The forest around us was quiet, but not the kind of quiet that brought peace. It was a suffocating stillness, heavy and unnatural, like the world itself was holding its breath.
My legs felt like lead, every step harder than the last as my mind reeled, replaying the vision over and over again. Her laughter. His touch. The way he looked at her—soft and tender. The ache in my chest wouldn't go away, no matter how much I tried to push it down. I felt hollow, like something inside me had cracked, and I didn't know how to put it back together.
I stumbled, my knees buckling beneath me.
"Mablevi!" Estella's voice was sharp with alarm, but she didn't reach me in time. My hands hit the cold, damp earth as I fell, my body trembling uncontrollably.
I couldn't breathe. My chest heaved, my throat tightening as the weight of it all came crashing down on me. The vision. Belladorn. The Requiem. Kiaran's words. It was too much. Too much.
Strong arms caught me before I could collapse further. Kiaran. He steadied me, pulling me up against him. I struggled at first, weakly trying to push him away, but he didn't let go. His grip was firm but not harsh, grounding me in a way I didn't expect.
His warmth seeped through the thin fabric of my tunic, a stark contrast to the biting cold of the forest. His chest was solid, unmoving, like the trunk of an ancient tree. I could feel the rise and fall of his breathing against my cheek—it was steady, controlled, but there was a faint tremor beneath it, a hint of strain he was trying to hide.
"Stop," he said quietly, his voice low and steady. "Just... stop."
His voice rumbled against my ear, the deep timbre vibrating through his chest and into my skin. I froze, my body still trembling as I sagged against him. His arms wrapped around me, holding me in place, and I realized with a start that he was shaking too. It was faint, almost imperceptible, but it was there.
His breath was warm against the top of my head, uneven and strained. The faint scent of blood, leather and pine clung to him, earthy and familiar, and for a fleeting moment, it was enough to anchor me, to make me feel as if the world hadn't completely fallen apart.
"Kiaran—" I started, but he cut me off.
"I've failed you," he continued, his tone trembling slightly. "I've failed to give you what you needed. What you deserved. I've failed to... to love you the way a father should."
Father. The word slammed into me, sharp and sudden, leaving me breathless.
I blinked, stunned into silence. He turned his face away from mine, his chin resting on the top of my head. I couldn't see his expression, but I could feel the weight of his words, heavy and suffocating.
"How can I?" he asked, his voice breaking. "How can I, an assassin, give you a father's love?"
I didn't know what to say. The words caught in my throat, tangled and useless. I could only stand there, trembling in his arms, as he continued.
"Cecilia told me," he said, his voice quieter now, almost a whisper. "She told me what you could become. What your power could do if you ever lost control. That it could destroy the world."
My breath hitched, my stomach twisting painfully. I wanted to deny it, to tell him he was wrong, but I couldn't. Because deep down, I knew he wasn't.
"After you lost control that day," he continued, "I thought... I thought the only way to keep you safe was to keep you in control. To make you strong. I thought if I was harsh, if I was cold, it would keep your emotions from taking over again. From losing control."
He paused, the words hanging in the air like a weight pressing down on both of us.
"I joined the assassin's corps to get stronger," he said, his voice low but steady. "To protect you. But somewhere along the way, I lost sight of that. I lost sight of you."
He trailed off, and his grip on me tightened slightly before he finally let go. He held me for a moment longer, but then the warmth of his embrace faded, replaced by the cold, biting air of the forest. He stepped back, his face unreadable as he turned away.
"Kiaran," I said softly, but he didn't respond. His cold demeanor was back, the walls snapping into place like they'd never been lowered. I reached out, grabbing his fingers from behind. He latched on squeezing it, giving me the last ounce of warmth he had left.
Then he stopped. I didn't want his warmth to fade, but it did. He let go of my fingers, and he was gone... again.
"What happened?" Estella's voice broke through the silence, her gaze darting between the two of us.
I didn't answer. I couldn't. My mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions, none of which I could untangle. Instead, I kept my gaze fixed on the ground, my hands clenched into fists at my sides.
Estella frowned, her concern evident, but she didn't press further. Instead, she glanced at Kiaran, her brows furrowing as she studied him. She whispered to herself, but I heard her clear as day.
"Her behavior... it mimicked Belladorn's," Estella murmured, her voice hushed but heavy with realization. But I ignored her theory, that's not where my mind was at.
I tried to breathe, but the word he'd spoken—father—still pressed against my ribs like a blade. Estella hovered close, her hand brushing my arm, but I jerked away. I wasn't steady. I wasn't sure I ever would be.
The silence deepened as we walked, the air sharpening with a chill that hadn't been there before. Even the forest seemed to recoil, its life retreating as if it knew what waited ahead.
"We're here," Kiaran said, his voice cutting through the silence.
I looked up, and my breath caught in my throat. The noble's house loomed before us, a massive red mansion with black bricks that seemed to absorb the dim light of the forest. The grass surrounding it was brown and brittle, crunching underfoot as we approached. No birds croaked. No insects buzzed. The air was deathly still, the only sound the faint rustle of leaves in the cold wind.
It felt wrong. The rest of the forest had been alive, teeming with energy and movement. But here, it was like everything had withered and died, leaving only a hollow shell behind.
The mansion seemed to watch us, its dark windows like empty eyes, and I couldn't shake the feeling that we were being swallowed whole.
Estella didn't hesitate. Her breath hitched audibly, and before I could even register what she was doing, she bolted forward, her boots hitting the brittle grass with a sharp crunch, crunch. Her eyes were wide—hopeful, desperate—as she sprinted toward the mansion's steps.
"Mirelle," she whispered, more to herself than to us. "She's in there. I can save her. I can finally save her."
"Estella, wait—" I started, but she didn't stop. Her pace quickened, and she reached the first step of the mansion's staircase.
As Estella’s hand reached for the cracked iron handle, a faint creak echoed from within the mansion soft, but sharp enough to freeze us in place. My chest tightened, and for the briefest moment, I thought I saw something move behind the dark windows.
A shadow? A flicker of light? I couldn’t tell. But whatever it was, it was watching us. It was waiting.
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