Chapter 18: Shadows Beneath the Light
An Unbreakable Bond, A Fractured Heart
The hall, still humming with the echoes of Zion's awakening, was steeped in awe. The nobles whispered among themselves, their gazes flitting between the young heir and the great crystal, still pulsing faintly with lingering divine energy. Servants moved about, refilling glasses of fine celestial nectar as laughter and quiet murmurs spread among the aristocracy.
Oblivious to the talks among the adults, the young noble children continued their small gathering at the far end of the hall, where the flickering light of enchanted lanterns cast soft glows on their innocent faces.
Prince Caelith went to Kitsaro with a bright, eager grin. "Wanna play with us?" he asked, tugging at Kitsaro's sleeve. "I bet you're really fast! Like zooom!"
Kitsaro hesitated, but before he could respond, another voice chimed in.
"I wanna play too!" Eryndis clapped her hands. Her dress swayed as she bounced in excitement. "Maybe we can pretend we're knights! I'll be the strongest one!"
Zareth crossed his arms, shaking his head. "That's dumb. We should be dragons instead. Dragons are way stronger than knights."
Vaedric tilted his head, his raven-black hair falling over one eye. "What about spies?" he whispered dramatically. "We could sneak around, and no one would see us!"
Seraphis giggled, nodding enthusiastically. "Ooooh, I like spies! But I wanna be the mysterious one!"
Kitsaro listened to them chatter, warmth creeping into his chest. He had never played like this before. Never been invited so openly, so freely.
And then—
"I don't want you playing with him!"
Zachary Vaelthyr stormed into the circle, his pale blue eyes narrowed, his lips curled in displeasure. "You should be playing with me instead!"
The children blinked in confusion.
Eryndis pouted. "Why? Kitsaro's fun."
Zareth tilted his head. "Yeah. Why not?"
Zachary's face turned red. "Because I said so! I'm a Vaelthyr!"
"So is he," Vaedric pointed out.
Seraphis frowned. "You're being mean."
Zachary scowled, small hands balling into fists. He was about to shout when a nervous servant approached him, bowing low.
"Young Master Zachary, your mother has summoned you—"
Slap!
The sharp sound echoed across the chamber. The servant stumbled, clutching their cheek, eyes wide in shock.
The noble children gasped.
Kitsaro's golden eyes darkened.
Zachary yelled at the servant. "Don't interrupt me!" Then, without another word, he turned on his heel and stormed off toward his mother.
Silence hung thick between the children.
Seraphis turned to Kitsaro, concern flickering in her violet eyes. "Are you okay?"
Kitsaro only nodded.
~~~~~
"Mother," Zachary huffed as he reached Selene. "Kitsaro's stealing my friends!"
Selene barely spared him a glance before running a cool hand through his hair. "Let him have them for now," she said, voice like velvet over a blade. "Soon, your father will ensure that child and his mother know their place."
Zachary grinned, reassured.
Selene lifted her wine glass, taking a slow sip. Sylvara was finally losing.
At the head of the hall, Duke Zephiron Kael Vaelthyr stepped forward, his regal form casting a long shadow across the polished marble. The room immediately fell silent, the weight of his presence undeniable.
He raised his goblet, the silver rim gleaming under the grand chandeliers.
"Tonight, we bear witness to the strength of our divine lineage," Zephiron's voice rang through the hall, steady and commanding. "Zion Lyka Vaelthyr, my eldest son, has awakened the Aspect of Vaelzaryn. His blood burns with the might of the Divine White Tiger, proving that House Vaelthyr remains unshaken, our legacy—unbreakable."
A round of applause followed, nobles nodding in solemn acknowledgment. Selene Yuki Vaelthyr, standing beside Zion and Zachary, beamed with pride, her cold blue eyes scanning the crowd like a queen surveying her subjects.
Zephiron let the praise linger before he raised a hand. The applause died down.
"But strength is not carried by one alone," he continued. "It is carried by a house, a lineage. And so, before you all, I declare—" his silver gaze swept across the gathered aristocracy, "—that from this day forth, my rightful heirs, the future pillars of House Vaelthyr, are Zion Lyka Vaelthyr and Zachary Vaelthyr."
A silence heavier than steel settled over the hall.
Sylvara did not react at first.
She did not flinch.
She simply… stood there, expression unreadable.
But for Kitsaro, standing amidst the noble children, the words were a blade.
He blinked.
Once.
Twice.
His small hands clenched at his sides, his golden eyes darkening beneath his lashes.
The announcement had been made.
The world had shifted.
And there was no place left for him in it.
Seeing her triumph Selene approached Sylvara with the poise of a queen, her every step deliberate, her expression unreadable. The candlelight flickered against her elegant features, but the cold glint in her eyes never wavered.
Her voice was smooth as silk, yet sharp as a blade.
"You should know your place, Sylvara," she murmured, each word slow and deliberate. "There was never a future for that child."
Sylvara's golden eyes burned with barely contained fury. Every fiber of her being screamed to strike, to rip away the smug certainty in Selene's voice. But she forced her breathing to remain even.
"Do not speak of what you do not understand," she said, her voice low and warning.
Selene's lips curled into a smirk, a silent challenge. "I understand plenty."
The air between them crackled, charged with tension that threatened to break into something far uglier.
Then—
"Enough."
Zephiron's voice cut through the air like a steel edge, his presence looming as he stepped between them. His gaze was cold, his tone firm.
"This is neither the time nor the place."
Selene merely raised an eyebrow but said nothing more.
Sylvara's rage did not wane, but she relented.
For now.
She turned away, letting out a quiet breath before calling over her shoulder.
"Cassian. Bring Kitsaro to me."
Scanning the crowd Cassian found Kitsaro among the children, but something had changed.
The boy who had once stood at ease, smiling and laughing with the others, now seemed distant. The quiet warmth he carried had dimmed, his small hands clenched at his sides.
Seraphis, noticing first, reached for his hand. "Are you okay?"
Kitsaro did not answer right away. His golden eyes, so much like his mother's, flickered with something unreadable. Then he saw cassian walking towards him. With that he knew.
Then, after a pause, he gave a small nod.
"I have to go," he whispered.
The other children exchanged glances, then bid there farewells with kitsaro not forgetting to say that they wanted play with him some other time.
Kitsaro merely smiled then waved them goodbye while walking towards Cassian.
Cassian, said nothing. He merely placed a steady hand on Kitsaro's shoulder, guiding him away.
As they walked, Kitsaro stole one last glance at the children he had spent the evening with—the ones who had laughed, played, and, for a moment, made him feel as if he belonged.
But now, that moment had passed.
And in the heavy silence that followed, the weight of unspoken words lingered.
When Sylvara turned to see Kitsaro approaching, her heart clenched.
The bright, cheerful smile he had worn earlier was gone.
Now, his lips pressed into a small, quiet line. His golden eyes no longer shimmered with the same warmth.
He knows.
He was only five, but he had seen. He had heard.
Sylvara's gaze softened, and without a word, she knelt, opening her arms.
Kitsaro hesitated only for a second before stepping into her embrace, his small hands clutching at the fabric of her dress.
She held him tightly, as if shielding him from the weight of the world.
As if shielding him from the pain of being unwanted.
Just as Sylvara held Kitsaro close, a voice interrupted the moment.
"Sylvara."
Zephiron's deep voice carried over the tense air, restrained yet firm. She stiffened, her grip on Kitsaro tightening for a brief second before she exhaled and stood.
Without turning, she spoke.
"Follow me."
She strode toward the far side of the balcony, her steps measured, controlled. The cool night breeze whispered against her skin, but the fire burning within her heart did not waver.
Zephiron followed without hesitation, his expression unreadable. As they stepped away from the grand hall's light, he turned to the servants stationed nearby.
"Leave us. Ensure no one approaches."
The attendants exchanged quick glances before bowing and dispersing. Within moments, they were alone.
Sylvara cast a glance back at Cassian, who remained with Kitsaro. She let out a quiet breath.
There was no audience now. No nobility. No judgmental eyes.
Just the two of them, standing on the edge of something fragile and breaking.
Sylvara stood on the balcony, her fingers clenched around the stem of her goblet. The cold night air did little to soothe the fire burning in her chest. Below, the grand hall was still alive with laughter and conversation, but up here, it felt like another world—one where the weight of reality pressed down mercilessly.
Footsteps.
She did not turn.
"Is this the reason why our presence was mandatory?" she began, her voice shaking but firm. "You made us stand in that hall, made him watch while you named your 'rightful heirs'—as if he was nothing. As if I was nothing."
"I understand now."
Zephiron exhaled, his expression unreadable. "Sylvara, I—"
"Don't." Her voice cut through the air like a dagger. "Don't you dare give me another excuse. He was right there, Zephiron. Our child. Your child! He knows who you are, and yet you refuse to acknowledge him."
A silence stretched between them, suffocating and bitter.
Sylvara let out a sharp, humorless laugh, shaking her head. "If I had known this was how it would end, I would have never agreed to come here. Never." Her voice cracked, her anger mixing with something raw—something broken. "I should have never trusted you. I should have never let you drag us into this—"
She clenched her fists, her entire body trembling with the force of her emotions. "I should have never met you at all."
Zephiron flinched. It was barely noticeable, but she caught it.
His throat bobbed as he swallowed, his fingers tightening at his sides. "You don't mean that."
Sylvara let out a bitter chuckle, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "I do." Her voice was barely above a whisper, but it carried more weight than any scream. "I regret ever meeting you, Zephiron."
He stiffened, but she wasn't done.
"You think I don't understand our circumstances? That I don't know why things are the way they are?" Her voice wavered, but her gaze remained sharp, unrelenting. "I do understand, Zephiron. I always have. And yet—" She inhaled sharply, shaking her head as she looked down at her trembling hands.
"Then why does it still hurt?"
Her voice broke at the last word.
She blinked rapidly, pressing a hand to her temple as if trying to force herself to stay composed. "But it isn't for me," she whispered. "Not anymore."
She turned to him then, her golden eyes burning with something far deeper than anger—grief. "It's for him. For Kitsaro." Her breath hitched, her voice raw. "For your son."
Zephiron remained silent, but his jaw tightened.
Sylvara let out a hollow, broken laugh. "Was this the love you promised me when you asked me to come with you to House Vaelthyr?" Her voice trembled. "Was this the family you promised we would have?"
She took a step closer, eyes locked onto his. "Lies. All of it."
Zephiron's breath came unevenly. He wanted to say something—anything. But her words clawed at something inside him, something he had buried too deep to face.
"Tell me, Zephiron," she whispered, "how much do I mean to you?"
And for the first time, he had no answer.
Zephiron's mind drifted—unbidden, unwanted—to a memory from months ago.
The council chamber had been dimly lit, the air thick with incense and the weight of expectation. Elder Valreth had leaned forward, his aged eyes sharp with wisdom honed through generations.
"You must name your heirs formally," the elder had said. "It will solidify their status and secure the standing of House Vaelthyr. A leader does not waver in such things, Duke Zephiron."
It had made sense. It was a calculated move—one that would cement his children's image in the noble circles, ensuring their legitimacy beyond question.
So he had listened.
He had followed their guidance, believing it to be the right path.
But never—not even for a moment—had he considered the cost.
The memory faded, and he was left standing there, facing the woman who had once believed in him. The woman whose heart he had shattered with his silence.
Sylvara watched him, waiting—hoping—for something. A sign. A word. Anything.
But he had nothing.
And the moment she saw that truth in his eyes, the last remnants of her hope crumbled.
Tears slipped down Sylvara's face, silent but unrelenting. The cool night air did little to soothe the fire burning within her, nor could it stop the raw ache clawing at her chest.
Zephiron stood frozen, watching the woman he had once held in his arms, the woman he had promised a future—one he had failed to give.
Something in him ached, something deeper than regret, deeper than sorrow. I loved her. I still do.
He closed the distance between them, his hand reaching out, his fingers brushing against the wetness on her cheek.
A sharp slap rang through the air.
Sylvara's palm struck his hand away, her golden eyes blazing with fury and heartbreak.
Zephiron flinched, but he did not move away.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "For everything."
Sylvara's breathing was heavy, uneven, but she remained silent.
"I loved you, Sylvara," Zephiron continued, his voice trembling. "More than anything. More than myself. And—" His gaze darkened with sorrow, his hands clenched at his sides. "And I love him, too. I always wanted to call him mine."
Sylvara's lips parted slightly, as if his words had struck something within her. But then, she closed her eyes, her expression hardening once more.
"You have made your decision, Zephiron," she said, her voice steady despite the storm raging within her. "And I shall live with mine."
Her hands curled at her sides, no longer shaking, no longer uncertain.
"Not for you. Not for myself." She lifted her chin, her golden eyes sharp with resolve.
"But for my son."
Zephiron's breath hitched.
Sylvara inhaled deeply, as if exhaling the chains that had bound her for so long. "I am done. Done living an oppressed life with nothing but an enclosed house for me and Kitsaro."
Her voice turned to steel.
"Not anymore."
A deep pang of dread settled in Zephiron's chest. "What… What do you mean by that?"
Sylvara turned away, stepping toward the railing, her gaze fixed on the distant moon. "There is no use staying in a house that does not accept us," she said simply.
Zephiron's stomach dropped. "You're leaving?"
She didn't answer.
"No," he breathed, stepping forward. "No."
His arms wrapped around her from behind, pulling her against his chest. Desperate. Clinging.
"Don't leave," he whispered, his voice breaking. "Not like this."
Sylvara's body tensed, but she did not struggle. For a moment, she simply stood there, feeling the warmth of the man she had once given everything to.
But that warmth had long since turned cold.
She slowly peeled his hands off of her, stepping out of his hold.
Zephiron's breath trembled as he stared at her back, the distance between them now colder than the night itself.
And then—
"Mom?"
A small voice broke through the tension.
Both Zephiron and Sylvara turned to see two figures standing at the entrance of the balcony.
Kitsaro and Cassian.
Kitsaro's bright, curious eyes darted between his mother and father, sensing the heavy air around them. Cassian, ever perceptive, remained silent, his gaze flickering with quiet understanding.
Zephiron's throat tightened. He slowly moved forward, his eyes locked onto the small boy standing next to Cassian.
Kitsaro.
His son.
Zephiron knelt before him, the great Duke of Vaelthyr lowering himself without care for who might see. His hand hesitated before lifting toward the boy. "Kitsaro, I—"
A gust of energy surged through the air.
Five silver fox-like tails burst forth from Sylvara's back, no longer ethereal, but real—tangible. They flicked sharply, creating a barrier between Zephiron and Kitsaro.
Zephiron froze.
The shimmer in her golden eyes deepened, her presence suddenly overwhelming, suffocating.
Gasps erupted from the nobles still mingling in the grand hall, their gazes snapping to the balcony.
"Beastification…" someone whispered in awe.
"What bloodline is that?" another murmured.
Only those who had reached a tremendous level of Beast Essence could achieve Beastification. It was a feat of extraordinary power, one rarely seen, especially within the noble houses.
Sylvara's gaze remained cold as she stared down at Zephiron.
"Fix yourself," she said, her voice soft but laced with an undeniable authority. "Before others see you like this."
The warning was clear.
A Duke of House Vaelthyr kneeling in desperation?
A disgrace.
Zephiron remained still, stunned by the power radiating from her—by the reality of what was happening.
But Sylvara had already turned away.
She bent down, effortlessly lifting Kitsaro into her arms.
The boy blinked up at her, then giggled, reaching out to one of her tails. "Mommy's really pretty," he murmured, his small hands playing with the soft fur.
Sylvara smiled, her features softening. "Thank you, my love."
She didn't look back as she walked away from Zephiron.
The nobles in the hall watched in stunned silence, their whispers growing louder as she stepped forward, her tails swaying behind her like golden flames.
Cassian followed closely, his expression unreadable.
The murmurs grew.
Who is she?
What is that bloodline?
She's beautiful
Impossible…
But Sylvara didn't care.
She walked forward, past the murmuring nobles, past the glances of awe and confusion—
And out of House Vaelthyr.
Leaving the past behind.