NO!!! He can't allow this to happen, this was his lifelong dream!
He had poured his blood, sweat and tears just to prove himself worthy enough for the family to enroll him in the Holy Academy. He had endured countless torturous hours to attend his Noble Etiquette classes every single day for years even though he despised them to his very core.
And now, his grandfather—The Patriarch of the family—was tossing him aside to some distant region ruled by an Archduke he didn't even know?
NO! That's unacceptable! He couldn't allow this. He wouldn't allow this!!
His dream of an academic life filled with love, hope, and endless possibilities—shattered?
NEVER!!!
Zamel pulled every ounce of courage from every fiber of his being toward his heart as his eyes filled with resolve.
He was going to give the Patriarch a piece of his mind!!
Taking a deep breath, he locked eyes with his grandfather and prepared to speak.
"U-um…. P-Patriarch… W-with my d-deepest respect… may I ask a question?"
His courage evaporated before he even opened his mouth.
Well… that didn't go as planned.
Maybe—just maybe—staring his grandfather directly in the eye wasn't the greatest idea.
Staring at his eyes is not for the faint of heart. What he had witnessed in his lone purple eye was cold, dark and scary that would traumatise any other child of his age, if they were in his place.
Too bad he had been so caught up in his emotions that he failed to consider that particular flaw in his plan.
He should've stared toward his nose, maybe even his hair even if it looks weird and probably disrespectful.
Well it was too late to do that—he had already dug his hole when he questioned the Patriarch because of his audacity. Now, all he could do was hope that his grandfather would not take any offense due to his stupidity and beat his ass or whatever.
He clenched his mouth and closed his eyes tightly as he waited for the inevitable.
"Speak." He heard a voice.
It took a minute for the word to sink in as he quickly opened his eyes once realization hits in.
He stared toward the Patriarch, baffled that he was still safe and uninjured.
He had fully expected to be buried alive, fed to some starving beast his grandfather happened to find in the middle of nowhere, or—worst of all—have the Patriarch pull out a belt from somewhere and whoop his ass until he begged for mercy.
He was fully expecting he would be punished; he wasn't able to respond to the Patriarch for a full minute.
It was only after realizing that his grandfather was waiting did he snap himself out of his surprise.
"Oh! Uh… I was going to ask why I will be sent to another place when I thought that I would be studying in the capital." He said in a low, meek voice.
The Patriarch didn't acknowledge his question until he was done writing something.
He answered him without even making a glance toward his grandson.
"There are many reasons for that, but I will not bore you by listing out all the details in order to fill you up. But I will tell you the primary reasons why I decided to send you to another place instead of the capital.
Firstly, you and your cousin Merina are not on great terms. I'm sure she will give you a hard time there, now that she has free rein to torment you while you're studying. We will not be able to protect you or restrain her due to a rule set by the Church: everything that happens within the Academy stays there. No noble houses, not even us the Archdukes, are allowed to interfere. Likewise, all grudges between students must be settled before graduation—meaning you either resolve your conflict or take revenge while you're there.
Secondly, your existence is unknown to the people of our nation. Even the noble houses and the archdukes are unaware of you. Merina will likely use that to her advantage to make your life even more difficult. If the circumstances of your birth were to be revealed, the damage to our family's reputation would be unimaginable. As such, we cannot risk sending both of you to the same place to study and train when it's clear that your relationship is a ticking time bomb.
Third, the region under the protection of the Archduke's family—where I will be sending you—is situated near the Chimeric Forest of Vernandius. This region serves as the frontline defense against multiple warring apex predators seeking to expand their hunting grounds. Training there will be highly beneficial for your growth especially with the Path of Power you've chosen.
Lastly, the Patriarch of the Archduke's family is one of the few people I trust. He is the only one in his family who is aware of your circumstances. He is a great man—though a bit eccentric at times—but you can rely on him to train and protect you.
The Patriarch answered him in one fell swoop.
Also, the reason someone like him will train you is that he, along with his family, are all exceptional Beastmasters. They possess extensive knowledge of your Path of Power, which is why I believe training under them will be far more advantageous for you.
I've already created a cover story for you, based on your appearance, which closely resembles that of the southern people. You will be sent there under the guise of someone discovered by my family due to your exceptional talent. Your background will be that of a refugee from the South seeking to get a better life in our nation—after all, it is not uncommon for the people there to seek refuge in our nation due to the harsh conditions they endure in our enemy's empire.
You will stay there until you turn eighteen. After that, your path is yours to choose—you may return to our region and fulfill the duty entrusted to our family for generations, you can also remain there and join their ranks if they accept you, or even join the Church. If you choose the Church, you can become an Inquisitor like your uncle Alaric or enlist in their private military, the Angelic Army.
The Patriarch continued, likely anticipating that Zamel would have questions about the information he had just revealed.
Zamel couldn't speak because of what he had heard, it was only now he realized just how big of a hole his existence is to his family. All he could do was look down and accept his fate, even if he didn't want it, what could he do? He barely has any power to refuse his grandfather.
"Damn… now I felt so damn weak, it's fucking disgusting." He whispered to his mind, regretting his lack of strength to change his fate.
"Well, on the bright side, at least I'll be able to leave this hellhole. A fresh start in a new place is probably for the best," he muttered to himself, resigning to his fate.
"You'll go there first thing in the morning tomorrow, so prepare yourself and do what you must before you leave," the Patriarch stated, his tone firm. Then, with a subtle glance, he added, "Is that all your questions, Young Zamel?"—a clear hint that their conversation was over.
"Uh… That's all, Patriarch, but… may I request an audience with my mother?" he asked, hoping to see her one last time before leaving. He couldn't even bring himself to dwell on the fact that he would be departing tomorrow.
The Patriarch's gaze lingered on Zamel for a moment after hearing his words, his expression unreadable. Silence filled the room, stretching just long enough to make Zamel shift uneasily.
<----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------->
Zamel found himself standing before the familiar door of his mother's chambers, a deep sense of gratitude swelling within him. Despite his grandfather's usual cold demeanor, he had granted him this final visit—a rare consideration that Zamel did not take lightly.
In his hand, he held a full-face mask, his fingers tightening around it for a moment before he carefully secured it over his face. He knew better than to risk another incident like last time. He refused to let history repeat itself.
Shaking off the unpleasant memory before it could take root, he took a steadying breath. This was a special occasion, one he didn't want to taint with bitterness. With newfound resolve, he raised his hand and knocked gently on the door.
He reached out his hand as he knocked on the door "Miss Alara, may I come in?" He said as he patiently waited for a response.
"Oh! Is that you Gabriel? Come in, come in! My son really wishes to see you for a long time." A sweet, melodic voice spoke out of the room.
He didn't hesitate to open the door as he immediately saw the most beautiful person he had always seen throughout his whole life.
Unlike her sister, whose striking handsomeness compels those around her to follow and serve, Zamel's mother is the opposite. Her beauty is bright and delicate, like a dandelion bathed in sunlight, her radiant smile exuding warmth and gentleness. Long, flowing rosy hair cascades behind her like an avalanche of blooming roses, enhancing the ethereal grace she carries. She is the kind of person whom anyone who lays eyes upon would instinctively wish to protect, even at the cost of their own well-being.
Zamel, however, bore little resemblance to her—a contrast that had always been undeniable. Where she possessed a soft, heart-shaped face and soothing features that made her effortlessly endearing, the shape of his face was square and features were sharp, lending him a striking yet distant presence. His moreno complexion and tousled hair, dark as a raven's feather, stood in stark contrast to her white pearl skin and soft, rosy locks. A faint oriental touch in his features set him apart even further, but the most defining feature in him was a diagonal scar—a deep line running from just below his left eye.
Yet, despite their differences, there was one thing he took pride in—their eyes. Bright, golden, and radiant like the sun, his gaze mirrored hers perfectly. It was the one trait that bound them, a shared brilliance that neither time nor difference could erase. And for him, that was enough. Even if he bore some resemblance to the bastard who had tormented his mother, at least he had been spared the curse of inheriting the monster's full looks—whoever that wretched man was.
But all of that paled in comparison to her voice. When she spoke, it was as if a seraphim itself was blessing the world with divine melody. So breathtaking was her voice that, in her youth, she had once been a candidate to become the Singing Saint of the Church's Blessed Choir, which sang in honor of the First True Angel.
She was also gifted in Light magic, specializing in healing and easing the hardships of all people in her nation. So great was her bravery that she would even step onto the battlefield, tending to wounded soldiers writhing in anguish from the sacrifices they made to protect their homeland.
Throughout the nation, she was revered as 'Havengarde's Golden Rose'—a title bestowed upon her not only for her breathtaking beauty but also for the boundless kindness she showed to all.
But it was her bravery that led to his birth. He didn't know the full details, only that she had been captured by the army of the Southern Empire. The Patriarch and Matriarch had tried to rescue her, but by the time they found her… it was already too late.
He stood there, gazing at his mother's dazzling beauty. A sad smile tugged at his lips, knowing it would be a long time before he could see her again.
"Gabriel! Finally, you're here! Do you know how much I've missed you?' she exclaimed joyfully. Even my boy, Zamel, was excited to see you! Come, look at the crib." With a radiant smile, she took his hand and gently pulled him toward the crib, rocking it slowly back and forth."
Inside the crib lay a white, faceless doll, its body dressed in a cloth stitched tightly to it, unmoving.
"Aww, look at him laughing when he sees you—so cute!" Alara cooed lovingly. "But you know, he'd be even happier if you took off that mask. Honestly, even I would be happy. We both really want to see your face." She pouted, her dissatisfaction clear as she gazed at Zamel.
She then held the doll in her arms like an infant and pleaded, "May we see your face? Pleaseeee?"
Zamel sighed, his voice laced with sadness. "Milady, as I've told you before, I cannot. I've incurred a scar that has ruined my face. If I remove my mask, I will only frighten you both."
Alara huffed, crossing her arms. "Oh really? You do know I'm a great healer, right? Getting rid of a scar would be easy." She spoke with confidence, determined to challenge his reasoning.
But Zamel only shook his head. "Unfortunately, I have been given strict instructions—under no circumstances am I to remove my mask if I wish to continue serving you... and avoid punishment." His voice softened, as if trying to conceal the sadness threatening to seep through.
Alara clicked her tongue in frustration. "Tch... And who exactly gave you that order? My parents?" Then, as if remembering something, her expression shifted. "Speaking of them, how are they? Are they well? Do they need my assistance?"
"You need not worry about them, Milady. They are both safe, thanks to the angels above who protect them from our enemies at the border," Zamel replied swiftly, seizing the opportunity to steer the conversation away from his face.
His fingers instinctively brushed against the mask that concealed the diagonal scar running from just below his left eye. A permanent mark—one that he could never erase, no matter how much time passed.
"Although... they are both stationed at the border due to the increasing attacks from the Southern Empire," he added, forcing his voice to remain steady. It was a lie—one that weighed heavily on his heart.
He did not wish to deceive her. But his grandfather had deemed it necessary for her sake. She must never know what had truly happened to the Matriarch—her mother.
And so, he bore the burden of falsehood, just as he bore the scar on his face. Both served as reminders of pain he could never share. Both were wounds that, if revealed, would do nothing but shatter what remained of his mother's already fragile mind.
"Oh…" Alara nodded, unable to fully conceal the sadness on her face. "Hahhh, my boy Zamel truly wishes to see them as well, but duty must come first. I understand." She sighed, walking toward the crib and placing the doll inside before making her way to an altar depicting a woman clad in golden armor with three pairs of wings—Lumiel, the Empress of Heavens.
"All I can do for now is pray for their safety. Gabriel, would you like to pray with me?" She asks, patiently standing in front of the altar.
Yes, milady. I would be more than happy to pray with you," Gabriel replied eagerly, quickly moving to her side.
Alara smiled at his enthusiasm as they both knelt before the altar, clasping their hands together and closed their eyes to pray.
"Oh, Heavenly Mother above,
May you watch over the warriors who protect your faithful.
Let your light be their guide should darkness cloud their path."
"Oh, Heavenly Mother above,
May your touch heal the suffering,
Shield them from illness, and ease their anguish."
"Oh, Heavenly Mother above,
May you smite the monsters that seek to do us harm.
Punish them for daring to sully your divine light."
"Oh, Heavenly Mother above,
Hear my voice as I pray to you with all my heart.
Heed my wishes, and let the world know of your boundless love."
"By your eternal light, I pray to you, Luxen."
She finished her prayer, as they both stood up, opened their eyes and stared joyfully at one another.
"Thank you, Zamel. I apologize if I bothered you," Alara said with a smile.
"No worries, Milady. It is an honor to pray alongside you," he replied, smiling behind the mask he wore.
They were about to continue their conversation when Alara suddenly looked toward the crib. Her smile faded, replaced by a look of concern.
Hurriedly, she ran toward it and gently picked up the doll, swaying back and forth as if trying to soothe it.
"Oh no… He's crying again. It seems like he thinks his grandparents don't want to see him… You know that's not true, my boy. They loved and cherished you with all their hearts. Please, stop crying," she said sorrowfully, panic creeping into her voice.
"Please don't cry, my boy. It doesn't suit you to be sad," she pleaded with the silent doll, her eyes pooling with tears.
"Zamel, don't cry… you're making me cry too," she begged once more, but to no avail.
"Uhhh, Milady, please let me take ca-" Zamel tried to intervene but he was a second too late.
"I SAID, DON'T CRY, MY SON! PLEASE, DON'T CRY!" she screamed, her voice cracking with desperation.
Her once gentle eyes widened in terror, wild and unfocused, shimmering with unshed tears. Her lips quivered, parted in uneven gasps as she struggled to steady her breath. Frantically, she swayed back and forth, her movements growing erratic, desperate—anything to silence the cries only she could hear. Her grip on the doll tightened, fingers digging in as though afraid it would slip away, as though losing it meant losing everything.
The once calm atmosphere was shattered by Alara's outburst.
Zamel's chest ached as he watched the scene unfold before him. He wanted to stop her, to shake her, to tell her that the infant she clung to so desperately was nothing but an illusion—a cruel, empty replacement. He wanted to cry out that her real son stood before her, that he was about to embark on his journey toward power. He wanted to tell her everything.
But he couldn't.
If he cried now, it would only make things worse. If he told her the doll was fake, she would panic, demanding to know where her real son was. And if he removed his mask—if he revealed the truth—terror would seize her. She would see his face, the face that mirrored her tormentor, and she would be dragged back into the depths of her nightmare.
She would remember it all.
The monster who had taken something precious from her. The pleas that had gone unheard. The unwilling moans, the lustful groans, the cruel laughter that drowned out her pain. The faceless demons who stood in the shadows, watching in sick delight as they waited their turn to prolong her suffering.
She would remember how, when they were done, they left her broken—her body drenched in her own blood mixed with the vile fluids of her tormentors. She would remember the bruises, the cuts, the wounds they had carved into her skin like trophies of their cruelty. And she would remember how they had simply walked away, satisfied—laughing, unburdened—while she lay there, discarded, left to die in the dark.
She would remember staring up at the night sky, whispering desperate prayers to the angels above, begging for protection. Pleading for them to take her, even if she was tainted.
She would remember it all.
And she would do anything to make sure it never happened again.
Zamel still remembered the way his mother had attacked him, her screams echoing through the halls as she cried for someone—anyone—to protect her. To save her from the monster that had come to torment her again.
He remembered lying on the cold floor, the weight of countless hands restraining her, servants struggling to hold her back—to keep her from hurting him. From hurting herself.
He remembered watching it all unfold, his fingers pressed against the wound beneath his left eye, the one that had bled freely that night. The one that had scarred. A mark he still bore to this day.
He remembered the moment his grandparents arrived. His grandmother had rushed to his panic-stricken mother, holding her, while whispering soothing words. His grandfather had picked him up without a word, carrying him away from the chaos before passing him off to a servant before returning back to the room while closing the doors behind his back.
Zamel never knew what happened behind those closed doors. But even as he was taken far from that room, his mother's cries still reached him. The desperate, broken wails of a woman drowning in terror.
He could still hear them.
Even now, all these years later, they still resounded in his mind.
All because he had removed his mask.
All because he hadn't listened to his grandmother's warnings.
All because he had listened to his mother's wishes.
All because she had seen his face.
Zamel snapped himself out of his stupor, his gaze shifting to his mother's trembling form. She was kneeling on the floor, her body shaking as sobs wracked her frame. He forced himself to push past the aching in his chest, to ignore her desperate cries and frantic words.
With steady steps, he approached her.
Then, without hesitation—he slapped her.
A sharp gasp left Alara's lips as her head snapped to the side. Her eyes widened in shock, the stinging pain on her cheek anchoring her back to reality. Slowly, she turned her gaze toward the boy standing before her—the servant boy whose face she had never really known.
Zamel.
Before she could react, he reached forward and cupped her face in his hands, his touch firm yet gentle. His golden eyes locked onto hers, commanding her attention. Not the doll. Not the illusion. But him.
"Milady!" he called, his voice cutting through the haze of her grief. "Please, calm yourself. Crying with your son will not fix anything!"
Clarity took root in Alara's mind as he heard his word. Her breaths were uneven, her body weak from the weight of sorrow. In a broken, rasping voice, she managed to ask. "T-Then… w-what should I do…?"
Zamel smiled brightly behind his mask that no one could see the heartbreak it concealed.
"Sing," he said, his voice unwavering. "Sing for him. Let him hear your voice and calm him down."
Alara hesitated. "Sing? I must sing for him?"
"Yes, Milady. My mother used to do that for me whenever I was sad. She sang with beauty, with love… a lullaby that made all my fears disappear."
His voice almost cracked, but he held it together. He had to.
Alara inhaled shakily and nodded. "T-Then… I will do it."
She wiped her tears and cleared her throat, gathering herself as best she could. Then, she sang.
Then she started, her voice filling out the room with a beautiful lullaby.
Her voice carried the warmth of a mother's embrace, soothing every sadness and fear with each gentle note. She sang with the love of a mother, each note carrying the unspoken promise of love, comfort, and endless protection, like telling her infant she held in her arms, that everything will be okay.
Zamel stared at her mother, His heartbeat slowed as the building sorrow within him drifted away.
He sat down at the floor, in front her mother who stared lovingly at the doll.
How long had he wished for her to look at him like that?
How many nights had he prayed to the angels, begging them to let his mother look at him with love and adoration?
How often had he pleaded at the skies above, so that his mother would embrace him with warmth instead of fear, For her to whisper words of comfort, rather than scream at him in terror?
A wish that he knew would never come true.
A dream that would never become reality.
A hope he still holds onto till this very day
He continued listening to her soothing voice, unaware of his surroundings, forgetting the pain he endured for so long.
The servants, alerted by the commotion, rushed into the room—only to stop in their tracks.
Before them was a scene they would never forget.
In that moment, reality and illusion blurred into something heartbreakingly beautiful.
In there, they bear witness of a boy, silent and still, his emotions hidden behind a fragile facade. A lady, kneeling on the floor, singing with all the love in her heart. In her arms, a child that did not exist—one only she could see and hear, something only she could love and cherish.