The study was warm with the scent of polished oak and old parchment, its shelves lined with tomes and relics from a dozen lands.
A single lamp glowed golden on the broad desk, throwing long shadows across the leather chairs where Valmira and Kane sat opposite each other.
Valmira uncorked a heavy crystal decanter, the amber liquid within catching the light like molten fire.
Without hesitation, she poured generously into Kane's glass before filling her own.
Kane accepted the drink, his fingers tightening ever so slightly around the glass. He forced his shoulders back, trying to still the betraying tremor in his hands.
His posture was rigid, too deliberate, his lips pressed thin in concentration.
Valmira chuckled lightly, swirling her own glass. "Relax, boy. I truly don't bite."
Kane's smile was strained, but a genuine effort was there. "I… know," he replied, though his voice held a taut edge.
Valmira tilted her head, eyes gleaming with quiet amusement. "You're nervous, aren't you?"
Kane, to his own surprise, didn't dodge the truth. He lifted the glass to his lips, the whiskey burning as it went down.
"Yes."
She smirked, but her gaze softened.
Taking a slow sip from her own glass, she stared into the amber liquid, her tone shifting into something more reflective.
"I don't really have the right to dictate who Arasha chooses. Her will has always been iron, even as a child. Still…" She leaned back, eyes distant. "I can't help but worry. Or be curious."
Kane remained silent, sensing that this was more than idle musing.
Valmira continued, her voice steady but threaded with the weight of memory.
"I was once a warrior princess of Lahos. A tiny country, gone now, swallowed by empires and war. My marriage into this kingdom was a treaty, a gamble at peace. And oddly enough, it turned out well. My husband… he was kind, and we found joy together."
Her hand tightened slightly around the glass.
"But joy is fleeting. The women of the Sera lineage—my lineage—carry a curse, or a trait if you wish to call it that. Miscarriages. The loss of children. Loss upon loss, until the heart grows hollow. My family was swallowed by war, and even the only survivor of my sister's line—my niece—wasn't spared. She died in a monster's rampage. Tragedy, you see, seems to stalk us like a shadow."
Kane frowned, lowering his glass, caught between respect and the ache of sympathy.
"For years, I thought I had no one left," Valmira went on, her voice quieter now, her eyes shimmering with a sorrow carefully caged.
"Even when my husband died, I told myself I had to accept the void. And then… a young squire of fate appeared before me. A girl who looked so achingly like my sister. I knew immediately—she was kin."
Her gaze sharpened, meeting Kane's directly.
"Arasha."
Kane's breath caught softly in his throat.
"She acknowledged me as her great-aunt," Valmira said with a sad little smile.
"But she never leaned on me. She insisted on standing alone, no matter how heavy her burdens. All I could do was watch from a distance, support her in small ways when she allowed. And the more I learned about her twisted childhood and the fate that clawed at her heels, the more guilty I became. Guilty… and hesitant to reach out. For I wondered if I had already failed her without even knowing."
She took another slow sip of whiskey, letting silence stretch before speaking again.
"So you see, Kane… my worries are not about whether you love her. I can see that in the way you look at her."
Her voice hardened slightly, not unkind but edged with steel.
"My question is whether you understand the weight of her lineage, her scars, and whether you are truly prepared to walk beside her despite them. Not out of duty. But out of choice."
The whiskey in Kane's glass trembled slightly as his grip tightened.
He drew in a long breath, steadying himself, then lifted his gaze to meet Valmira's unflinching eyes.
Kane's knuckles tightened against the glass. The words seemed to rise from a place deeper than thought, from a place that bound soul to soul.
"Yes," he said, voice steady, resonant with conviction that filled the quiet study.
"I will walk beside her and support her until the end of the universe. And if the gods grant me the chance, I will do so in every lifetime where Arasha exists."
The promise seemed to hang in the air, like an oath etched into eternity.
Valmira stilled, her own breath catching.
She had heard countless vows, pledges, and declarations across her long years, but this… this rang with a truth she could not deny.
She searched his eyes, her instinct honed through loss and wisdom—and found no faltering there.
Only fierce, undimmed certainty.
At last, her lips curved into a smile, touched with something soft and wistful. "Wonderful," she murmured.
Kane let out a slow breath, the tension easing from his shoulders.
He took a sip of the whiskey—it burned, but he welcomed the fire, grounding him. He set the glass down carefully, then lifted his gaze once more to Valmira.
"If I may," he said politely, "could you elaborate on the tragic trait of the Sera lineage? I intend to make countermeasures… to ensure Arasha will never suffer from it. Not if I can act."
For a heartbeat, Valmira was silent, watching him with eyes both surprised and approving.
Then she gave a small laugh, not mocking, but warm. "You are thorough, aren't you? Good. I approve of that."
She leaned back, cradling her glass, and began to speak—about the frailty of wombs that struggled to carry life, about the remedies that had failed, about whispers of curses mingled with inherited weakness, about the subtle signs that appeared in the women long before tragedy struck.
Kane listened intently, his expression never faltering.
From time to time, he inclined his head, asking pointed questions, and with a flick of his hand conjured faint runes into the air—notes, calculations, protective matrices to be tested later.
His mind was an arsenal, already arranging strategies to shield the woman he loved.
Valmira watched him in silence for a moment, and within her chest something eased—a heaviness lifting, a grief slightly soothed.
****
The sky was still dusky, the faintest streaks of pink and orange beginning to peel back the veil of night when Arasha found her way to the garden pavilion.
Valmira was already there, seated at a carved table with a pot of steaming tea and a plate of buttered bread untouched before her.
She looked weary, shadows beneath her eyes betraying the restless hours she had passed, but her expression softened the instant she saw her grandniece approach.
"You're early," Valmira said with a small smile, gesturing to the empty chair across from her. "Or perhaps I should say you are restless too."
Arasha slipped into the seat, smoothing her cloak against the cool dawn breeze. Without hesitation, she slid a folded document across the table.
Valmira raised a brow. "Not even a 'good morning'? Already treating me like a minister, hm?"
"Good morning, Aunt," Arasha answered dutifully, but her eyes gleamed with determination. "Please read."
Curious, Valmira unfolded the parchment. Her eyes moved down the neat lines of text, her expression shifting from bemusement to astonishment, then dissolving into laughter.
"You—" she gasped between chuckles, "you actually drafted a proposal contract? With clauses? Exclusive rights to mithril deposits? In exchange for wedding preparations and a ring?"
Arasha sat straighter, serious. "Yes. The land was given to the Scion Order, and I happen to have the authority to grant privileges of resource extraction. If I leverage that for your help, then it won't be charity, it will be fair."
Valmira's laughter only grew, her shoulders shaking. She reached over the table and pinched Arasha's cheek, firm enough to make her niece wince.
"Aunt—"
"You little stone-heart!" Valmira teased. "Trying to make me into some greedy, evil aunt, hoarding mithril for something I ought to do as your Aunt. Do you want songs written of my villainy?"
Arasha's cheeks burned, but she held her ground. "I just don't want to burden you. Not after everything you've endured."
Valmira's smile softened, her laughter fading into something tender.
She let go of Arasha's cheek and cupped it instead, brushing her thumb lightly along the skin.
"Listen well, my dear. I will help you. With nothing in return. You are my blood, my only family left. If you deny me this—this joy of doing something for you—then what remains for me to hold onto? Who knows how many more years I have to see you shine?"
Arasha hesitated, her chest tightening, then she nodded slowly. "If it is your wish, Aunt… then I'll gladly take your help."
Valmira's face brightened, and in that instant, the lines of weariness seemed to melt away.
She clapped her hands once, sharp as a command. A waiting aide appeared from the edge of the pavilion.
"Send word to the artisans," Valmira ordered briskly. "The best jewelers—we'll begin the ring today. And summon the tailors as well."
Before Arasha could react, her aunt was already on her feet, excitement sparking in her eyes. "In fact, we shall not wait! You're coming with me."
"Aunt—what—?"
"To shop, of course. Dresses, shoes, veils, everything! You'll need wardrobes fit for the ceremony and beyond."
Arasha tried to protest, but Valmira looped her arm firmly through hers, dragging her out of the pavilion like a general leading a reluctant recruit.
By midmorning, the estate was abuzz with preparation.
Artisans gathered with sketches and samples, tailors spread fabrics in cascades of silks and velvets, and Valmira swept her niece along from one shop to the next with tireless energy.
Arasha, caught in her aunt's whirlwind, surrendered with quiet smiles, her earlier resolve softened by the rare warmth of family fussing over her.
Meanwhile, in another wing of the estate, Kane finally stirred from slumber.
He rose later than usual, sunlight already spilling across the chamber floor. A servant entered quietly, bowing.
"Sir, Lady Valmira has taken Lady Arasha out early this morning. They've gone to meet artisans and tailors."
Kane stilled, then smiled faintly.
He recalled the conversation from the night before—the sorrow and strength woven into Valmira's tale.
He breathed out slowly and nodded.
"Good," he said softly. "Let them have their time. She deserves this."
Yet even as he said it, he found himself glancing at the door, wondering what sort of gown Arasha might be trying on at that very moment—and feeling a strange warmth at the thought.