Chapter 19: A Mother's Resolve
The One Who Remains
The murmurs had not yet died down.
As Sylvara walked through the grand courtyard of House Vaelthyr, carrying Kitsaro in her arms, the weight of countless gazes pressed against her back. Whispers spread like wildfire—curious, scandalized, and reverent. Even in a noble house where secrets were currency, the sight of a woman openly displaying such power, adorned with the magnificent silver tails of her beastification, was unprecedented.
Cassian Aurevellis walked beside her, his gait relaxed yet graceful, as if he were merely enjoying a pleasant stroll rather than escorting his dear friend from the heart of a noble den filled with wolves. The flickering torchlights caught the ethereal hues of his rainbow eyes, casting an almost mesmerizing glow.
Servants hesitated, some bowing deeply as she passed, while others hurriedly averted their gazes. The once grandiose awakening hall behind them now felt distant—like a relic of a past that no longer had chains to bind her.
Still, the murmurs did not cease.
Sylvara ignored them.
Kitsaro, however, noticed everything. He peeked over his mother's shoulder, watching the way people glanced at her with awe, wariness, and in some cases—envy. He understood, in his own way, that something had happened back there. Something that made his mother's face a little too still, her golden eyes a little too dim.
She was always calm, always composed, but Kitsaro knew her too well. He had seen her smile, truly smile, before. And this—this wasn't it.
As they reached the outer gates, Sylvara stopped and slowly set Kitsaro down on his feet.
"Cassian," she said, turning to face the peacock of a man. "You should go back inside."
Cassian raised a perfectly sculpted brow. "And why, pray tell, would I do that?"
"This will affect your business and reputation in society," she said, voice steady but soft. "You have your own business to think about. Associating yourself too closely with me—"
"Sylvara," he drawled, one hand coming to rest against his temple as if she had just given him a migraine. "You wound me. You think I, Cassian Aurevellis, would allow mere rumors to dictate my social standing? Please." He flicked his silken silver hair over his shoulder, striking a pose that seemed almost practiced. "My reputation does not 'dwindle.' It is eternal. Untouchable. Blessed by the gods themselves."
He gestured grandly. "After all, no one can resist this face, this talent, this sheer presence." His multicolored eyes gleamed mischievously. "A once-in-a-century weaver—"
Kitsaro snorted. "Are you sure you're not talking about me?"
Sylvara blinked, startled for a moment, before an actual smile—small, but real—broke through her carefully composed mask.
Kitsaro grinned up at her, pleased that he had managed to lighten her mood, even if just for a moment. He didn't understand everything that had happened, but he knew—he knew that whatever was said between his mother and his father had hurt her. And Kitsaro didn't like it when his mother was hurt.
Not one bit.
Sylvara gently ruffled his dark hair. "I suppose it runs in the blood."
Kitsaro beamed.
But then his expression turned inquisitive as he tugged at the fabric of Sylvara's flowing white dress. "Mom, are we going home already?"
Sylvara exhaled quietly, then nodded. "Yes, we are."
She turned slightly, calling over the servant who had accompanied them earlier that evening. The young man approached with a slight bow, hesitance flickering in his eyes. "My lady, you're leaving so soon?"
Sylvara merely glanced at him, then said. "Yes, prepare the carriage immediately."
The servants eyes furrowed.
"But my—"
Cassian, who had been content to simply observe, suddenly flicked his fingers. His rainbow-colored eyes gleamed dangerously.
"You," he said, his voice silky yet sharp. "Do as you're told and stop asking questions." His gaze darkened slightly, his mood clearly fouled by the evening's events. "Your job is to fetch the carriage, not waste my precious time with unnecessary remarks." He exhaled, placing a hand over his flawless face with a dramatic sigh. "Honestly, all these servants stressing me out. Wrinkles. Facial abominations. Unacceptable."
The servant face paled then immediately apologized bowing to Sylvara, and without a moment's notice he quickly hurried himself away to fetch the carriage.
Kitsaro burst into laughter—pure, unrestrained, and delightfully childlike. His laughter filled the empty spaces of the night, carrying warmth where only cold had lingered before.
Sylvara, too, smiled, crouching down so that she was at eye level with him. "Kitsaro," she murmured, brushing a few strands of hair away from his face. "Would you like to go somewhere new?"
Kitsaro tilted his head. "Somewhere new?" His bright eyes widened. "Like out in the city again?"
Sylvara chuckled. "Not just the city." Her voice was gentle but firm. "Somewhere fun. Somewhere we can take our time to play." She glanced at Cassian. "With him."
Cassian immediately perked up, his entire posture shifting. Eyes widening slightly before a delighted smirk stretched across his lips. "You mean—?"
"It's not what you think dear Cassian." Sylvara sais then nodded. "Prepare an Estate for us. I'll handle things here first, then I'll send word when to pick us up."
Cassian let out a delighted sigh, pressing a hand to his heart as if she had just proposed to him. "Finally." He shook his head dramatically. "Oh, Sylvara, I was hoping you would've made this decision ages ago."
Kitsaro blinked. He looked between them before hesitantly asking, "Are we… going to live with Uncle Cassian now?"
Sylvara softened. "No, darling. We'll have our own Estate."
Cassian scoffed. "Please. Your mother is far too rich to need House Vaelthyr or that failure of a father of yours." He crossed his arms, tilting his head smugly. "She—"
He abruptly coughed, catching himself when he saw the sharp look Sylvara gave him.
Fortunately, before he could further dig his own grave, the carriage finally arrived.
Cassian immediately turned his attention to the vehicle. "Ah, perfect timing. Now," he said, flipping his hair. "Sylvara, you need rest. I can already tell you're going to be quite busy tomorrow." He then winked at Kitsaro. "Take care of your mother, little fox."
Kitsaro giggled again. "I will!"
Cassian, satisfied, bid them farewell with his usual graceful flair, stepping towards his own carriage.
As Sylvara and Kitsaro boarded, she settled beside him, glancing briefly at the servant. "Remind me to pluck a few feathers out of Cassian the next time we meet."
Kitsaro frowned. "Feathers?"
Sylvara merely smiled.
The carriage began to move.
As they passed through the grand estate of House Vaelthyr, Sylvara's gaze wandered outside. The halls and gardens were still filled with noblemen and women celebrating the 'rightful heir'—the 'accepted child' of Zephiron.
Nothing had changed.
Her fingers curled slightly against the fabric of her dress.
Her gaze flickered upward, toward the familiar balcony where she had stood not long ago—where she had confronted the man who had once held her heart.
There he was.
Zephiron.
Standing there, looking down at their departing carriage.
His expression was unreadable.
His thoughts, unknown.
But it didn't matter.
Not anymore.
Sylvara inhaled, then slowly exhaled, releasing something that had once weighed her down.
From this moment forward, Zephiron was no longer her husband.
The past would no longer bind her.
She turned away from the sight of him, instead looking at the small boy beside her.
Kitsaro, who had been watching her the whole time, smiled.
Sylvara's heart softened.
She smiled back.
Kitsaro leaned against her, linking his small arms around hers.
Neither spoke.
The silence was warm.
And as the carriage moved steadily toward their estate, the past remained behind them.
Never to be caged again.
~~~~~~
Zephiron stood on the balcony, hands braced against the ornate railing, watching as the carriage carrying Sylvara and Kitsaro disappeared beyond the grand gates of House Vaelthyr. The faint torchlight flickered against his face, casting shadows that seemed to deepen the tension in his expression.
She was leaving.
No, this time, she was truly gone.
This wasn't like before—where she stayed in a different wing of the estate, where their paths still crossed in the halls, where she remained within his reach even as an untouchable ghost of what they once had.
Now, Sylvara Inari Vaelthyr was removing herself from his life completely.
It wasn't his decision. It wasn't something he could control. And that bothered him.
Zephiron clenched his fists.
He knew what she was capable of.
From the moment he met her, he knew she wasn't just some noble lady to be sheltered and controlled. She was a storm, an untamed force. If she set her mind to something, she would see it through.
She had seen it through.
And now, he was alone.
The weight of memories pressed against him. The first time he saw her—confident, beautiful, utterly fearless. The adventures they had, the nights spent under starlit skies whispering dreams of the future. A time when love had been real, when she had smiled at him as if he were her world.
And now?
She hadn't even looked back.
His chest tightened. A sharp, unfamiliar ache bloomed within him, twisting into something that felt a lot like—
No.
He couldn't let her leave.
He wouldn't allow it.
Zephiron turned sharply, already moving to follow after them, his mind racing with all the ways he could bring her back, stop this before it was truly too late—
But before he could take another step, a figure blocked his path.
Selene.
Her dark eyes were unreadable, but there was something in the way she stood—firm, unyielding. Behind her, several council elders gathered, their expressions ranging from intrigue to concern.
"Where do you think you're going?" Selene asked, her voice soft but edged with steel.
Zephiron's jaw tightened. "Move."
"No."
The word was final.
The elders murmured amongst themselves, some casting glances toward the gates where Sylvara had left.
"What happened here, my lord?" one of them asked. "Why did Lady Sylvara leave along with the boy and Lord Aurevellis?"
"I heard she chose to leave," another elder added, a note of approval in his tone. "Frankly, it's better this way. Her presence was always… a matter of debate."
A few elders nodded in agreement. But others frowned.
"But what of her abilities?" a more cautious voice spoke up. "The beastification she displayed—was it truly what we witnessed? How could she—?"
Selene, however, was uninterested in their concerns. Her sharp gaze remained fixed on Zephiron.
"I don't care about her beastification," she said. "I care about what you and Sylvara talked about."
The tension between them crackled, unspoken emotions simmering beneath the surface.
"This isn't your concern," Zephiron said, his voice cold.
"It is my concern," Selene snapped, stepping closer. "You let her go. You pushed her away. And now—"
"I didn't let her go," he interrupted, voice lower now, dangerously so. "She left."
Selene's lips pressed into a thin line. "Then why do you look like you regret it?"
Zephiron didn't answer.
"Well, that certainly took long enough." Selene added.
Selene stood in front of him arms crossed, a smirk tugging at her lips. Behind her, several council elders had gathered, their murmurs filling the space with an undercurrent of intrigue. Some looked indifferent, others pleased.
The sight of them made Zephiron's stomach churn.
"She finally left," Selene continued, tilting her head slightly, watching his reaction. "And she took him with her."
One of the older council members sighed, shaking his head. "Frankly, it's for the best. That woman has always been a thorn in this house's side. Too proud, too independent."
Another elder, a woman with shrewd eyes, nodded in agreement. "And the boy… Let's be honest, it was only a matter of time before he became a problem. Now, at least, we wouldn't have to worry about his existence being a complication."
Zephiron felt something dark twist inside him.
His disgust for them burned, but he swallowed it down, keeping his face perfectly unreadable.
Selene, on the other hand, seemed to enjoy this moment. She took a step closer, her expression one of open amusement. "You should be relieved, Zephiron," she said, her voice dripping with faux sympathy. "No more arguments. No more defiance. No more Sylvara constantly reminding you that she was never just a woman for you to control."
Zephiron's eyes flickered with something unreadable. "You seem very pleased about this."
Selene smiled, utterly unbothered by his tone. "Why wouldn't I be?" She gestured loosely toward the estate below, where nobles still mingled, celebrating the 'rightful heir.' "With her gone, things will be… simpler. No more conflict. No more unpredictable factors."
One of the elders nodded in agreement. "Now that she's out of the picture, House Vaelthyr can move forward without unnecessary obstacles."
Zephiron barely stopped himself from scoffing.
Obstacles?
That was how they saw them? His wife? His son?
His fingers twitched at his sides.
He had always known that some of the council despised Sylvara, but hearing it so openly…
It sickened him.
Selene studied him for a moment, then stepped even closer, lowering her voice so that only he could hear.
"Let her go, Zephiron," she murmured, her dark eyes gleaming. "She's finally done what she should have done years ago. And you—" Her lips curled into something close to a smirk. "You have no reason to chase after her."
His expression remained cold, but his chest tightened.
She didn't understand.
None of them did.
Sylvara wasn't just another noble wife to be cast aside. She was—
He exhaled sharply, schooling his emotions before they could betray him.
From the corner of his eye, he saw the 10 year old Zion approaching, curiosity flickering across his face.
"What's going on mother?" Zion asked, glancing between them.
Zephiron's approached, his expression one of mild confusion mixed with curiosity.
Zephiron didn't even spare him a glance.
"She's gone," he said flatly, his tone betraying nothing.
Zion blinked. "Who's gone?"
Zephiron exhaled sharply, as if irritated by the very question. "Sylvara has decided to leave the house. For good."
The council members exchanged glances. Some relieved. Some thoughtful. Some cautious.
But Zephiron didn't wait for their opinions.
He turned sharply on his heel and walked away.
He had no interest in their judgments. No interest in their concerns.
His mind was already elsewhere.
On her.
On the conversation they would have tomorrow.
He would speak to her.
And, hopefully…
It would go well.
As he stepped back into the grand halls of House Vaelthyr, he smoothed out his expression, his stride returning to the perfect elegance of an untouchable noble lord.
By the time he entered the main gathering hall, the weight of what had just happened no longer showed on his face.
To the world, Zephiron Vaelthyr was the same as he had always been.