CHAPTER 58
Hello, Craeyons! Sorry for the late upload! I'm just busy dealing with my mental health and taking care of my college admission. I'm really sorry, Craeyons huhu(???·??︿?·????)
The room had barely begun to settle when Sorayael caught something-soft, deliberate. A scuff against gravel. Not the wind. Not wildlife. The kind of sound people made when they thought they were being careful.
Her gaze slid toward the window, shoulders tensing.
Reinhold moved a second later. He stepped toward the curtain and pulled it aside with practiced ease.
Black-cloaked figures. No banners or symbols. Just quiet shadows slipping between trees, closing in around the house.
He exhaled slowly. "We've got company."
Sorayael's voice was cool. "More of them."
Reinhold nodded, letting the curtain fall back into place. "I figured they wouldn't back off after what happened earlier. Thought they'd wait until nightfall."
From the other side of the room, Caldrin's aunt turned in alarm. "What's going on?"
Sorayael blinked. "You carry that now?"
'Yeah, what exactly happened?' Sorayael wanted to ask but it's not the right time.
A flicker of amusement passed between them, quick and fleeting.
Then, without hesitation, Sorayael headed for the door.
Outside, the night had darkened further, clouds passing over the moon. She stepped out first, wind tugging at the edge of her cloak, hair catching faint glimmers of light.
Reinhold followed silently, footsteps steady.
In the courtyard, the shapes emerged from the tree line. At least six-maybe more, if they'd split their forces. Still cloaked, still armed.
One of them stepped forward, voice low and biting. "You shouldn't have interfered, girl. That boy wasn't yours to save."
Sorayael didn't so much as blink. "And yet I did."
He sneered. "You're starting to make enemies."
She tilted her head. "I'm not in the mood to collect names."
The man didn't waste another word. He lunged.
Reinhold was faster.
Steel rang out as he met the attacker mid-swing, blade striking dagger with a sharp clash. Sparks flared. He twisted his wrist, disarming the man with clean precision before knocking him backward.
Another figure charged at Sorayael. She stepped aside, graceful and fluid, and brought her palm up into the attacker's ribs with a dull burst of impact. He staggered, wind knocked out of him.
More came from the sides-two or maybe three-clearly trying to corner them.
Reinhold pivoted to cover her back. His dagger flicked through the air, catching the edge of a sleeve and drawing a sharp cry from the man it struck. He didn't waste movements-every motion was efficient, almost too practiced.
Sorayael's eyes burned gold as she caught another strike, twisted under it, and drove her elbow into her opponent's jaw. The attacker crumpled without a sound.
They moved in rhythm-Reinhold with sharp, grounded precision, Sorayael with instinctive finesse. No calls and no orders. They just focused on action.
Then the earth trembled.
A subtle surge of mana pulsed from Sorayael's boots, and a golden shimmer ran like lightning across the soil. The ground cracked in glowing lines beneath their enemies, throwing them off balance.
Someone shouted, "Retreat! she's not normal!"
But before they could run, a single knock echoed through the yard.
Not urgent. Not frantic.
Just one.
Everyone froze.
One of the men still standing tried to bolt-only to seize mid-step, limbs stiffening. His body dropped in a heap, unconscious before he even hit the ground.
The gate creaked open.
And through it walked a man cloaked in gray, long coat trailing behind him. His hood was drawn low, his footsteps calm. He moved like the chaos didn't exist-like he expected this exact moment.
Sorayael narrowed her eyes, breath slowing.
Reinhold lowered his weapon just slightly. "That's..."
The man reached the middle of the yard and finally pulled back his hood.
Pale green hair, tousled by wind. Eyes faintly violet, unreadable. His features were clean-cut, almost aristocratic-elegant, but edged with something colder.
He looked at Sorayael directly.
Reinhold blinked, muttering under his breath, "No way..."
Sorayael didn't know.
From behind him, a dozen men appeared-silent and uniformed, the faint violet crest of House Azellion stitched onto their coats. They looked sharper, better trained than the attackers had ever hoped to be.
Reinhold looked between them and Sorayael. "This night keeps getting better and better."
She looked up again, eyes meeting Vladir's.
Something about him felt like a storm held together by pure control. Regal... and dangerous. And worst of all-watchful.
She straightened. "We'll talk inside."
And without waiting for his answer, she turned around and walked through the door, Reinhold trailing behind her with a half-hearted groan.
Sorayael didn't answer.
Because truth be told-this night had only just begun.
The storm had passed, but its echo remained inside the house.
Candles flickered as a breeze slipped through the broken edges of the window Reinhold had opened earlier to scout. The faint scent of blood, smoke, and dirt still lingered beneath the sharper notes of tea freshly brewed in silence.
Caldrin sat beside his aunt, clutching the healing book like it was a shield. He hadn't spoken since they'd come in, just stared down at the cover, brows tight in thought.
His aunt, Lady Marella, sat straighter now, arms crossed, lips pursed with suspicion. Across from her sat a stranger-elegant, towering, and unmistakably dangerous.
Vladir Zian Azellion, Duke of the Western Reach, hadn't removed his coat, though he had lowered his hood. Pale green hair, tousled from the wind, framed a face carved in cold marble. His violet-gray eyes scanned the room-not with hostility, but with calculation.
And he kept glancing, every now and then, at Sorayael.
Not out of recognition. But curiosity.
Reinhold remained standing, one foot braced against the edge of a low cabinet, arms crossed. His dagger was sheathed at his hip again, but his posture hadn't relaxed.
His gaze lingered a little longer-thoughtful, not flirtatious. Trying to place her.
Reinhold made a quiet sound under his breath-half cough, half stifled laugh.
Lady Marella wasn't smiling, but her eyes were still happy to see that everyone is safe.
She turned to Sorayael, brow furrowed. "You seem far too used to blades and bloodshed for a girl dressed like nobility. Who exactly are you?"
Sorayael turned her head slowly toward her, gold eyes cool, unwavering.
A silence.
Reinhold stepped in, not unkindly. "She's not the enemy, Lady Marella."
Caldrin looked up then. "You knew this would happen?"
'I'm not. But the Grand Duke treats me like his niece.. or perhaps daughter? Well.. I'm still s commoner. But I can't let him know about this.'
Marella scowled. "So you are nobility."
Vladir finally spoke again, this time to Reinhold. "You're escorting her?"
Reinhold nodded. "I am."
Reinhold glanced at Sorayael. "With my life."
Vladir studied her again-longer this time. "She's hiding something."
Another pause.
Then Vladir leaned back slightly. "Then I assume this wasn't your last stop."
'This child..' the Duke scoffed.
Vladir stood as well, no hint of hesitation. "You have no authority over me."
Her words lingered in the air. Heavy and certain.
Lady Marella exchanged a look with Caldrin, then sighed.
Reinhold averted his gaze.
Vladir watched her for a long moment, thoughtful now. "You carry yourself like someone used to command."
She tilted her head. "And you carry yourself like someone used to being obeyed. Let's see how we get along."
Reinhold rolled his eyes. "This is going to be a long road."
Sorayael glanced at him and gave a faint, dry chuckle. "You have no idea."
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