The figures moved—not fast, not slow, but with a rhythm that carried purpose. Every step thudded in his chest, heavy and oppressive, until it felt like the air itself conspired to crush him flat against the earth. The weight of their killing intent seeped into his lungs, raw and smothering, each breath scraping like broken glass.
Kaisel's body refused him. His legs wouldn't answer. His chest burned. Panic clawed its way up his throat, strangling him, and he scrambled backward across the litter of brittle leaves. Their crackling seemed deafening, as if the forest itself mocked his retreat.
Then—His hand brushed against something behind him. Cold. Unyielding. Trembling, he turned.
And froze.
It was his mother. Her lifeless body lay sprawled across the ground, torn with gashes, her once-familiar warmth drained away, her skin pale beneath the streaks of blood. Her eyes, glassy and dim, stared at nothing.
Kaisel's throat constricted. His voice came out broken, shuddering, barely more than a whisper.
"Mo… mother…?"
A sound cut through the silence. Laughter.
Low at first, then rising—sinister, cold, and laced with a malice that scraped against his bones. Kaisel's heart lurched, and he spun toward the source.
Among the cloaked figures, one stepped forward. His mask was cracked, a jagged tear cutting diagonally from the forehead down to the jaw. Through the torn cloth, part of his face was revealed. Pale skin. Cold, piercing blue eyes that gleamed with cruel amusement.
And beneath the left eye… a dark birthmark, shaped like a crescent moon.
The laughter multiplied, filling the clearing until it became a chorus of shadows, too loud, too many, too close.
The laughter swelled until it drowned the clearing—until it drowned him. Kaisel's chest locked tight, his voice strangled in his throat—
And then the scream tore free.
His own scream.
He jolted awake, sitting upright in his bed, sweat-soaked and shaking, the phantom stench of blood still clinging to his nose.
His trembling fingers dug into his chest, as if clawing at his own heartbeat. His voice cracked, fragile, broken.
"I-It… it was… just… a nightmare…"
Kaisel swung his legs off the bed and seized the silver flagon of water from the nearby table, drinking greedily.
He sank into a chair, clutching his head in both hands as he struggled to calm his ragged breathing.
.....
The manor's silence was heavy, broken only by the faint scratching of a quill. Within the study, Arthur de Ravengard sat behind the vast oak desk, its surface littered with reports, maps, and decrees. A single candle burned, its flame casting his sharp features into harsh relief. His long white hair fell like a mane over his shoulders, his runed cane leaning against the chair within arm's reach. Even now—aged, weary, and scarred—he sat with the presence of a ruler who bent others beneath his shadow.
The door opened without a knock.
Arthur didn't look up. "You should knock before barging in. That's basic etiquette."
Kaisel didn't respond. His voice was low, urgent. "Did they find the killers? The ones who ambushed me and Mother. Has the inquisitorial vanguard said anything?"
Arthur didn't answer. Instead, he asked calmly, "Why are you up so late?"
"Answer me!" Kaisel snapped.
Arthur stared at him in silence for a long moment. Then he said, "They've postponed the investigation. Lack of evidence, they claim."
"Postponed?" Kaisel echoed, his voice rising. "Postponed!? What does that even mean—'lack of evidence'? Didn't you tell them about the man I saw? The one with the birthmark under his eyes. So what's the problem?"
"Well, I believe someone pulled strings behind the scenes to postpone it," Arthur said, his voice low but edged with bitterness. "It's just another way of saying the Empire has no intention of helping the Ravengards."
Kaisel sank into a nearby sofa, the weight of the words pressing on him. His hands folded loosely, eyes distant as if chasing thoughts too dark to speak aloud.
Arthur rose from his chair with deliberate slowness, the faint creak of his cane punctuating the silence. He crossed the room and settled onto the sofa opposite Kaisel, facing him directly. His gaze was steady, unreadable
Arthur spoke again, softer this time. "You're thinking of revenge."
Kaisel didn't deny it, I am going to hunt them down...
Arthur regarded him with an indifferent tilt of the head. "Good. I like the way you think — as expected of a Ravengard. But you'll get yourself killed before you find them. You're weak and you're young."
He leaned forward, cane tapping the floor like a metronome. "You're only ten. How do you plan to hunt them? You'll be hunted instead. The moment someone sees you they'll know who you are — that you're the heir of Ravengard. We are weak now. They won't hesitate."
A long silence settled over the room. After several moments, Arthur's voice cut through it, calm but deliberate.
"Kaisel, you should be ready to inherit the Duke's title," he said.
Kaisel froze, eyes widening. "What… this soon?" he whispered, a mixture of disbelief and panic threading his words. "I'm not ready…"
Arthur's gaze didn't waver. "Readiness is not a luxury afforded to heirs in our line.
Circumstances decide, not desire."
"I'm getting older by the day, boy," Arthur said, his voice low and grave. "I am slowly dying. I can feel my strength leaving me with each passing day. I don't know how long I have left. You must become the Duke."
By the law of the Empire, if a child inherits a title and there are no older relatives to claim it, the child may assume the title at the age of ten. With no close relatives and Kaisel being ten, the Dukedom could fall into his hands without question.
Kaisel fell silent, the weight of the words pressing on him. Then, unexpectedly, he spoke.
"Five years. Just give me five years."
Arthur raised an eyebrow. "And what do you plan to do in five years?"
"I will leave the Dukedom," Kaisel said firmly. "I need to become strong enough to take it—and protect them."
Arthur stared at him. "You're only ten…" His gaze softened as he met the fierce resolve in Kaisel's eyes, and he let out a long, weary sigh.
"Five years. But come back alive. Your siblings cannot face everything alone."
"Yes… thank you, Grandfather," Kaisel replied, his voice steady, a flicker of determination burning beneath it.
Then—A small, trembling voice rang from the doorway, cutting through the silence.
"B-Brother… where are you going?"
Kaisel froze, his hand tightening. He turned.
It was Anton. The boy's white hair was tousled, his small figure swallowed by his nightclothes, one hand clutching the doorframe as though he feared letting go. His wide eyes glistened in the dim candlelight, fixed only on Kaisel.
"Anton," Kaisel said quietly, his tone calm but firm, "why are you not asleep?"
Anton shook his head, his lower lip trembling. "Don't… don't change the subject. Answer me!" His small voice wavered, louder now, sharp with panic. "You can't just leave us alone like this!"
Arthur, remained silent. The cane beside him tapped once against the floor, but he did not interfere. His silence weighed heavy in the room, granting space for the brothers' words.
Kaisel exhaled slowly through his nose, his expression unreadable. "Anton… I will come back. You must believe me."
But Anton's breath hitched, his tiny fists balling at his sides. His eyes swam with tears that refused to fall. "I don't understand!" His voice cracked, fragile. "Why do you need to leave? What are you going after? Why can't you just stay here with us—stay where it's safe?"
For a long moment, Kaisel only studied him. His gaze, though calm, carried a weight far beyond his years. Then he lowered himself, crouching until his eyes were level with Anton's. In that closeness, his voice softened, though his words carried a steady finality.
"You are my brother. That is why you must trust me. There are things I must do, Anton… things I cannot explain to you yet. I will explain everything one day."
Anton trembled harder, shaking his head in denial. "But, but—"
Before the boy could continue, Kaisel placed a steady hand on his shoulder. His touch was gentle, but his tone cut firmly through Anton's protests.
"While I'm gone, you must be strong. Support Grandfather. Protect Nerrisa. That is your duty until I return."
Anton's chest rose and fell with uneven breaths. The words seemed too heavy for his small frame to carry, but at last, his tears broke free. With a trembling nod, he tried to hold back his sobs, but his voice came out broken.
"I… I'll try."
Kaisel's gaze then shifted to Arthur,
I want my disappearance to be a secret for the outsiders. I... I will leave at midnight.
Arthur groaned, leaning back in his chair. His sharp features twisted with disapproval, and the candle's flame threw deep shadows across the lines of his face.
"So sudden…" he muttered, his voice low. Then, after a pause, he gave a single nod. "Very well. Do as you will."
The room fell quiet, the only sound the soft, stifled crying of Anton—too young to understand, and yet forced to bear the weight of it.
To be continued.