Chapter 15
For a fraction of a second, the gentle warmth of his smile faltered. Elyra's instinctual flinch stung far deeper than any blade or battlefield wound he had ever endured.
He didn't fully understand it. He had spent years protecting her, watching over her, and doing everything within his mortal and divine power to keep her safe—yet an invisible, impenetrable barrier still lingered in her eyes. A quiet distance he could never seem to cross.
Damnern dropped his gaze to his calloused hands. The roaring chaos of war had never frightened him. Death had never so much as made his pulse quicken.
But this did.
The haunting thought that, despite all his sacrifices, his own daughter still couldn't feel entirely safe in his presence felt like a slow-acting poison. For a long moment, he simply stood in the dim cabin, staring at the child he loved far more than his own breath. He silently prayed that one day, she would look at him without a shadow of terror—not as the terrifying Fifth Strongest Warrior, not as the monster from her fragmented memories, but simply as her father.
Thirty minutes later, the caravan finally resumed its march. The wounded guards had their injuries bound and stitched, and once their breathing settled, the group prepared to press forward.
One of the mounted guards guided his steed toward Damnern, lowering his head in profound respect.
"My deepest apologies for the delay, Count Damnern. One of our vanguard took a severe cut, and stabilizing him required some time."
Damnern offered a slow, measured nod. "Understood."
His cool, sharp gaze swept across the battered carriage before he spoke again. "Continue the journey. We will rest once we reach Valdwess City."
Relief washed over the guard's face. "Understood, my lord!"
He whirled his horse around, raising his voice to rally the formation. "Everyone, prepare yourselves! We're moving out!"
The shouted command echoed sharply through the midnight trail. Hoofbeats thundered against the packed earth once more, and the swaying lanterns cast long, dancing shadows as the carriage vanished into the obsidian embrace of the woods. Behind them lay only crushed brush and the blood-soaked corpses of fallen raiders; ahead waited the fortified safety of Valdwess City.
Inside the cabin, Damnern sat on the wooden bench opposite his family, maintaining a careful distance. Despite his attempts to scrub away the gore, his skin still carried the faint, metallic ghost of dried blood, and with his formal shirt shredded to ribbons, the biting night air stung his exposed flesh. Yet he paid the physical discomfort no mind.
His blue eyes remained fixed entirely on his children.
"Are you holding up, Eldern?" he asked softly, his voice a low rumble beneath the rattle of the wheels.
Eldern, though still visibly pale from the adrenaline of the ambush, puffed out his small chest and forced a remarkably brave grin. "Eldern is fine, Papa."
Despite the valiant effort, his young voice trembled ever so slightly. Damnern's features softened into a genuine smile. He reached across the narrow space, resting a large, warm palm gently atop his son's head, smoothing his hair until the boy's tense shoulders finally relaxed.
Across from them, Elyra sat motionless in Elina's arms, her mind consumed by an entirely different kind of terror.
Over and over, she reached inward, probing the dark corners of her soul for the familiar, responsive spark of her Clone Manifestation.
Nothing.
Why?
Why?
Why?
No matter how hard she strained against the mental void, absolute silence answered her. The profound emptiness terrified her more than the raiders' arrows ever could.
Slowly, the exhaustion of the night caught up to Eldern. Lulled by the rhythmic sway of the carriage and the steady, comforting weight of his father's hand, his breathing grew deep and even until he drifted into a much-needed sleep.
Elina remained awake, though the heavy toll of the ambush still trembled beneath her quiet exterior.
Damnern noticed the subtle tremor in her hands immediately. Without a word, he shifted closer, sliding his arm around her shoulders to pull her against his side.
"It's over," he murmured, his breath brushing her temple. "You're safe."
The simple reassurance shattered the last remnants of her composure. Hot tears spilled instantly over her lashes.
"I was so terrified…" Her voice cracked into a jagged, broken whisper. "So terrified they would hurt my children…"
"You don't have to carry that weight alone," Damnern replied gently, pulling her flush against his chest as his large hand rubbed slow, grounding circles into her back. "Let it out. I've got you."
The raw permission broke the dam. Tears flowed fast and heavy down Elina's face. "I was so scared… so scared…" she sobbed, her fingers clutching frantically at the remnants of his torn shirt, gripping his arm as though letting go would tear reality apart and force the nightmare to repeat.
Damnern held her tighter, unyielding and unbreakable, letting her weep into the dark without a single word of interruption. "I know," he breathed into her hair. "I know, Elina. I'm sorry for making you go through this."
Watching Elina break down so completely sent a sharp, agonizing knot of guilt twisting deep inside Elyra's chest. Even in her own self-absorbed spiral of trauma—terrified and reeling from the sudden loss of her powers and her own helplessness—she was suddenly struck by the sheer weight of what her mother had just endured. She had been so consumed by her own survival that she had completely overlooked the motherly anguish holding her together; the sheer terror of sitting in the dark during a brutal ambush, guarding two small children while praying for the safety of the man fighting outside.
Eventually, the violent emotional storm exhausted Elina as well. Resting heavy and limp against Damnern's shoulder, her breathing slowed into the steady rhythm of a fragile, dreamless sleep.
The carriage interior fell back into a profound, suffocating silence, broken only by the grinding timber of the axles and the distant drumming of hooves.
Damnern turned his gaze toward Elyra. She sat rigidly upright—wide-awake, hyper-vigilant, her small frame braced as if disaster might strike again at any second.
Slowly, deliberately, he shifted closer to her.
"Papa doesn't know why... but I can sense that Elyra is still afraid of me. Always trying to carry everything on your own."
A self-deprecating shadow crossed his eyes. "Perhaps this is just karma, because Papa was far too eager to hold you the moment you came into this world..."
Elyra simply stared back at him, her blue eyes wide and frozen, offering neither words nor comfort—though deep down, she remembered every single fragment of her past life.
"You likely don't remember any of it," Damnern added with a soft, melancholic chuckle. "You were just a newborn then. But listen to me, Elyra..."
His large hand reached out, brushing a stray lock of silver hair away from her forehead with infinite gentleness.
"As long as Papa draws breath, no one will ever lay a hand on you."
He held her gaze. "So you don't have to worry anymore."
Elyra lowered her eyes to her lap, utterly speechless.
"Try leaning on Papa sometimes," he whispered.
Silence stretched between them.
Then, Damnern spoke again, his voice dropping into a register so raw it caught her off guard.
"Papa is sorry."
That single word snapped Elyra's head upward, stark confusion cutting through her panic.
"Why awe you saying sowwy...?"
For a fleeting second, raw, unspeakable pain flickered across Damnern's silver eyes. Without answering her directly, he gathered her small frame gently into his arms, resting her head against his broad shoulder.
"Because Papa loves Elyra."
The confession was barely audible above the rumble of the wheels.
"And Papa only wants you to feel safe in this home."
His embrace tightened, an ironclad fortress against the cold. "As long as I am here... nothing in this world will ever hurt you again."
Pressed against him, Elyra could feel the deep, heavy thud of his heartbeat—steady, powerful, and undeniably warm. Slowly, the crushing grip of the night's terror began to loosen. Her eyelids grew impossibly heavy, the accumulated exhaustion finally taking its toll, until darkness claimed her and she drifted off to sleep.
When Elyra finally stirred, an eternity seemed to have passed. She blinked slowly, staring up at an unfamiliar ceiling bathed in the pale, silver wash of moonlight filtering through silk curtains.
Where... am I?
Still half-asleep, her instincts flared, searching inward for the dormant spark of her clone abilities. Still nothing. A sharp spike of anxiety hit her chest, but the sight of Eldern softly snoring beside her instantly anchored her back to reality.
Just as she pushed herself up on her elbows—
Click.
The heavy oak bedroom door swung open. Elyra instantly flinched, her muscles locking into defensive tension as her heart hammered against her ribs.
Then she saw the face framed in the doorway.
"Mama…"
Elina stepped quietly into the room, balancing a wooden tray laden with steaming food and fresh water. Noticing Elyra sitting awake, a radiant, gentle smile bloomed across her face.
"Did I startle you, sweetie?" Elina asked softly, stepping over to the bedside.
Elyra shook her head slightly, her gaze darting around the unfamiliar walls. "Where awe we, Mama?"
"We're staying at an inn in the heart of Valdwess City," Elina replied, setting the tray down gently before sitting on the mattress to brush a hand through Elyra's hair. "We arrived safely a while ago."
Elyra blinked in genuine confusion. "When?"
Elina paused, tapping her chin in thought. "Hmm... about an hour ago, I'd say."
An hour?
A faint, hazy memory surfaced—falling asleep against the warm, solid wall of her father's chest inside the bouncing carriage. Everything after that had dissolved into a dreamless void.
Then, a sudden, restless thought pushed past her exhaustion. Her eyes darted back toward the door.
"Where is Pa…pa?" she asked quietly.
Elina let out a soft, helpless sigh, shaking her head. "I honestly couldn't tell you."
She offered a small, knowing smile. "He mentioned something about having loose ends to tie up before morning."
Meanwhile, far across the city, a bustling, smoke-filled tavern roared with the chaotic symphony of midnight life—gut-busting laughter, clinking pewter tankards, drunken sea shanties, and the heavy, suffocating reek of cheap ale and roasted meat.
Tucked away in a shadowed corner booth sat a handsome young man with striking, fiery orange hair. Dressed in lavish, embroidered traveling silks weighed down by heavy signet rings, he lazily twirled a half-empty crystal glass between his fingers, watching the rowdy crowd with bored disdain.
"Hey, barkeep!" he called out, his voice dripping with aristocratic boredom as he raised a hand. "Another bottle. The good stuff this time."
A harried waiter hurried over, bowing quickly. "Right away, sir!"
The orange-haired man shoved his crystal glass forward across the sticky wood. "Pour."
The rich, amber liquor bubbled softly as it filled the cup to the brim. He lifted the glass toward his lips, his emerald eyes drifting lazily across the noisy room.
Then—
His entire body violently seized.
The glass stopped dead halfway to his mouth. His jaw dropped, and his eyes dilated into wide circles of utter disbelief as the heavy wooden entrance doors of the tavern swung wide open.
A towering silhouette stepped through the threshold—flawless silver hair catching the amber candlelight, piercing blue eyes colder than a winter storm, and an ambient, terrifying presence so absolute that the deafening roar of the tavern instantly plummeted into a dead, suffocating hush.
The orange-haired man's mind completely flatlined. He sat frozen, entirely forgetting the drink trembling in his hand.
"D-Damnern?!"
Pure, unadulterated shock exploded across his face.
Of all the faces in the vast continent, crossing paths with him here was the absolute last thing he had ever expected.
To be Continued...