CHAPTER 37
There were times, long before the titles and acclaim, when the halls of Aethenroth Manor echoed with nothing but silence.
Zarethian Kadvaris Aethenroth was born beneath the weight of legacy-his father, the Grand Duke Zerathiel Kaelith Aethenroth, a national hero, and the empire's strongest shield.
His mother, the Grand Duchess, once a renowned scholar and a woman of gentle grace.
Together, they should have been the pillars of his childhood. But the world never allowed it.
In the earliest days, he would carry his son on his shoulders through the gardens, his laughter low and rare but real.
The Grand Duchess watches them while laughing.
He read to him under the silver boughs of the Aethen Tree, and Zarethian, bright-eyed and curious, would grasp at his father's every word like they were treasures.
But duty always came knocking, and it always demanded more.
More time. More blood. More sacrifice. And every time it did, Zarethian was left behind, clutching stories with no one left to tell them.
He tried to search for his mother instead but the Emperor made her work just like the Grand Duke.
Then the dungeon fluctuation came.
No one was prepared. The Grand Duchess had been on a research mission near the faultline when it ruptured.
There was no body, only her pendant shattered and charred.
The news shattered more than just Zarethian's heart.
Aethenroth Manor, once filled with a quiet dignity, descended into a hush of mourning.
Servants wept in the corridors. The Grand Duke returned with red in his eyes and silence on his tongue.
And Zarethian, only a boy, wailed for a mother who never came back.
That night, his cries didn't echo through empty halls. They echoed through the hearts of every knight, every retainer, every old soldier who had once fought beside the Grand Duke. And so, a promise was made in the cold stillness of that grief:
But promises are cold comfort to a child with no friends.
Zarethian grew up surrounded by people sworn to his well-being, and yet...
always alone. The boys at the social gatherings bowed to him but never stayed.
The girls giggled behind fans but never dared speak.
To them, he was nobility incarnate. To him, they were masks, false smiles wrapped in ambition.
The Grand Duke had stood beside him, silent for a long while, watching the leaves flutter down like silver feathers.
'Her brother?'
He took them in without hesitation.
The girl's memory, when tested by him, was guarded like a sealed vault. Sorayael's window, the scrying mirror that should have revealed her past, showed only storm-cloud static. It unsettled the Grand Duke. He hadn't meant to keep them. Only to protect, until someone came looking.
And then something strange happened.
One day, he returned to the manor early and found Zarethian not in his study, not in training, but in the library.
He sat at a table, small arms folded over a book titled "How to Make a Friend (Without Being Weird About It)."
His brows furrowed, tongue poking out in deep concentration as he read and re-read a single paragraph over and over.
The Grand Duke didn't say a word but a small grin will be seen on his face. He simply closed the door, quietly, and let his son read.
And something shifted again, weeks later, when he overheard a conversation echoing from the courtyard.
She grinned, triumphant. "That's what friends are for, right?"
The Grand Duke stood hidden behind a column, unseen, a quiet heat blooming in his chest.
He saw his son laugh genuinely for the first time in years.
He saw Sorayael throw a stone at Zarethian's head playfully, saw his son dodge it with a grin, saw their eyes light up like children who hadn't been broken by the world.
From then on, he made a decision.
He would raise her like a daughter, the same with her little brother. Let them grow together, not just as nobles or heirs, but as friends who saw each other beyond names and expectations. He did not know where Sorayael came from, or why the world had buried her past so deep. But he did know this:
For the first time since his wife's death, the manor echoed again-with footsteps, with laughter, with life.
And as he watched Zarethian tug Sorayael along the garden path one morning, waving a wooden sword and demanding a rematch from yesterday's duel, the Grand Duke whispered to himself, a rare and hopeful smile on his lips-
"She saved him."
..........
It was early morning when Sorayael snuck back into the Academy grounds, shoes damp with dew and heart still light from last night's escapade.
The stars had been breathtaking above the quiet town, and even if Azi had been insufferably smug about "finding the best street food stall in all of Ethalor," she'd enjoyed every bite and his company, even when they went together to Lyrenna's Arcana.
She quietly creaked open the window of the common study lounge, climbed in with the grace of someone who had done it more than once, and dusted her cloak free of wind-blown petals.
Sorayael froze mid-step, slowly looking up like a child caught with their hand in the sweets jar.
Zarethian stood by the hearth, arms crossed, an unimpressed expression painting his aristocratic face.
Zarethian's eye twitched. "Good morning?" he echoed, voice dangerously calm. "Good morning, you say, after sneaking out past the curfew, scaling the outer wall like a rogue, and gallivanting around town with that flame-brained idiot."
Sorayael scratched her cheek, trying, and failing not to grin. "Technically, we didn't gallivant. We strolled. Casually."
She flinched. He rarely used her full name with that tone unless she was in very, very deep trouble.
Zarethian stepped forward, eyes narrowing. "You're a student of Sterella Academy, not some rooftop thief in a storybook. What if something happened to you out there? What if someone saw you? Do you know how many nobles have begun asking about you lately?"
His brows twitched again. "That is not the point. You are-! You are-! You are not-"
She blinked. "Out of breath?"
Zarethian let out an exasperated groan, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You're impossible."
Zarethian's expression flickered. For a moment, something older and sadder passed behind his eyes memories of a boy who once played alone in the shadows of empty halls. But he quickly masked it, sighing heavily as he sat across from her.
Sorayael shrugged. "He makes the world feel less heavy."
Zarethian looked at her for a long moment before his voice dropped into something quieter.
Her lips curled at the nickname, eyes softening. "Sorry."
He nodded, then added under his breath, "He better not be teaching you how to skip class next."
Zarethian groaned again.
She grinned.
He finally cracked a reluctant smile. "You're going to be the death of me."
He rolled his eyes and rose from the chair, stretching. "You need to rest. Classes start in an hour. And if you fall asleep during combat drills again, I'm pairing you with Celene."
Sorayael winced. "Have mercy."
Zarethian chuckled as he walked away, pausing only at the door. "And no more sneaking out."
The door shut behind him, and the room returned to quiet.
But Sorayael sat there for a while longer, thinking about his concern... about Azi's grin under the moonlight... and the weight of the thoughts she refused to name.
She exhaled deeply, leaning back, eyes tracing the fading shadows on the walls.