Chapter 10: Shadows of the Past
A Father's Guilt
Zephiron Kael Vaelthyr strode through the dimly lit pathways leading to the secluded estate of Sylvara and Kitsaro. His heavy steps echoed against the cobblestone, the rhythmic sound barely masking the storm in his mind.
The cold night air bit at his skin, but he ignored it, his thoughts too consumed by the events that had unfolded earlier.
Kitsaro's voice still rang in his ears.
"Kitsaro Azrael Vaelthyr," he had said, his voice steady. "Third son of Duke Zephiron Vaelthyr."
There had been no hesitation, no fear—only certainty, as if the boy had already accepted his place in the world. And yet, it was the way he had looked at him that unsettled Zephiron the most.
Kitsaro's gaze was distant. Detached. As if he were introducing himself to a stranger, not his own father.
"Whether I answer you or not is of no importance. For that is also my right as the son of the Duke."
Zephiron clenched his fists.
It was that moment that made him realize the painful truth—his own son did not even recognize him.
Kitsaro had not recognized him.
Not as a father.
Not even as a figure of authority.
For a child of five to regard his own father as a stranger was an insult greater than any Sylvara could have thrown at him. It was a reflection of his own failures, ones he had ignored for too long.
Had he ever truly acknowledged Kitsaro? Had he ever spoken to him as his son?
The answer was bitter.
No.
His duty had demanded sacrifices, and among them had been Sylvara—and the child they had created together.
He thought back to when Sylvara and Kitsaro had left the main estate. He had let them go, thinking it was for the best. That distancing himself from them would be better for House Vaelthyr's stability.
But now… now he could see how deeply that decision had severed their ties.
Duty had always come first. That was the weight of being Duke. He had told himself that countless times, using it as a shield against his emotions. Against the guilt.
Yet as he gazed upon the modest estate before him, a stark contrast to the grand halls he shared with Selene, he felt a weight settle over his chest.
This was his first time setting foot here. His own wife and son had lived in this place for years, yet he had never once bothered to visit.
From a distance, movement at one of the windows caught his eye.
A child.
Kitsaro stood there, framed by the dim light of the room behind him. His piercing golden eyes locked onto Zephiron's.
For a moment, they simply stared at each other.
It was brief, but in that instant, Zephiron swore he saw something flicker in the boy's gaze.
Curiosity?
Resentment?
Or something far more dangerous?
Before he could decipher it, Kitsaro turned away, disappearing into the shadows of his room.
Zephiron exhaled. What is this boy thinking?
Unbeknownst to him, inside the estate, Kitsaro leaned against the wall, rubbing his temples with a sigh.
"What is this man doing here?" he muttered.
A dull headache pulsed in his skull. Dealing with this now was annoying, but at the same time… an opportunity.
His golden eyes gleamed with curiosity.
His father had never once visited.
Yet here he was, standing outside the estate.
Then he remembered the incident at the Atelier.
A sharp smirk curled on Kitsaro's lips.
Why not have a little fun with this?
With a final glance at the mirror, he put on his most innocent expression and stepped into the hall.
Zephiron took a step forward, approaching the entrance.
Before he could knock, the door creaked open.
A startled servant stood there, eyes widening at the sight of the Duke himself standing before them.
"Y-Your Grace!" The servant stammered before quickly bowing.
The moment the servant was about to speak, another voice interrupted.
"My mother is currently resting."
Kitsaro's calm voice echoed through the hall as he stepped forward. He didn't bother sparing the servant a glance. "You may leave."
The servant hesitated, glancing between the young master and the Duke. But when Kitsaro's silver eyes bore into them, the weight of his unspoken command was clear.
The servant bowed again before retreating, leaving the two alone.
Zephiron studied the child before him.
Kitsaro was small, barely reaching his waist, but he carried himself with the confidence of someone much older. His white hair, just like his mother's, was slightly tousled, but his expression remained composed.
"You know me?" Zephiron asked after a moment.
Kitsaro tilted his head, feigning innocence. "My mother told me about you. She also told me to stay away from you."
Zephiron's jaw tensed.
Kitsaro smiled inwardly. Good. Let's see how far I can push him.
Without warning, he took a step forward—then another.
Then, to Zephiron's utter shock, the boy hugged him.
Zephiron stiffened.
It was a small gesture, a child's embrace, but it sent a shock through him.
He didn't know what to do.
This was the first time in his life that a son had hugged him.
The weight of the small arms wrapped around his waist felt foreign.
"You—"
"I missed you," Kitsaro mumbled, pressing his face into Zephiron's robes. His voice was quiet, trembling just slightly. "Where have you been all these years?"
Zephiron's fingers twitched.
Something in him cracked, just a little.
Kitsaro lifted his head, silver eyes staring up at him.
"Are you going to stay with us now?"
Then, before Zephiron could respond, the boy delivered the final blow.
"You're not going to abandon us again, right?"
A single tear fell down Kitsaro's cheek as he asked the question.
Zephiron's eyes widened.
His heart clenched, an unfamiliar and unwelcome feeling flooding his chest.
"I… you…" Zephiron's voice faltered.
This wasn't how things were supposed to go. He had come here to reassert his authority, to remind Sylvara and Kitsaro of their place. Yet now, he found himself trapped in a moment that he didn't know how to escape from.
"Let go," he said, though his voice lacked its usual force.
Kitsaro did not.
Instead, he clung tighter.
Then—
A sharp voice cut through the air like a blade.
"What do you think you're doing with our son?!"
Then—
A surge of energy exploded through the room.
Two ethereal tails, shimmering like ghostly silver mist, erupted from the shadows behind Kitsaro.
Before Zephiron could react, they lashed out toward him with terrifying speed.
His instincts roared to life. He summoned his own power, darkness coiling around him like an armor of void—
But the tails were faster.
Pain.
A sharp, burning sensation sliced across his side.
The force sent him stumbling back, his breath hitching. Blood seeped through his robes, staining the fabric a deep crimson.
Zephiron's head snapped up in shock.
Standing at the top of the staircase was Sylvara.
Her golden eyes glowed with cold fury, her presence filling the entire hall like a storm ready to descend, a whirlwind of raw, unrestrained power surged through the estate.
She stood at the top of the staircase, golden eyes burning with fury. Her long, moonlit silver hair cascaded down her shoulders, untamed, wild.
Power crackled around her, making the air itself tremble. The chandelier lights flickered under the weight of her aura.
Kitsaro pulled back just enough to glance up, his innocent act melting into one of quiet amusement.
Perfect.
"Did I not tell you?"
Her voice was quiet, yet it echoed with undeniable authority.
"The next time you tried something near me or our son…"
The ethereal tails twitched, their sharp edges glistening with Zephiron's blood.
"you would see blood."
Zephiron gritted his teeth, his fingers pressing against his wounded side. The injury wasn't severe—but the message was clear.
'This. Has she always been this powerful?' He thought, shocked at the new abilities he is seeing from his wife.
Sylvara had never been weak.
She had simply never needed to show her fangs.
Their eyes locked, an unspoken challenge crackling between them.
Zephiron exhaled, regaining his composure.
"You attacked me."
Sylvara's expression did not waver. "And you deserved it."
Silence stretched between them before she continued, her voice like a blade.
Zephiron barely had time to process before Sylvara stormed into the hall, her dark blue robes flowing behind her like a tempest.
Her golden eyes, sharp as a hawk's, blazed with fury as they locked onto him.
Kitsaro immediately pulled away, stepping to the side as if nothing had happened.
Sylvara's gaze flicked between her son and the Duke, her lips curling in a snarl.
"What gives you the right to come here after all these years?" she demanded.
Zephiron's patience thinned. "I came to speak with you—"
"Speak?" Sylvara scoffed. "You have no right to speak to me."
A pause.
"And you certainly have no right to touch my son."
Zephiron flinched.
Kitsaro hid a smirk, enjoying every moment of the tension.
Sylvara stepped closer, her voice lowering. "Why are you here, Zephiron? To demand my obedience? To remind me of my place?"
Zephiron inhaled deeply. "Sylvara—"
"You may be Duke of House Vaelthyr," Sylvara interrupted, "but in this estate, your name means nothing."
Silence stretched between them.
Zephiron straightened, regaining his composure.
"Sylvara, we need to talk."
Her laughter was cold. "Now you want to talk? After leaving us in this place, after letting that woman trample over us—now you remember we exist?"
Zephiron exhaled. "This is not about the past. This is about what happened at Cassian's atelier."
Sylvara crossed her arms, unimpressed. "Ah, so that's what this is about. Your precious Selene ran crying to you, so now you're here to intimidate me?"
Zephiron's jaw clenched. "Selene is still the Duchess of House Vaelthyr."
Sylvara's eyes darkened. "And I am still your wife, no matter how much you try to ignore it."
Silence hung between them, thick with unspoken words.
Zephiron finally looked away. "I did what was necessary for the House."
Sylvara scoffed. "You mean you did what was necessary for yourself. Don't pretend otherwise, Zephiron."
A deep sigh escaped him. He had come here expecting defiance, but standing before Sylvara now, he realized something.
She wasn't afraid of him.
Not like the others.
Sylvara took another step forward. "Tell me, Duke of House Vaelthyr. If I had let Selene trample over me today—would you have been satisfied?"
He didn't answer.
And that silence was an answer in itself.
Sylvara scoffed. "You still don't get it, do you?"
She turned away, her ethereal tails slowly dissolving into mist.
"You may be the Duke," she said softly, "but you are no longer my husband."
The words landed heavier than he expected.
"Now leave." Her voice held no warmth, no hesitation. "Before I truly make you bleed."
Zephiron remained still for a moment, his violet eyes lingering on her unreadable expression.
Kitsaro, still watching silently, smirked to himself.
Perfect.
Keep fighting.
Keep widening that gap between you two.
Zephiron turned to leave, but before he did, he glanced at Kitsaro one last time.
The boy smiled innocently.
And for the first time in a long while, the Duke felt uneasy.