Raul's POV
Where am I?
The thought surfaced slowly, like a body rising from deep water. Raul's eyes opened to a ceiling recognized, high, white, and traced with delicate gold patterns that caught the light. Silk curtains stirred gently near tall windows, letting in the soft glow of morning. The air smelled clean. Warm. Like polished wood, faint perfume, and freshly brewed tea.
This wasn't the Misleading Woods nor the Ruined City.
He pushed himself upright, fingers sinking into sheets far too soft to be real. The bed beneath him was wide, layered with blankets stitched in fine thread. His chest tightened.
He tried to activate Combat Sense, but nothing happened.
"What?"
For the first time in years, he felt weak, truly weak, as if something essential had been torn from him.
Then the door opened.
"Oh, young Master Raul, you're awake?"
The voice was familiar.
Too familiar.
A young woman stepped inside, dressed in a neat maid's uniform, auburn hair tied back, expression gentle and relieved. She carried a tray, steam rising from a porcelain teacup.
"Would you like tea first," she asked, smiling, "or should I bring breakfast?"
Raul stared.
"…Aina?"
The name left his mouth like a ghost.
His heart began to pound.
"But—" His voice cracked. "Didn't you die?"
She blinked. "Young master?" Her brow furrowed slightly. "What are you talking about? Did you have a nightmare?"
Aina laughed softly, concern creeping into her eyes. "That's a terrible thing to say first thing in the morning."
Raul's head started to throb. A dull ache pressed behind his eyes. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, feet touching a carpet so plush it felt unreal. His gaze landed on a tall mirror near the wardrobe.
He froze.
The boy reflected back at him wasn't the man who had survived assassins, monsters, and months of hunger.
He was small.
Ten years old. Slender. Untouched by scars. Ashen hair falling messily over grey eyes that were still wide and unbroken.
"What…?" Raul whispered.
The room spun.
He lurched to his feet, ignored Aina's startled cry, and bolted out of the room.
"Young Master, wait—!"
He ran.
Down wide marble halls lined with tapestries. Past servants who gasped and bowed. His bare feet slapped against polished stone as he burst through the front doors of the mansion.
Sunlight hit him.
The courtyard was pristine. No blood. No broken bodies. No burning banners. The gates stood tall and whole. Guards laughed among themselves. Birds perched on the fountain's edge.
No invasion.
No massacre.
No death.
"What is happening…?" Raul breathed.
Then a voice spoke behind him, gentle, amused.
"What are you doing in your pajamas out here, Raul?" it teased. "Should I give you an ass whooping or something?"
His breath caught.
He turned.
A woman stood there, hands on her hips, white hair cascading down her shoulders like fresh snow. Her grey eyes shone with warmth and sharp intelligence. She was beautiful in a way that hurt to look at, familiar beyond reason.
"Mother…?" Raul whispered. "Is that you?"
She raised an eyebrow. "Who else would I be? Did you hit your head, boy?"
He didn't think.
Raul ran.
He crashed into her arms, clutched her like she might vanish if he loosened his grip, and broke.
He cried, openly, violently, as something inside him had finally shattered. Years of restraint, of survival, of watching everyone he loved die poured out at once.
"Wh—what happened?" Seris said, startled but steady, wrapping her arms around him. "Did Rina bully you again? I'll scold her, okay?"
"No," Raul sobbed into her shoulder. "I just… missed you. I missed you so much."
His voice broke completely.
They stood there for a long time. Ten minutes, maybe more. Servants whispered and glanced away, but Seris didn't care. She held her son, one hand gently stroking his hair, letting him cling to her like a child again.
Aina arrived breathless. "Lady Seris—"
Seris lifted a finger. "Shhh. Let him be."
Eventually, Raul's breathing slowed. He pulled back, embarrassed, wiping his face with his sleeve.
"You feel better now?" Seris asked softly.
He nodded. "Yes, mother."
"Good." She smiled. "Then let's have breakfast. I'll drag your father out of his office if I have to. He's been locked in there for days."
Raul laughed weakly. "That sounds like him."
The dining hall was enormous, sunlight spilling through tall windows. The table could seat ten easily, polished to a shine. Servants moved quietly, setting dishes.
Seris left to fetch his father.
A moment later, a girl entered.
Fourteen, maybe. Ashen hair, sharp grey eyes, just like his.
"Brother," she said smugly, "I heard you were crying in mother's arms for ten whole minutes in your pajamas at the front door."
She laughed. "Did you eat something bad or what? That's so embarrassing."
Raul jumped down from his chair and hugged her, too.
"I missed you, too," he said hoarsely. "I missed you so much, Rina."
She stiffened. "Wha—hey! Let go, brat! I never said I missed you!"
But he remembered.
He remembered Rina standing in front of him, sword raised, her small frame shaking as blood soaked through her clothes. Remembered her teeth clenched, eyes burning as she fought men twice her size. He remembered the moment she was stabbed, and still didn't fall. She grabbed the knight's legs with what little strength she had left, screaming at him to run.
She died so he could live.
And then his mother as well.
Seris had pushed him into Aina's arms without hesitation, fingers digging into his shoulders as she turned back toward the hall already filling with enemies. Her expression had been calm. Resolute. As if this were simply another duty she had accepted.
Aina ran with him. Hid him in a merchant's cart bound for the Lionheart Kingdom. Raul remembered the jolting wheels, the suffocating dark, the sound of boots on stone.
They caught her anyway.
She didn't scream.
They killed her where she stood.
Everyone who loved him had paid for his survival in blood.
"What's wrong, Raul?"
The voice was firm. Calm. Carrying an authority that once made an entire hall fall silent.
Raul turned.
A man stood there, tall and broad-shouldered, ash-grey hair threaded with silver. His dark eyes were tired, but keen, eyes that had measured battlefields and men alike, eyes that belonged to a Grandmaster.
His father.
Viscount Ravian Slade.
One of the six Grandmasters of Ravenstone.
A man betrayed by his closest friend, the Duke of Ravenstone. Condemned by lies spoken with smiling mouths. Publicly executed for crimes he had never committed.
"Raul?" Seris asked gently. "Why are you just standing there?"
Raul swallowed. "N-nothing. Let's… eat."
They sat together.
Ravian broke the silence. "Feels like ages since we all had breakfast like this."
"That's because you never join us," Rina said bluntly.
Ravian chuckled softly. "Oh, my sweet girl. Then I owe you an apology. How about a gift?"
"Okay," she said instantly. "You're forgiven."
They laughed.
Raul watched them, chest aching.
He knew.
None of this was real.
And yet…
He let himself be.
Just for a while.
Because sometimes, even illusions could feel like mercy.
And sometimes, mercy was the cruelest trial of all.