had returned from the forest sat together in grim silence. Their torches burned low, their armor still spattered with mud and ash. None of them reached for food or drink, though the kitchens had offered it. Instead, they sat with their heads bowed, as though awaiting judgment.
At last, one spoke. "She ran without hesitation." His voice was hoarse, cracked from shouting in the forest. "Straight into the blackness. No fear. No thought for herself."
Another guard, younger and still trembling, scrubbed at his eyes with a gloved hand. "I thought she'd be torn apart in an instant. But the way she stood… as if she were more than flesh. As if the Light itself moved her."
A third spat into the dirt, though his jaw trembled. "She was a fool… and the bravest soul I've ever seen."
The words rippled through the men like a prayer. Some nodded. Some wept. Even Guillaume, standing nearby in the shadows, allowed his scarred face to soften. He closed his eyes, hearing again her final scream, seeing the ashes whirl into the boy's blazing eye. He said nothing, but his silence was heavier than words.
By morning, the great hall was filled.
The baron had ordered every soul in his household to assemble — guards, servants, priests, even the stable boys and scullery maids. At the center of the hall, beneath the blazing banners of the sun-and-sword, stood two bent figures: Madeleine's parents.
They were peasants, gray-haired and weary, their hands rough from decades of toil. They had served the de Foncé household faithfully for years, proud that their daughter had risen to head maid. But now they stood hollow-eyed, clutching each other for strength as the nobility and priesthood watched.
Henri de Foncé entered last.
The baron's steps echoed on the stone, his cloak trailing behind him like a storm cloud. His face was set in iron, but his eyes burned with a grief he did not try to hide. He strode to the dais, turned, and faced the hall.
"All of you know," he said, his voice carrying across the chamber, "what was lost last night."
The hall was silent but for the crackle of torches. Henri's gaze swept over his household, lingering on each familiar face. "A curse struck my son. Darkness fell upon him. And when all others faltered, when men trained in arms could not move, it was Madeleine who leapt forward."
He turned his gaze to her parents. The old man's chin quivered; the woman clutched her apron with shaking fingers.
"She gave her life for her lord," Henri continued. "But more than that — she gave her life for my son. For the future of this house. For the Light itself. Her sacrifice will not be forgotten."
At a gesture, Étienne the steward stepped forward, carrying a heavy chest bound in iron. He set it at the parents' feet and opened it. Inside lay a fortune in silver and gold, more than any peasant could hope to earn in a lifetime. Gasps rippled through the hall.
Henri's voice softened, though it did not lose its strength. "This is yours. A gift, a token — though no coin could ever weigh against what was lost. But more than gold…"
He paused. Slowly, deliberately, the baron of de Foncé bent his knees.
The hall seemed to stop breathing.
Henri lowered himself before the two peasants, his head bowing low. His voice was raw when he spoke again. "I thank you. For raising such a daughter. For giving this house one of its brightest lights. I bow to you, not as your lord, but as a father who owes his child's life to yours."
The hall erupted into murmurs, some shocked, some awed. Priests clutched their talismans, eyes wide at the sight of a noble lowering his head to commoners. Guards shifted uneasily, but not a single man dared interrupt.
Madeleine's parents broke. The mother fell to her knees, weeping into her hands. The father tried to remain standing, his shoulders stiff, but tears streamed down his weathered face. At last, he bowed in return, his voice cracking. "My lord… she was proud to serve. She was proud… every day…"
Henri lifted his head, meeting the man's eyes. "She will be remembered. By this house, by this land, by my son himself when he is grown."
The hall grew still again. For a moment, it seemed as though the entire household breathed as one — in grief, in respect, in shared loss.
That night, when the hall had emptied and silence returned to the keep, Henri sat alone beside his son's bed. Rogue lay beneath heavy blankets, his breathing shallow but steady. A strip of linen still covered his eyes, yet faint glimmers of light and shadow leaked from beneath it — the constant reminder of what had taken root within him.
Henri's broad hands rested on the boy's small shoulders. His gaze was heavy, his voice low, a vow spoken to the sleeping child.
"Madeleine gave her life for you. The Church calls you blessed. Others whisper you are cursed. I care not which they choose to believe."
He leaned closer, his jaw tight, eyes hard with conviction.
"You are my son. And you will live. But more than that — you will grow strong. Stronger than this house, stronger than me, stronger than any priest or noble. You will not hide behind walls, waiting for curses to strike. No…"
Henri's hand clenched into a fist on the blankets. His voice hardened to steel.
"You will go to the Witch Hunter Academy. You will learn their ways. You will take the light and the dark within you and forge them into a weapon none can resist. You will hunt the witches who tried to break you, and you will make them weep your name in terror."
The baron's voice shook with grief and fury, but his words rang clear as iron.
"Rogue de Foncé will not be their victim. He will be their bane."
The fire in the hearth guttered low, shadows crawling long across the stone. Outside, the wind wailed against the battlements. But within the chamber, Henri's vow hung like an iron weight — the seed of the destiny that would one day make his son both savior and scourge.
The boy stirred faintly in his sleep, lips moving in some soundless dream. Henri did not look away.
No matter what awaited, witches would regret ever casting their eyes upon the House de Foncé.