The servants on either side of the door moved simultaneously, as if receiving an invisible signal. When the heavy wings opened, a sudden rush of light from outside struck Leon's face—a brightness so sharp it forced his eyes to squint. Then a cool breeze blew through his thin clothes, seeping into his skin, a sense of relief.
Leon remained motionless for a few seconds in the doorway. "Calm down, you're just going to see your father," he told himself. Finally, he took a deep breath and walked inside. Each step echoed on the wooden floor. When the door closed behind him with a heavy hum, it resonated in Leon's mind like a muffled seal.
The room's magnificence was dazzling. In the center of the room, occupying nearly two-thirds of the long left wall, stood a massive table covered with gold thread on a deep red background. The patterns seemed to stir with every stroke of the light, and the glow from the gold embroidery evoked the grandeur of a throne room.
And at the center of that magnificence sat a man at the head of the table.
The man was Leon's father. He was eating calmly, with a face that bore the maturity of his thirties. On the plate in front of him was a steak, releasing its blood-red juices; roasted mushrooms beside it, wafting a faint scent of smoke into the room. The red wine in the silver goblet beside him took on a shimmering appearance in the light.
Leon took a few steps forward, placing his hands on his stomach. As he bowed slowly, his head bowed in salute, his voice carried across the vastness of the room with a heavy reverence.
"I greet our High Priest Father."
The words echoed off the walls of the room, then hung in the silence.
His father didn't look up. He merely glanced briefly out of the corner of his eye, then bowed his head slightly in dignified calm. He returned to his meal and scraped his fork against knife. The sharp sound of metal against porcelain cut through the silence, deepening the tension within Leon.
"Did you bring the book I asked for, son?" his father asked.
Leon was startled for a moment for no reason. "Y-yes, I brought it..." he said, going to his father and leaving the thin book in his hand next to where he was eating, then taking a few steps back and bowing his head again.
His father placed the knife and fork in his hand on the plate and signaled the servants to remove it with his hand. While one of the servants was taking his plate, another was refilling his wine. Leon's father took a gold-striped napkin from the table and gently cleaned the grease that had spread around his mouth. After cleaning it, he left the napkin in a corner of the table and placed it on Leon's table, took the book and opened it.
There was silence in the room for a few minutes.
Leon continued to look at his father, confused by the expression on his father's face. His father held his chin with his free hand, staring at the book with the other, as if in thought.
"Haven't I been staring at the book too long for a blank book?" Leon thought.
Finally, his father stopped looking at the book, gently closing it and placing it on the table. His hand was still on the book.
"Leon," his father said.
"Yes, Almighty Father."
"Are you sure there aren't any more pages in the book?"
Leon was confused by this question, and yet a seed of curiosity had welled up within him.
"No... There weren't any more pages. And there was no evidence of any missing pages in the book."
"I see," the man said, his voice neither gentle nor harsh.
He carefully set the book aside on the table and then rose from his chair with heavy movements. The gold-embroidered hem of his robe brushed the floor as he moved toward the window.
"Come, Leon." When he beckoned, Leon obeyed without hesitation. His steps were quiet, but the beating of his heart almost pierced the silence. When he stood beside his father, both of them gazed outside in silence for a while.
Beyond the window, the city seemed to be billowing like a sea. The crowd shouted, laughed, and sang beneath the colorful flags that swayed in the wind. There were shards of wine on the ground, the smell of roasting meat in the air, and laughter echoing off the walls
'So much noise…' Leon thought, suspecting his father would be disturbed by this.
The White Falcon Order had long since departed, but the people continued to celebrate. Their joy had always seemed foreign to Leon. Usually, nothing brought him much joy except knights, sword techniques, and the history of the sword.
Still, as a noble of the Velenor Empire—and one of the most important nobles, at that—he knew he had to try to understand the expressions of joy on people's faces.
"Leon."
When his father spoke, his voice echoed as sharp as a bell. Leon involuntarily hunched his shoulders and turned his head. The sound had been associated in his mind not with disobedience, but with fear, since childhood.
"Yes, father."
There was a moment of silence. Then the man's voice echoed again, like a decree:
"I will send you to Blight Church in two days." Leon's breath seemed to catch in his throat. For a few seconds, everything around him was silent. The laughter outside, the rustle of the flags, the distant music… all of it seemed hidden behind a veil.
His father's expression remained the same as the words echoed in his mind. There was no pride on that face, no compassion… the composure of a priest who has only spoken what must be said.
"W–What?..."
Leon's voice echoed in the silence of the room, sounding foreign even to his own ears. The sound was muffled by the knot in his throat.
"Is something wrong?"
His father turned his head slowly, his voice cold and even as a knife—no anger, no compassion, only unquestioned authority.
Something twisted in Leon's heart.
"Is something wrong?"
Yes, that sentence alone was a problem
"…Why am I going to Blight!?"
The words escaped his lips like an involuntary cry.
The air in the room suddenly felt heavy. The gold-embroidered curtains trembled slightly, and even the sounds of the festival from outside seemed to be muffled.
His father bit his lip tightly before frowning. The look in his eyes froze Leon for a moment; it was as if a storm were swirling behind his pupils, but not a single drop escaped.
Leon's breathing quickened, his fingers trembling.
"No… again? Did I say something wrong again?"
His father bowed his head slightly, his eyes fixated on his son's shoulders, which were trembling with anxiety. The hardness in his face seemed to melt away in that moment. In its place, a brief but genuine regret settled.
"I was going to make the same mistake again…" he thought.
He took a deep breath, then turned his gaze to the crowd outside.
Beyond the window, people were still celebrating. Laughter, the beat of drums, and the dancing shadows of bright fabrics reached the room. But his father's voice echoed like a sharp line through all the noise:
"Leon."
It was just one word, but even the silence on the walls startled.
"You're fifteen now. In fact, you're two months away from your sixteenth birthday."
After a short pause, his voice softened, but still held its weight.
"Now you have to start your apprenticeship to become a priest."
Leon was suddenly at a loss for words. His eyes grew dim.
"So… that's why."
His father continued:
"That's why I'm sending you to Blight. To Father Owen."
Leon's gaze drifted out the window. The flags, shining in the light, seemed suddenly pale. The noise of the city mingled with the humming noise that seemed to echo in his ears.
"And why Blight?" he asked, his voice almost a whisper.
"It's the place with the highest crime rate. People call it the 'Dirty Spot' of Velenor. Other priests are afraid to set foot there, and why me?"
His father was silent for a long time before answering. He closed his eyes, the deep lines on his forehead deepening.
"Blight…" he began, almost as if speaking to himself.
"As you know, the Undercity is an extension of Zaun. It is tied to both it and Velenor. Most of those people were born into crime, raised in it. Changing them is not easy."
He paused for a moment. His voice held a weary wisdom
"Sister Owen is old now. He has turned seventy-five. He cannot bear the weight of a place like Blight alone. That is why I will send you there. I want you to help him."
He turned his head slowly to Leon.
"You can do this… can't you?"
Leon saw, for a moment, a fragment of the stone wall he had grown accustomed to in his father's eyes. But it was so brief that he almost thought he had imagined it.
The silence of the room, despite the excitement outside, fell like a thick curtain.
Leon was silenced for several seconds at his father's words. The silence that filled the room mixed with the muffled sounds of the crowd outside, making the air heavy. As his eyes roamed over his father's face, the determination in his gaze tightened something in Leon's heart.
He swallowed. No one noticed his lips move, but he said it as if he were whispering:
"He's… lying."
His eyes shifted to his father's sealed documents on the table, to the neatly stacked paperwork and the cold mind hidden behind that meticulousness.
"Help?" he thought, and the corners of his lips quivered slightly.
"When did you become so eager to help anyone?"
An anger he had tried to suppress for years swelled inside him. His father's every word reminded him of the orders imposed on him under the pretext of "protection."
"You… are merely trying to maintain your authority. Like you always do. And I…" Leon's fists clenched unconsciously, the knot in his throat making it difficult to breathe.
"…and I am nothing but a tool you use to increase that authority."
"Leon?"
His father frowned slightly, looking at his son. There was confusion in his eyes—both curiosity and impatience. As the silence stretched a little longer, the corners of his lips tensed slightly. 'Will he protest?' he wondered.
Leon bowed his head slightly and took a deep breath. The air in his lungs was heavy, as if he were trying to suppress the turmoil within him with each breath. His fingertips trembled on his knees, then he looked away from his father's, turning to the window.
Outside, a gray sky looked as bleak as the road to the Blight. He thought then: perhaps there was a shred of freedom hidden in this decision. At least he would be free from his father's shadow…
"Yes…" he said finally, his voice calm but with a subtle tension. "Of course. I would be happy to assist Father Owen."
His father was surprised at first, then a faint smile appeared on his face. There was a brief, gentle expression in his eyes, but it quickly gave way to the cold seriousness of before.
"I'm glad to hear it, son."
As he spoke his sentence, he turned around and began to walk slowly back towards the dining table. "You will set out today. Your journey will take two days, so prepare yourself accordingly." Leon bowed his head slightly.
"I understand," he said shortly.
...
Leon's footsteps echoed on the wooden steps. He was descending slowly. With each step, his father's voice seemed to echo in his mind - "You will set out in two days."
It was as if the words were carved into the walls.
The very name Blight rang in his mind like a dark echo
He had heard the stories of that place—a city of crime, hunger, and corrupt faith. Even the priests walked there, flanked by guards, as they prayed.
And why?
Why was he sending him there?
Leon's fingers gripped the banisters tightly. Even the touch of cold metal against his skin wasn't enough to shake him from his thoughts.
"Perhaps he wants to accustom me to the harshest conditions?" he thought, biting his lip.
He paused at the last step.
For a moment, silently, he raised his head and looked up—the door to his father's room was still half-open. For a moment, he thought, he caught a glimpse of his mother's silhouette inside. His heart clenched; his breath caught in his chest. Those warm, old days with his mother and father came flooding back to him—his mother's smile, his father's soft voice, the peaceful times they'd spent together, the three of them.
Those evenings they'd shared meals, the laughter echoing in the candlelight…
All of it flashed before his eyes, then vanished like mist dispersed by the wind.
Leon's eyes narrowed slightly.
"After all… I am his son."
The thought vanished before he could even utter it. A sadness mingled with pride lingered within him; both the weight of belonging and the chains of that belonging.
The moment he stepped into the corridor, a gust of wind blew the heavy curtains away. The cool air that flowed into the room ruffled Leon's golden hair, and a small silhouette appeared before his eyes. Standing there with her slender figure, her simple dress, and the thick book in her hands was her sister, Rita, who had just turned eleven.
Rita's jet-black hair was her father's, and her vibrant green eyes were her mother's. The thick, elegantly bound book in his hands had gleaming gold inscriptions on its cover; the faint scent wafting from its pages carried the unique, heavy air of ancient texts.
"Rita? What are you doing here?"
Leon asked, surprised.
But Rita didn't seem to hear him. His eyes were so absorbed in the images on the pages that it was as if the world around him had gone completely silent.
"Rita?" Leon called, a little louder this time.
"Ah!" Rita looked up, startled. Panicked, she clutched the book tightly, but the hardcover slipped from her slippery fingers and clattered to the floor.
Both paused for a moment as the sound echoed off the stone walls of the hallway. The wind blew the curtains again. A few flying pages fluttered slightly at the corners. Leon leaned down and picked up the book.
"Brother, stop!" Rita shouted.
Leon's pupils suddenly dilated as he scanned the golden letters on the cover.
On the book was written "The Purpose of the Sword and the Purpose of the User." It was one of the books Leon had begged Arthur for; in fact, Arthur had said, it was a must-read for anyone who wanted to advance on the path of knighthood.
Leon fixed his gaze on Rita again. There was a slight hint of anger in his eyes.
"Where did you find this?"
Rita rolled her eyes and said in an uneasy voice, "In your room, brother." The regret on her face was obvious.
"In my room?"
Leon was taken aback for a moment. Because, because of his father, he was careful not to keep any books on sword techniques or knights in his room. He suddenly remembered his conversation with Butler Arthur as he left his father's study.
"Ah, right. Butler Arthur was supposed to bring me books."
"Brother…"
Rita's voice was barely a whisper, but there was a definite tremor in it—anxiety tinged with fear. The moment Leon sensed something strange in it, he turned his gaze to his sister.
"What happened, Rita?" he asked.
There was an involuntary tension in his voice.
The little girl clasped her hands together and pressed them to her chest. Those slender fingers were interlocked, as if trying to hide the fear within her.
"Um…" she said, averting her eyes. "After I finished the politics lessons my father prepared, I was going to your room to play with you."
Her words trailed off.
She swallowed.
Leon waited silently; even Rita's breathing was audible now.
"When we approached the door…" she paused for a moment, biting her lip.
"I heard Arthur the Butler and two maids talking inside."
A spark flickered in Leon's mind.
"Or… has she found out about the Blight?"
His heart quickened slightly, but he tried not to show it. He simply frowned slightly.
"What were they talking about?"
Rita looked at the floor. Her small shoulders trembled.
The first time she tried, no sound came, and the second, the words struggled to escape.
"They said you were going to… to the Blight. He ordered the servants… to pack your things, Butler Arthur."
Leon was silent for a moment.
There was no expression on his face, no response in his voice.
It was as if all his thoughts had evaporated in an instant. Then he slowly closed his eyes. He took a deep, quiet breath
"Ah…" he said to himself, barely a whisper.
"So… she learned."
In that moment, the silence of the corridor was filled only by the rustle of the wind moving the curtain.
And in that chill, Leon felt his fate already sealed.
As Leon looked at his brother's face, shadows of the past began to emerge in his mind.
He remembered that he had been raised to be a priest…and that Rita had been forced to learn to rule a country at the age of eleven. Their father's orders had robbed them of their childhood
Rita's slender hands were always on the pages of books—but those books were filled not with fairy tales, but with politics.
And every time Leon saw it, a feeling of guilt he couldn't define welled up inside him.
Everything had changed after their mother's death.
Their father, until then a cool but balanced man, had suddenly become someone who had lost his emotions.
The warmth of the house had given way to rules, discipline, and silence.
Leon knew how lonely Rita had been. She had been her only refuge, her only source of comfort.
But now… he too was leaving.
"Rita…"
Leon took a deep breath and gently placed his hand on his sister's head.
His fingers ran through her silky black hair.
Rita looked up; her pupils were trembling, a few tears glistening at the tips of her lower lashes. Leon saw in that look a child's helplessness, fear, and a farewell he couldn't accept.
"It…" he said quietly, choosing his words carefully. "It was our father's decision, Rita. As much as I don't want it… I have to do what he says."
Rita parted her lips but couldn't make a sound.
Leon's fingers trembled slightly, as if he too wanted to stay.
The silence that filled the hall made the farewell between the two brothers even more difficult.
Only the distant peal of church bells carried on the wind could be heard—and at that moment, with that sound, Leon felt a chapter of his life end.
....
A carriage drawn by four powerful horses, its shades of black and brown intertwined in a dark harmony, waited in front of the manor.
Leon handed the leather suitcase he was holding to the man driving. The man silently bowed his head and placed it in the hidden compartment under the seat. At this moment, Leon turned to the two people waiting at the manor's gate to see him off—his butler, Arthur, and his sister, Rita.
"I never expected I'd be leaving just today," Leon said, a slight tremor in his voice, a suppressed bitterness within him.
"I'm afraid even I could not have predicted this, my young master..." Arthur replied, his teary eyes lowering, bowing respectfully out of habit.
Leon shook his head and cut him off with a forced smile.
"It's not your fault, Butler Arthur. My father made this decision."
A smile, calm but filled with broken warmth, touched Leon's lips at her words. "Do not fail to love my sister, Arthur… please. It is my command as the High Septon's son."
The lines on Arthur's face deepened even further. The sadness in his eyes held a weight beyond words. He took a step forward, put his hands on Leon's shoulders, and pulled him close, hugging him tightly.
"Oh, my child…" he said hoarsely. "If only I could…if only I could give you and your sister a normal childhood."
The wind blew gently at that moment. The dry leaves in front of the manor swirled away on the stone pavement.
As a tear rolled down Arthur's cheek, Leon lifted his head and walked toward his sister. At that moment, a single thought crossed Leon's mind:
If only he could have spent a little more time with Rita. If only he could hear her laugh a little more, if only he could prolong those brief moments they spent together.
"If only…" he whispered to himself. If only I could play one more game with her…
Leon dropped his knees to the ground and bowed before his brother. Rita's green eyes were filled with sadness, like the sky just before the rain; her small hands were trembling, her fingers clutching tightly at the hem of Leon's cloak.
"Rita…" Leon said softly. At that moment, the words were knotted like a stone in his throat. Rita rushed forward and threw her arms around Leon's neck, tears streaming down her cheeks.
"Why… why!" she cried, her voice breaking.
"Why do you have to go, brother! Why does it have to be you!?" The little girl's trembling voice echoed in Leon's chest. Each word was like a needle stuck in his heart.
Leon's eyes welled up with tears, and his lips quivered. At that moment, all his courage began to crumble, like the walls behind his father's commands.
He wrapped his arms around Rita's back. "I don't know," he whispered. "I really don't know, Rita..."
Rita's crying was the only sound shattering the morning silence. And in that voice, Leon heard not only the longing for a sister but also the echo of his lost childhood.