When Elynthion returned to the kingdom, his mind was still burdened with everything that had happened.
He carried the weight of the curse the old woman had cast upon him, the weight of the anger he had seen in the people's eyes, and the weight of his generals' gazes—gazes that held both hope and fear for him.
But he did not know that the hardest blow had yet to come...
When he arrived at his home, he felt that something was off.
Usually, the servants would rush to him the moment he arrived, taking his horse, bringing him water, and greeting him with the utmost respect. But this time… no one came.
He stood for a moment at the entrance, dismounted his horse, and stared at the wide-open doors, as if the wind had carried with it something heavy, something sorrowful.
With heavy steps, he moved inside, his eyes searching for an explanation—until they fell upon his wife, Myralin.
She was sitting on the ground, surrounded by servants, crying bitterly.
A cry he had never heard from her before.
A cry that froze his blood in his veins, sending a chilling dread into his heart.
He rushed toward her, fell to his knees before her, grabbed her shoulders, and shook her gently—but no words came out of her mouth.
All she did was raise her trembling hand, as if showing him something.
A hair ribbon.
Elora's hair ribbon.
But it was not as he had seen it before. It was not pure white, nor adorned with the tiny flowers his daughter loved so much…
It was soaked in blood.
At that moment, it felt as if the air had disappeared from around him, as if the entire world had fallen silent.
With shaking hands, he took the ribbon, staring at it for a long time, as if refusing to believe what he was seeing… Blood… His daughter's blood?
Slowly, he raised his head and looked at his wife, who was drowning in her tears, her eyes revealing the brutal truth.
At last, he spoke, but his voice was weak, as if fearing the answer:
"Myralin… what happened? Where is Elora?"
But she could not answer… All she did was place her hand over her mouth and break down even further in tears.
Realizing he would not get an answer from her, he quickly turned to the servants, hoping one of them would tell him…
But there was only silence.
They all stood in place, heads lowered, their eyes filled with sorrow and fear.
And in that moment, someone stepped forward…
Arendal, his loyal servant.
On Arendal's face was something Elynthion had never seen before…
It was not just sorrow… there was pain, helplessness—a feeling of utter powerlessness.
Arendal sighed slowly, then spoke with a hoarse voice, as if struggling to deliver the words without breaking down:
"My lord… Elora… she is outside, in the courtyard, with her caretaker, Elina…"
In that moment, he no longer needed to hear more.
He ran.
He ran with all his strength, as if his life depended on it, as if his mind refused to believe anything until he saw it with his own eyes…
But the truth was far crueler than he had expected.
When he reached the courtyard, his body suddenly froze, as if the ground had paralyzed him.
There, before him, lay little Elora.
On the ground.
Beside her, her caretaker, Elina.
Blood surrounded them, as if painting a scene in the most terrifying of colors.
But before he could take another step, a heart-wrenching voice pierced his ears.
A small, trembling, broken voice.
"G-Grandmother… not Grandmother too!!"
A vision flashed through Elynthion's mind—a little girl, running toward the bodies.
She was sobbing uncontrollably, her tears falling like an endless river.
She collapsed onto her knees beside them, shut her eyes tightly, and shook her head, as if trying to reject reality.
Then, in a broken whisper, she said:
"Mom and Dad… and now you too… No one stays… No one leaves me behind…"
"Why? Why does everyone leave?"
Those words pierced Elynthion's heart as if they were burning arrows.
He saw his daughter in her.
He saw Elora…
He imagined her crying like this, screaming like this, feeling this same betrayal, this same fear, this same loneliness…
But his daughter would cry no more.
His daughter would scream no more.
Because she was gone.
Forever.
He did not even realize when he collapsed onto his knees, the bloodstained ribbon still clenched in his trembling hand.
Moments of silence passed—until the guards arrived, running toward him, their faces tense, as if they bore news no less terrible than what he had just witnessed.
One of them, breathless, said:
"My lord… we found the killers!"
Elynthion lifted his head, his eyes no longer filled with just tears—but something else.
Something darker.
Something he had not felt in a long time…
Rage.
A rage that could not be stopped.
The guards swiftly brought the three killers before Elynthion.
He stood, his body rigid, his hands gripping the hilt of his sword with crushing force, his eyes ablaze with an unquenchable fire.
The blood was still on his hands.
Elora's blood.
And now, before him, stood three...
Three murderers.
One of them was a half-human, his features a blend of savagery and cunning. His hair was tangled, and his eyes narrowed with mockery as if he feared nothing.
The other two were ordinary humans, but their faces were anything but ordinary… There was no regret, no fear in them… only wicked smiles.
When the guards brought them in, they struggled against their restraints, but a single glance from Alethion was enough to freeze them in place.
He stood before them, took a deep breath, then drew his sword from its sheath. The sound of the blade sliding free was like the whisper of death in a victim's ear.
Then, in a calm voice that carried the weight of an impending storm, he said:
"I will be as merciful as possible… if you answer my questions."
But they… laughed.
Not the laugh of fear…
But the laugh of disdain.
They laughed as if he was nothing. As if his death would be more entertaining than he could ever imagine.
Then one of them spoke, his eyes filled with hatred as he glared at him:
"We will answer nothing, you false hero."
At that moment, Alethion gave him no chance to regret his words.
The sword moved like lightning.
Just one moment…
And the man's head rolled across the ground.
Silence fell.
Even the guards, accustomed to death, stood motionless, stunned by what had just happened.
But Alethion did not care.
He stood firm, his sword still dripping with blood, and turned to the remaining two.
They stared in horror, sweat pouring down their foreheads.
The laughter in their eyes… vanished.
The pride in their gazes… shattered.
Now, they were nothing but men facing death.
Then, in a voice colder than ice, Alethion said:
"Why? And who do you serve?"
He lifted his sword slightly, letting the light reflect off its blade… then added sharply:
"I will accept no other answer."
The silence was heavy… even their breathing became labored.
One swallowed hard, the other felt his legs could no longer hold him.
But Alethion was not waiting…
He had given them only one chance.
Alethion stood, his body tense like a drawn bowstring, and the rage in his eyes burned like the flames of hell. Blood still dripped from his blade, slow and steady… The air was thick with hatred, with resentment, with betrayal.
The remaining human tried to speak… but to Alethion, he was just another liar.
The mercenary stammered, "W-We serve no one… we only—"
Alethion did not let him finish his lie.
"You will not dare to lie to me."
And in a flash, the sword moved again…
His head hit the ground.
Some of the guards instinctively stepped back, shaken by what they had witnessed. Alethion was not someone who killed without mercy… but this time… this time, it was personal.
And now, only the half-human remained.
His body trembled, his gaze unfocused. He knew death was inevitable, but something in Alethion's eyes forced him to speak, as if that gaze alone was another sword slicing through his insides.
"We… we were ordered to kill your daughter, Elora… But the old woman was protecting her… We couldn't get her away from her, so we took her life as well."
His voice held no regret, yet he did not seem pleased with what he said either.
But Alethion did not care.
Everything in his mind froze at that sentence…
His daughter… They killed his daughter.
His grip tightened around his sword until his knuckles turned white. His chest rose and fell with heavy breaths, but he said nothing.
Then came the true hell.
"We serve… the king's advisor, Valeran."
Alethion's eyes widened.
As if lightning had struck his body. As if the entire world had stopped.
The king's advisor…?
"What did you say?!"
The half-human stepped back, his eyes begging for mercy, but he continued in a hoarse voice:
"Yes… He was the one who ordered it… The king's advisor wanted your daughter dead, he wanted to break you… He wanted—"
He could not finish.
Because he saw something in Alethion's eyes that made him realize… death would be a mercy.
Then, lowering his head, he whispered:
"Please… forgive me…"
But the rage in Alethion's heart would not allow it.
He raised his head high, took a deep breath, then turned to the guards and spoke in a voice as deadly as a bullet:
"Take him to the dungeon… I do not want to hear his voice again. Chain him tightly."
The guards moved quickly, seizing the half-human and dragging him away. But before he was pulled out, he turned to Alethion, his eyes burning with hatred, and said in a deep, venomous voice:
"Taste what you did to our villages, you savage beast."
Alethion did not respond.
He no longer cared.
There was only one name in his mind now…
"The king's advisor, Valeran."
If he was the one responsible…
Then he would not live for long.
Alethion knelt on his knees, his hands trembling, his eyes fixed on the body of his little daughter—the one who smiled at him every morning… and now, she lay there, cold… motionless.
"Elora…"
He whispered her name as if he couldn't believe it, as if he was waiting for her to answer, to open her eyes, to run toward him as she always did… but he knew the truth.
His daughter would never wake up again.
His tears… began to fall.
The tears that no one had ever seen before, the tears he had never allowed to escape, were now flowing down his white armor, dripping onto the ground, as if mourning the soul of the little girl.
The remaining guards… stood frozen.
Then came the sound no one expected to hear…
A sharp gasp… then crying.
Their hero… was crying.
Alethion, the man stronger than iron, the man who faced thousands of enemies without fear, the man who carried the kingdom on his shoulders… now, he knelt before his daughter's lifeless body, collapsing under the weight of loss.
His breath grew rapid, his body trembled, his fists clenched against the ground as if he wanted to tear it apart… then suddenly…
A deafening scream… shook the entire kingdom.
"VAAAAAALIRAAAAAAN!!!"
His voice was filled with rage, with hatred, with unbearable pain… It was the scream of a father who had lost what was dearest to him… and a hero betrayed by those closest to him.
It was not just a scream; it was a curse.
It was a promise… that the king's advisor would not escape what he had done.
"I will tear you apart with my own fangs if I must… I will show you what true hell is!"
At that moment… the guards who witnessed this scene were no longer looking at just their hero… they were looking at a man who had chosen vengeance… at any cost.
Alethion stood, his body weighed down by grief, his heart bleeding more than his daughter had. His tears still flowed silently, as if refusing to stop until they had cleansed his sorrow… but this was no ordinary pain. This was the pain of loss… of betrayal… of helplessness.
He finally lifted his head, his gaze falling upon the two lifeless bodies before him. In their tragic stillness, they didn't seem like mere corpses… but stolen souls, souls that had deserved a better fate.
"White shrouds… cover them with them."
His voice was hoarse, broken, yet it carried waves of silent agony and restrained fury—fury waiting for the right moment to devour the one who had wronged him.
A servant girl, one of the half-bloods, rushed forward, carrying the white shrouds he had requested. Her face was pale, her eyes brimming with tears, as if she feared that the hero might blame her simply because she belonged to the same race as one of the murderers.
She knelt before him…
Her head lowered, her hands shaking as she placed the shrouds over the bodies, but she could not stop herself from glancing at Alethion—the hero who had once been a beacon of hope for the weak… now the very embodiment of indescribable sorrow.
She saw his eyes as he watched the white fabric slowly stain red, saw the crack that spread across his expression, as if something inside him had shattered forever.
Then, in a trembling whisper, barely audible, she said:
"I'm sorry… Please, forgive me… Please…"
As if she were begging him to forgive her simply for sharing the same blood as the one who had taken his daughter's life.
But Alethion, drowning in his grief, was not foolish enough to place the blame on the innocent.
He raised his cold, lifeless eyes toward her—not with anger, but with an emptiness so vast, it was as if he was staring into the void itself.
"You had no hand in this…" he said, his voice low but as sharp as a blade. "You are not the one at fault… the only guilty one is that prisoner."
He said no more after that, nor was there a need to.
For it was clear to all… that Alethion had decided. And the punishment… was inevitable.
The sun had risen, but it did not bring its usual warmth… instead, its light was tinged with sorrow, as if it, too, was mourning in silence, witnessing a farewell that should never have been.
Alethion stood before the two graves, his eyes void of spirit, absent of the life that once filled them. His body was there, but his soul was lost in the depths of his grief, in the last memory of her laughter, her voice, her warm embrace.
Beside him, Miralyn wept bitterly, muffling her sobs with her hands, yet unable to stop the endless stream of tears. Kaylor, their son, stood there, motionless… his eyes fixed on the ground, as if he feared looking at the graves, lest he realize that this nightmare was not just a dream.
Behind them, his generals stood in silence, their faces steeped in sorrow—not just because they had lost Elora and Elenia… but because they had lost a piece of Alethion himself. They knew that the man standing before them now… was not the same man they once knew.
Even some of the kingdom's people had gathered—those who had remained loyal to him despite everything, despite the chaos, despite the destruction… despite the curse that had befallen him. They were there because they believed in him, believed that he did not deserve this tragedy, believed that the burden of his pain was too heavy for any one man to bear.
"We are here to bid farewell to two pure souls…"
The voice of the Sun Priest rose into the air, carrying a sense of serenity, yet unable to erase the grief that loomed over the place. He stood before the graves, pouring the sacred water, lifting his hand to the sky, praying for the departed.
He prayed, and all listened… except Alethion.
He did not need the priest's words… he did not need the rituals.
His daughter was dead… his caretaker was dead… a part of his heart had died with them.
No prayer could bring them back, no words could erase the chasm carved into his soul.
And yet, he stood there until the end.
Until the last drop of holy water touched the graves… until the last whispered prayer left the priest's lips.
Until the last tear fell from his eyes…
There were no words that could express it, no need for speech in the presence of death… for sorrow alone spoke on behalf of them all.
As the funeral ended, the generals stepped forward, one by one. They spoke no words, for there was nothing to say in the face of such grief, but they each placed a hand on Alethion's shoulder, as if to remind him that they were there… that he would not bear this alone, even if he remained silent, even if his heart bled in silence.
Each of them carried a mix of sorrow and rage—the loss of the innocent child and the caretaker who had been like a second mother to them all was not a simple wound… it was a scar upon them all.
The people began to whisper… a whisper that turned into a chant…
"May the pure souls rest in peace… and may divine justice fall upon the one responsible!"
At first, the voice was soft, but soon, it rose… the anger in their hearts made their voices thunder, as if they were demanding the heavens themselves to deliver vengeance.
One by one, the people moved toward the graves, placing flowers—flowers as red as blood, their hands trembling as they laid them down, as if trying to apologize for something they had not done.
Even those who had never known Elora or Elenia, even those who did not fully pledge loyalty to Alethion, stood there, placed their flowers, and bowed their heads—not just for the departed, but for the sorrow-stricken man before them.
Alethion did not move… Miralyn did not move… Kaylor did not move.
They stood there, frozen in time… at this moment… at this farewell.
There was something in their eyes that made the people feel their pain, made them realize that this loss was far greater than it seemed.
There was something in Alethion's eyes, something no one had ever seen before… more than just sorrow…
A deadly promise.
A promise that this crime would not go unpunished.
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Hello, this is me, the writer. I wanted to tell you that I wrote this chapter with tears streaming down my face and my nose running from sorrow. I never expected to reach a point where I would make such a sacrifice for the story, but the events unfold, and I follow them, trying to guide them.
Thank you for reading and for your support. I'm sorry for this sorrowful chapter, and to everyone whose eyes teared up—thank you for your sincerity in reading and for your love for my story.