Chapter 22: The Severance from House Vaelthyr
Freedom of the Mother and Son Fox
The courtyard was silent except for the sound of ragged breathing. Sylvara and Zephiron stood amidst the broken stone, the aftermath of their battle evident in the dust and debris clinging to their clothes. Their once-pristine garments bore rips and tears, as if the very fabric had suffered the weight of their past.
Their eyes locked.
Zephiron, despite his loss, held her gaze with a strange intensity. His silver eyes searched hers, desperate yet restrained, like a man grasping at the last remnants of something slipping through his fingers. There was longing there—regret, even—but it was too late for any of it to matter.
Sylvara knew better than to soften.
She saw his gaze drop before he exhaled, taking a slow step back.
A slow, triumphant smile spread across her lips. "I've won."
Zephiron said nothing.
"You made your choice years ago, Zephiron. Now, I make mine." Her voice was steady, unwavering. "You abandoned us, so now I will do what is best for me and Kitsaro. And if I have to defeat you over and over again to make that happen, then so be it."
Zephiron's fists clenched at his sides.
"You always did have a cruel way of cutting a man down," he muttered, shaking his head.
Sylvara narrowed her eyes. "And you always had a habit of throwing away what you never deserved in the first place."
A sharp silence stretched between them.
Then, before Zephiron could respond, a sudden burst of laughter shattered the tension.
Both adults turned sharply—only to find Kitsaro standing nearby, arms crossed, a wide grin stretching across his face.
"That was amazing!" Kitsaro declared, his voice full of unrestrained excitement. "Mother, you really beat the ugly bad man!"
Zephiron's eye twitched.
"Kitsaro." Sylvara sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose.
But the boy wasn't finished. He turned to Sylvara with an eager look. "That means we can leave now, right? We can go live with Uncle Cassian and eat delicious food every day!"
Zephiron inhaled sharply at the boy's words, but Kitsaro barely spared him a glance.
When he did, he frowned.
"...What are you looking at?" Kitsaro said, tilting his head, his expression pure annoyance.
Zephiron blinked.
For a brief moment, he almost laughed.
Kitsaro's attitude was so unshaken, so naturally dismissive—it was amusing, yet it struck a painful chord. He doesn't see me as his father at all.
"Well?" Kitsaro pressed. "Why are you just staring? Do you need a healer or something? That was a pretty bad loss, old man."
Zephiron twitched again. Old man?
Before he could think of a response, a soft sigh came from behind Kitsaro.
"I'll go ahead and make sure everything is ready, Lady Sylvara," Elysia said, stepping forward with her usual quiet composure. Her eyes flickered between Sylvara and Zephiron, her expression unreadable.
Sylvara gave a small nod.
With that, Elysia turned and followed Kitsaro as he sauntered back toward the estate, still muttering to himself.
"I should ask Uncle Cassian to train me too. Then I can beat up bad guys just like Mother..."
Zephiron exhaled, running a hand through his hair. Of course. Cassian. Always Cassian.
Sylvara dusted off her clothes, shaking her head. Her beastification had fully retracted, her form once again human, though some of her clothing remained tattered from the fight. She barely cared.
They were leaving today.
It didn't matter how she looked when she presented herself before the council.
Without another word, she turned toward the carriage—the same one he had arrived in—and moved to step inside.
She stopped at the entrance and looked back at Zephiron, who remained standing in the courtyard.
"Well?" she called impatiently. "Are you just going to stand there panting, or are you coming?"
Zephiron didn't answer. Instead, he slowly slumped to the ground, elbows resting on his knees, his broad shoulders sagging.
His silver eyes stared at the broken stone beneath him, filled with something unreadable.
Sylvara sighed.
Against her better judgment, she stepped back toward him, her boots crunching against the fractured courtyard.
"You look pathetic," she remarked, crossing her arms.
Zephiron chuckled dryly, shaking his head. "Maybe I am."
Sylvara scoffed. "At least you finally admit it."
Silence stretched between them—not as bitter ex-lovers, not as enemies, but as two people who had once walked the same path before it had crumbled beneath them.
Zephiron lifted his gaze to hers. "Do you really have to leave?"
Sylvara's expression hardened.
"Would you really have Kitsaro continue living like this?"
Zephiron's throat tightened.
He had no response.
For years, he had justified everything—his distance, his silence, his lack of intervention. He had told himself it was for the best.
But standing here now, hearing those words from her lips, seeing the way his own son barely regarded him as anything more than a stranger...
He exhaled.
A surge of power rolled off him. His aura flared—not in aggression, but in release, as though he were finally letting go of something heavy.
Sylvara watched him closely, waiting.
Finally, Zephiron let out a breath.
"...Fine." His voice was quiet, but firm. "I'll do it. I'll arrange the papers for your departure."
Sylvara arched a brow.
"But know this," Zephiron continued, standing tall once more. "Even if you take Kitsaro away from this house, I will find ways to see him."
Sylvara's smirk was sharp, but her gaze was steel.
"You can try," she murmured. "But listen well, Zephiron—" She stepped closer, her voice lowering to something only he could hear. "You will not step anywhere near him unless he is the one who seeks you out. If that happens, I won't stop him."
Zephiron clenched his jaw.
But this time, he didn't argue.
Something in his face shifted.
Acceptance.
Defeat.
Regret.
A long silence passed before Zephiron exhaled.
"...Fine."
Sylvara nodded, satisfied.
Zephiron hesitated, then muttered, "I'm sorry."
But Sylvara had already turned away.
She stepped into the carriage without another word, leaving Zephiron standing in the ruins of what once was.
A moment later, he followed, climbing in beside her.
Together, they rode toward the main estate—toward the final discussions that would make Sylvara and Kitsaro's departure official.
And though Zephiron was unwilling...
He had finally let them go.
~~~~~~
The carriage ride to the main estate was quiet.
Sylvara stared out the window, her golden eyes reflecting the blur of passing trees. Zephiron sat across from them, his silver gaze flickering, his frustration growing with every passing second.
Several times, he opened his mouth, only to shut it when Sylvara pointedly ignored him.
Finally, he exhaled sharply.
"Where will you even be staying?" His voice carried irritation, but there was something beneath it—something uncertain.
Sylvara didn't glance his way. "Cassian will handle our estate arrangements."
Zephiron's jaw clenched.
"Of course, it's Cassian," he muttered, fingers digging into the armrest.
Noticing the slight twitch in his brow, Sylvara smirked.
"Why?" she asked, her voice filled with false innocence. "Jealous?"
Zephiron shot her a glare.
Sylvara leaned forward slightly, resting her chin on her hand. Her golden eyes gleamed with amusement.
"Don't tell me you still hate Cassian after all these years?" she mused. "Honestly, Zephiron, are you upset that I'll be living in comfort under his care?"
Zephiron's aura flickered dangerously.
Sylvara relished in it. Let him stew in his jealousy. Let him suffer.
Zephiron was about to speak, his irritation palpable, when Sylvara cut him off with a sharp tone.
"We're here."
The carriage slowed as it reached the grand entrance of the main estate.
As soon as the door opened, Johnson, the head butler, stood waiting. He greeted them with a deep bow.
"Lady Sylvara. Lord Zephiron," Johnson's tone was measured and respectful.
Zephiron stepped down first, his expression unreadable. Sylvara followed, Kitsaro beside her.
"Summon the council elders," Zephiron ordered.
Johnson gave a swift nod and turned to instruct the waiting servants. Within moments, messengers were sent scurrying in all directions.
"This way, please," Johnson said, leading them into the estate.
They followed him into Zephiron's office, where the council members would convene.
The first of the council members arrived within minutes, followed by others who handled the house's internal affairs.
Their gazes flickered between Sylvara and Zephiron, their eyes widening slightly at their disheveled state. One elder cleared his throat.
"...Lord Zephiron, Lady Sylvara," he began carefully, "dare I ask what happened?"
Zephiron waved a dismissive hand. "It's irrelevant."
The elders exchanged glances but did not press further.
The eldest council member, a sharp-eyed man with graying hair, cleared his throat and got straight to the point.
"We were informed that Lady Sylvara seeks to sever all ties with House Vaelthyr," he said. "We have convened to formalize the terms of this severance."
Sylvara nodded, her expression unreadable. "That is correct."
The elder continued.
"As per tradition, the severance must be absolute. You will no longer bear the name Vaelthyr, nor will your son, Kitsaro."
A sudden, suffocating pressure filled the room.
The air grew heavy as Zephiron's aura flared violently.
His chair scraped against the floor as he stood abruptly, his silver eyes glowing with unrestrained fury.
"What did you just say?" His voice was deathly quiet.
The elder visibly stiffened but remained composed.
"My lord, this is standard procedure. If they are to separate from the house, they cannot—"
"You will strip my son of his name?" Zephiron's voice rose sharply, his anger reverberating through the chamber.
Several elders flinched as the oppressive weight of his power pressed down on them.
Kitsaro blinked, watching with mild curiosity as the adults floundered under his father's fury.
"This is absurd!" Zephiron continued, his voice a deep, dangerous growl. "He was born a Vaelthyr. He carries my blood!"
"Yet he will not be raised within the main house, nor within the compounds of House Vaelthyr" another elder countered cautiously. "My lord, if a Vaelthyr is to live outside, it will bring unnecessary scrutiny. It is not a matter of choice, but necessity and also protection to the childs and to Lady Sylvaras safety."
Zephiron's aura crackled like an impending storm.
The elders shifted uncomfortably under his burning gaze.
Sylvara exhaled, already feeling the headache building. She rose to her feet, stepping between Zephiron and the council.
"Zephiron," she said evenly, her voice laced with quiet authority. "Calm yourself."
His eyes snapped to her, his rage unabated.
She met his gaze head-on. "You know they are right."
Zephiron's chest rose and fell sharply. His fists trembled. His entire being rejected the notion.
But deep down, he knew.
If Kitsaro kept the Vaelthyr name while living outside the main estate, it would raise too many questions. The nobility would whisper, the enemies of the house would pry, and worse—Kitsaro himself would be caught between two worlds, neither fully accepted nor free.
Zephiron's breath came out ragged. His aura was still surging, a raging tempest that refused to settle.
Sylvara sighed. She hated doing this, but there was no other choice.
A subtle wave of her aura seeped into the air.
Zephiron flinched.
His storm of emotions dulled—just slightly, just enough for reason to slip through the cracks of his rage.
His brows furrowed in confusion.
Sylvara gave him a knowing look.
With his anger subdued, the decision was finalized.
The council agreed that Sylvara and Kitsaro were no longer part of House Vaelthyr.
They offered compensation—land, wealth, whatever she required—but Sylvara refused it all.
She would take nothing from this house.
Without further ado, she stood, her stance firm. "If there is nothing else, I'll be taking my leave."
Zephiron remained seated as the elders dispersed. His expression was blank, but Sylvara could feel the storm raging beneath the surface.
When the last elder left, Zephiron finally spoke.
"Stay."
Sylvara turned her head slightly, but her expression remained unreadable.
"You've already let us go, Zephiron," she said quietly.
And with that, she walked away.
Departure from the Main Estate
As Sylvara stepped outside, Johnson was already waiting.
He gave her a deep bow. "Shall I escort you to the carriage, Lady Sylvara?"
She hesitated for a fraction of a second.
"...Just Sylvara," she corrected.
Johnson inclined his head. "Of course. Sylvara."
With his assistance, she stepped into the carriage, Kitsaro climbing in after her.
As the door closed, she let out a slow breath.
It was truly over.
The ride back was quiet.
The weight of the meeting lingered in the air, a silent specter that neither Sylvara acknowledged.
But as soon as she stepped through the grand doors of their estate, Kitsaro turned to her, his golden eyes gleaming with curiosity.
"Is it done?" he asked, his voice steady but holding an edge of something unreadable.
Sylvara smiled softly. "Yes. It's done."
Kitsaro tilted his head, his sharp little ears twitching. "So we really aren't part of the house anymore?"
Sylvara knelt before him, brushing stray strands of silver hair from his face. "No," she said with quiet finality. "From now on, we decide our own path."
For a moment, Kitsaro was silent, absorbing her words with the thoughtful expression far beyond his years. Then, slowly, a grin spread across his face.
"Good."
Sylvara chuckled at his reaction and stood, stretching slightly as she turned to Elysia. The ever-composed maid was already waiting with her hands folded neatly in front of her.
"Are our things ready?" Sylvara asked.
Elysia nodded. "Yes, my lady. The necessary servants will remain and wait for Johnson's arrival after we have left the estate, as per your instructions."
Sylvara hummed in approval, rolling her shoulders as tension bled from her frame. She had spent too long in those suffocating halls, surrounded by scheming elders and Zephiron's barely restrained fury. Now that it was over, she had no intention of lingering in this tattered state any longer.
She turned back to Elysia with a smirk. "Bring me a dress to change into. I refuse to look this ragged any longer."
Elysia inclined her head. "At once, my lady." With that, she vanished into the depths of the manor, her movements as precise as ever.
Satisfied, Sylvara turned back to Kitsaro, who was still watching her with a glimmer of amusement.
Without warning, she scooped him up, cradling him against her with an ease born from years of familiarity. Kitsaro huffed, but he didn't resist.
"I'll give you the best life outside," she murmured, her voice softer now, filled with quiet promise.
Kitsaro giggled, his small arms wrapping around her neck. "I know you will, Mother."
Sylvara's chest warmed at his unwavering trust. She pressed a kiss to his forehead before setting him back down, ruffling his silver hair as he pouted in protest.
Their laughter echoed through the halls, a sound unburdened by the weight of noble expectations, free from the suffocating chains of House Vaelthyr.
They were free.
And from now on, their path would be their own.