Chapter 58: What Was Never Said
Outside...
The afternoon light had begun its slow retreat, casting long shadows of the building across the paved walkway. A gentle breeze stirred the leaves of the hedges as Seraphina walked beside Eldarion, her boots silent against the stone. Behind them, Sebastian followed with measured steps, his presence respectful but distant.
No words passed between them. Just silence—thick, stretched, yet not entirely uncomfortable. Only the distant rustling of wind and the soft flutter of birds interrupted the hush.
Suddenly, Eldarion stopped, his voice even and authoritative. "Captain Seraphina, stop."
Seraphina paused instantly, turning her head with composure. "Is there something wrong, sir?"
Without glancing at her yet, Eldarion's gaze shifted to Sebastian. "Go on ahead, Sebastian. I wish to speak with her alone."
Sebastian gave a short nod, bowed lightly, then turned and walked away without a word, his figure slowly disappearing down the path ahead.
Eldarion took a step off the path, his eyes gliding along the nearby stone wall draped in ivy. A narrow passage led toward a quiet, enclosed garden nestled between the buildings.
He walked there, silent still. Seraphina hesitated for a breath, then followed, the long folds of her cloak whispering against her legs.
The garden was quiet, half bathed in gold and half already claimed by the approaching evening. Flowers remained untouched, blooming faintly beneath the weathered statue of a human.
Eldarion stood still for a moment, then folded his arms loosely across his chest. His eyes were fixed not on her, but on the statue.
Seraphina stood a few paces ahead, turned slightly toward him, her presence quiet but attentive.
"Seraphina, tell me..." he began at last, tone casual but tinged with careful intention, "how is your life going with Kael?"
Seraphina didn't answer right away. Her arms stayed at her sides, her gloved hands lightly curled. She stared at the gravel path beneath her feet as if weighing every syllable.
"I don't know what you're referring to, sir." Her voice was cold—unforgiving in its clarity.
"Sir, again…" He let out a soft breath through his nose. "Must you be so formal with your own father? You can drop the formality here."
At that, her eyes narrowed faintly—not with anger, but with restrained coldness. She glanced at him from the side, a hollow smirk curling on her lips. "Father, you say?" she replied, her voice as still as stone. "I'm afraid you're mistaken, sir... I only have a mother and a younger sister. My father passed away three years ago. I attended the funeral myself. I remember it very well."
His brow lifted slightly, but he didn't react beyond that. "Is that how it is, then? You've buried me already, Seraphina?"
Her eyes gone on the ground, but the way her jaw tensed betrayed the storm beneath her surface.
"You say that like I had a choice. I had to bury something. Call it trust. Or faith. Or… hope," she said quietly. "All of it, three years ago."
Eldarion's tone stayed even, calm. "Even now, your words are sharp. Still the same girl, just better at hiding her wounds."
"You assume too much, sir." She replied curtly.
He turned to her then, finally facing her fully. "Do I? I've come to see you. Not as a noble. Not as a general either. As your father."
She scoffed lightly, a breath of bitter laughter. "You came to see me? No, I think you came to judge me. Or perhaps to make sure your plans are still working."
"I came because I care."
"You care? Don't make me laugh, old man." Her voice cracked faintly with disbelief, though she held her posture with perfect grace. "If you truly cared, I wouldn't be where I am now. You forced me into a marriage I never consented to. You didn't care when you gave me to Kael. So why pretend now?"
His voice lowered slightly, still calm but with a weight behind it. "Kael is not a bad man. Yes, he maybe a bit lazy. And weak. But I've heard he's quite handy in the kitchen. So, I thought—"
"You thought wrong," she snapped, cutting him off. "You thought I would bend. Serve my purpose as you saw fit." She turned away, shoulders stiff. "Well, I did. And look what that made me."
A silence fell again between them, heavy as the dusk.
Eldarion's voice was steady, but something in it cracked ever so slightly. "Ha… I didn't think my daughter could harbor this much resentment over something like a marriage."
Seraphina's lips curled into a bitter smile, though her eyes remained cold. "Marriage? I don't call it that. It wasn't a union. It was a sentence. Forced. Because of you, sir."
Eldarion sighed, folding his arms as his gaze lifted to the fading light above. "You always did have your mother's fire. But if you truly despise it so much… why not end it? Give Kael a divorce."
A short silence passed.
Then she laughed. A low, humorless, almost broken sound. "Divorce, huh? You're asking me why I didn't give it to him?" She turned to him, her voice rising—not with rage, but with cold accusation. "You old bastard… You know damn well why I can't. It's not about laws or customs. It's about chains."
Her hands tensed at her sides, the faintest tremble running through her gloved fingers. "It was never a choice. Not for me. That's what my mother taught me… that marriage is sacred, unbreakable. That no matter how hard it gets, a woman should endure it. And I... I believed her. I still do."
Her voice cracked, but she forced herself to continue. "What do you want me to do now? Spit on her teachings just because I hate this marriage? I don't have that kind of courage. I can't insult the only person who ever truly loved me, not even for this cursed marriage."
She took in a slow breath—steadying herself, keeping her mask of calm. "In the end, I'm bound by strings I didn't choose. Like a puppet—dangling, dancing for someone else's amusement. You pull one thread for your wishes, Kael pulls another for his entertainment. And me? I'm just here, caught in between."
Another bitter laugh escaped her—softer now, like something cracking beneath the surface. "I was never a person to any of you. Just a tool. Something convenient. Something disposable."
She turned away for a moment, as if catching her breath, before facing him again. "You ask why? Maybe ask yourself this—when was the last time you saw me as more than just a pawn in your perfect little legacy?"
She looked away, eyes cast to the shadowed flowers in the garden.
"I'm nothing to either of you. Nothing."
Eldarion let out a long breath, fingers briefly rubbing at his brow. "Excuses again. Always the excuses…"
"No." Her eyes locked with his now—daggers of frost. "This time, I'm seeing things clearly. For once. And you don't get to call them excuses. Not when you never gave me a choice."
Eldarion remained quiet for a moment, then finally asked, "So… you have no intention of forgiving me?"
A dry sound broke from her throat, something between a sigh and a laugh. "Forgive you? For what, exactly? You did everything right… at least in your own mind. Actually, you know what? My very birth was a mistake. It's been three years…"
Her fists clenched tightly. "Have you ever once bothered to find out how your so-called daughter has been living? Of course not. Why would you? That wouldn't do any favors for your precious legacy, would it?
So spare me the lies. I know you're only here because of the demon—not for me, not for anything else."
"…Still that little stubborn child," Eldarion said quietly.
Seraphina's eyes narrowed. "Do I look like a child to you?"
He gave a faint smile, shaking his head. "To a parent, even when their child wears armor and wields a sword… they are still that tiny thing, clinging to your legs, demanding sweets all the time. I still remember how you used to cling to me, always asking for candy."
She looked away again, biting the inside of her cheek. "Pity then. You're not my parent. Not anymore."
He was silent again, thoughtful, watching her with that unreadable gaze he wore on battlefields. "Well," he said finally, "as much as I would like to stand here and argue endlessly, I didn't come for that. I came because… I need something from you."
Her expression tightened. "If it's an order, then speak it plainly. I'll carry it out."
"No, not an order. Just a… personal request." He straightened his shoulders slightly, as if trying to brace for a strike. "I was wondering… when will I become a grandfather?"
Her eyes twitched. Something flickered in them. Then—before another breath could pass—her sword flashed from its sheath, the blade whispering through the air until its edge rested against his throat.
"What did you just say…?" Her voice was low, trembling with something darker than fury. "You dare ask me that?"
Eldarion didn't flinch. "I only meant… It's been three years. Shouldn't you two have considered it by now? Or is Kael even more timid than I thought?"
The cold steel lingered against his skin.
Then, she exhaled. Slowly. Her sword withdrew with equal grace, sliding back into its scabbard. "You want a grandchild?" she said, her tone emptied. "Then I fear this lifetime won't be kind to you."
"Why not?"
"Because I'm tired," she replied simply. "Tired of raising the man you call my husband. What was his name again…? Ah yes. Kael Ardent. A child in a man's body. Immature and always acting like one."
He didn't respond at first. His gaze lingered, distant, before he finally whispered, "A child?" Then, with a faint smile, he added, "I suppose you're right. I won't deny it—he is immature, often acting like a child."
He paused again, his eyes softening. "The truth is, no one ever taught him how to grow up. Unlike you, who learned every manner and virtue from us, he had no one in his childhood to show him what's right or wrong. He grew up on the outside, yes—but inside, he's still just a boy. So… yes, in many ways, you are raising a child in a man's body."
His expression shifted as he realized he'd said more than he intended. Seraphina's shoulder flinched slightly. Silence stretched between them—long and tense—until Eldarion's lips curved into a faint, almost amused smile.
"And speaking of children... shouldn't you consider for giving that child a child of his own? They could grow up together. Or maybe I should ask him myself?"
"Sure," she said with a shrug. "But he'll stutter and avoid your gaze. He doesn't even know how to ask me for a meal, let alone a child."
"I see…" He glanced up at the dusky sky. "So there's no hope for me to become a grandfather… I had such high hopes of that happening soon." He stepped back, adjusting his uniform. "Very well, then. I suppose I'll have to wait. Until then… live your life as you see fit, Seraphina. That is my wish." He turned, ready to go.
"Wait."
Her voice stopped him cold. He paused mid-step, then slowly turned his head—just enough to glimpse her profile bathed in the warm light of the setting sun.
"Tell me…" Her voice was quieter now, uncertain. "What did you mean when you said he has no one around him? Wasn't he raised in an orphanage? That's what you told me. Even in an orphanage… there must've been someone. Someone who could've taught him those things." She turned to face him fully now, waiting for an answer.
He looked at her for a long moment, his eyes unreadable. Then he exhaled softly and asked, "How many friends did you have at the Knight Academy?"
She blinked. "Why are you dodging my question?"
"Just answer me. How many?"
Seraphina sighed, shoulders sagging slightly. "Only one. That would be Arwyn."
He gave a small, humorless smile. "The Knight Academy receives thousands of new students every year. And among all of them… you had only one friend. So how do you expect him to have any—when he grew up among just a handful of abandoned children?"
She didn't answer. There was nothing she could say to that. He didn't press further either. He turned again, ready to leave.
But her voice came once more, softer this time. "…And there's something I want to ask."
He stopped, glancing over his shoulder.
She asked the question, and whatever he said in return came carefully—measured, gentle. His words weren't revealed, but they changed her. For a few seconds, she didn't even notice the faint smile forming at the corners of her lips. When it faded, she spoke again, her voice softer than before.
"…Take care of Mother. And Serelina." A pause. "Tell Mother I miss her… so much. And Serelina too. I want to know how far she's come. She used to say she'd catch up to me one day."
She hesitated, then looked up. If there's still a bit of kindness left in you…" She hesitated, then looked up. "If there's still a shred of kindness left in you… send her to Velhart. Just for a few days. I want to see with my own eyes how much my little sister has grown."
He gave a solemn nod. "Always. You have my word." Then, after a moment, he added gently, "As for Serelina—she's still at the Academy. But when she returns home… I'll tell her. That her big sister wants to see her again."
With that, he turned to leave fully. As he walked away, she stood there motionless, her eyes fixed on his back. But then, Seraphina's gaze shifted—just slightly. Because there he was: the man who ruled at least fifty-three cities. A noble whose authority was beyond question. The father she had long convinced herself no longer existed.
And yet…
Her throat tightened.
"Fa—…"
Her lips moved, but the word wouldn't rise. It caught somewhere between her pride and pain. Her voice cracked, but no sound came.
Tears slipped down her cheek silently, unnoticed by anyone but herself. The frost in her gaze melted, just for a breath. For a moment, she didn't look like the Captain of the Knight Orders in Velhart, nor the famed Sword Princess—but simply, a daughter. A daughter who longed, just once, to call that man father.
But couldn't.
Not yet.
Not now.
Maybe not ever.
"I don't think I can see you as my father anymore, old man. You did something I can never forgive you for. I've tried—but I just can't."
She stood there alone, the garden fading into twilight. And in the stillness, only the whisper of her unsaid word remained.
---
Meanwhile, Sebastian stood quietly at the entrance, hands neatly behind his back, eyes fixed on the distant trees as the evening wind rustled through the leaves.
He turned slightly at the sound of approaching footsteps. Eldarion was walking toward him, his pace steady but thoughtful.
As the lord drew near, Sebastian offered a slight bow, his voice low and even. "My lord, did your talk with the young lady go well?" he asked, turning his gaze back to the road ahead as if giving his master space to reflect.
Eldarion let out a soft breath, not quite a sigh, more like the release of something long held in. "It was, or it wasn't," he replied with a small shake of his head. "But I'm glad I truly spoke with her. I really did miss her."
There was a pause, just the sound of gravel beneath their boots. Eldarion's voice lowered. "Sebastian, tell me what do you think about my decisions back then? Was I wrong in your eyes?"
Sebastian walked beside him in silence for a few paces before answering. "No, my lord. You did what was right," he said, his tone sure, like a man speaking from experience. "As a father myself... I might have done the same, were I in your place. So don't worry, my lord. I have faith in the young master—he won't let you down."
Eldarion gave a slow nod, the corner of his mouth twitching in something close to a smile. "You're right. That boy has something in him."
Sebastian glanced at him.
"Have you noticed something about her?" Eldarion asked.
"What, my lord?"
"She now speaks with her mother's tongue. It's a great change." His voice softened, touched by distant memory. "As far as I remember, it's been eight years since I heard that kind of voice from her. Kael also changed so much."
"Yes, my lord." Sebastian nodded.
A breeze passed between them, carrying the scent of old pines and something sweeter—perhaps flowers from the inner garden. Eldarion's gaze lingered on the path before them. Then he paused and glanced sideways, toward the spot where he had spoken with Seraphina. A faint smile touched his lips. "I hope we meet again before the war, Seraphina," he thought.
Without another word, he stepped toward the waiting carriage. Sebastian followed silently behind, as he had for decades—loyal, steady, and ever watchful.
---
Two hours later...
The evening had long since passed. The quiet stone path leading to Kael's mansion glimmered faintly under the soft glow of magic lamps, their light swaying gently in the breeze. Shadows stretched thin along the road, cast by trees of all shapes and kinds on either side — oaks with thick roots, slender silver elms, and the occasional spellbound willows with whispering leaves.
Kael walked alone, the air still, save for the faint rustle of leaves. His footsteps tapped gently against the stone, echoing softly into the silence.
His eyes were set ahead. Calm. Empty. He finished Arienne's training, and now all he wanted was the silence of his room. Of home. Of somewhere he wouldn't have to pretend to be okay.
A small park came into view just a few steps away, resting at the edge of the path, almost like a forgotten memory in the corner of a dream. At this hour, people rarely wandered to this side of town. Some said it was because of ghosts. Others whispered about monsters.
Then — he stopped. His eyes shifted, slowly, to the left. There, sitting alone on a wooden bench beside a flickering magic lamp, was a girl.
Silver hair caught the low light like frost under moonlight. It shimmered faintly as the breeze toyed with its strands. Her face, however, was tilted down, eyes fixed on the ground. Her hands rested on her lap.
Kael's lips parted. A soft whisper escaped him. "…Seraphina? What's she doing here… at this hour?"
He stood still for a moment. Thought about going to her. Then shook his head with a faint sigh.
"She must be… on patrol. Working late, as always," he murmured to himself. "Still… even if I saw her… I can't talk to her. Not out here."
He turned his gaze back to the path and took another step forward.
And then he stopped again. This time, he looked at her carefully. Her posture was that of someone who had lost into something. It didn't seem like she was really present.
"…She looks… off somehow," he thought, his brows knitting gently. "I've never seen her like that before. Is something happened with her?"
His body turned slightly toward the bench, his boot shifting on the stone. But then he froze. Took in a deep breath. And turned away again.
"No, I can't talk to her here—what if someone sees us? I'll talk to her at home. Yes, going home is the best choice."
With the next step, the light from the lamps guided him on, and he walked ahead as though he'd never seen her at all.
---
(Chapter Ended)
To be continued...