> Before everything began, there were screams — and he only learned to listen. Because resisting was forbidden.
Living in a castle ruled by greedy nobles, alongside a repulsive family...
What more is there to say?
Impossible.
If you were raised in the Vantess household, surviving meant trying to be the smartest slave while clinging desperately to your sanity.
For any ordinary person, this would be nearly unthinkable.
Because in this house, nights don't begin with silence—
They begin with screams.
As always, the noises grew louder.
Nujah climbed into the wardrobe, sealing off every gap the sound might creep through.
He pressed a pillow hard against his ears—only then could he manage to sleep.
While his siblings endured torture for "not doing things properly," courtesy of their beloved family.
Since birth, he had seen the same scenes repeat: Shouts from the rooms above.
In the basement—bones breaking, begging, curses echoing.
Fight back?
Not once had the thought even occurred to him.
He only knew how to cover his ears, hide in a corner, and try to be the best servant they had.
That night, he barely slept.
And each time he woke, the same nightmare returned:
His home.
His family.
His siblings' cries for help.
Nujah had developed a survival tactic:
Never react.
No matter what happens—pretend not to hear.
It was the only way to keep the nightmare from beginning again.
That morning, he woke drenched in sweat, as if torn from a dream.
He rushed to the bathroom, then to the kitchen.
He had to greet the family.
No matter how rotten the wooden bones of the house were, the rulers of the Vantess family—Zirelda, Cassar, and the eldest child, Vareth—had decorated their rooms like those of true nobles.
Each morning, Nujah's duty was to visit their doors, one by one.
First stop: Zirelda's chamber.
Not gold, but classic—a graceful, refined door.
He knocked.
A cold voice gave permission from within.
He opened the door and bowed.
> "Is there an important task for me, Madam?"
Zirelda was staring at herself in the mirror. She turned her head slightly.
> "Your brother, Vareth, brought the wedding garments. Bring them to me."
He was surprised, but didn't show it.
He turned immediately toward the door.
He reached Vareth's room.
A grand door framed in gold. He knocked.
The moment Vareth opened the door, laughter spilled out — low, sharp, and wrong — carrying with it the scent of danger like perfume on poisoned silk.
> "Take these to my mother. Now."
The door slammed shut in his face.
He returned to Zirelda, the garments in hand.
The door was open.
Inside, Zirelda and Cassar were examining the clothes with a tailor.
They had already handed the most valuable piece to a servant.
Without even turning his head, Cassar spoke:
> "That useless brother of yours… Insect Thoren. Get him out of the cellar. Clean him up. Dress him.
We've got work to do."
The door shut.
As soon as he had permission, Nujah descended into the basement.
He opened the door and—
A horrifying sight.
Blood. Silence.
And Thoren, lying motionless on the floor.
But Nujah...
Part of him was relieved.
He stepped closer, quietly.
Carefully placed Thoren in an old burial box the family had kept hidden.
He took it himself, to the peasant cemetery outside Calvenhold Castle.
Such places were rare in that region—
But the family's old connections still had some use.
He paid the necessary bribe.
Oversaw the burial, in silence, alongside the peasants.
And then...
Returned home as if nothing had ever happened.
As of that morning, there were only three children left in the Vantess family.
---
After burying Thoren's lifeless body, Nujah returned home.
His face was blank.
His emotions—blurred, unreachable.
Had he forgotten how to feel?
Or did he simply know that if he let himself feel, even for a moment, he would fall apart?
The house was quiet.
Too quiet.
Just as he reached the stairs, a faint sound reached him—muffled crying behind a locked door.
Lyra's room.
He stepped closer, knocked softly.
> "Lyra? Open the door. I just want to talk."
Silence.
Then, a trembling whisper between sobs:
> "Go away…"
> "Please. I just—"
> "I DON'T WANT YOU! I DON'T WANT ANY OF YOU!"
Her words cut like blades.
But Nujah didn't move.
He stood there in silence, one hand resting lightly against the cold wood.
Then, with a heavy breath, he turned and walked away.
As he moved through the empty corridor toward the family salon, only one thought kept echoing in his mind:
> "Something's wrong. Terribly wrong. And I still don't know everything."
---
He reached Zirelda's door just as the tailor stepped out, looking pleased with himself.
Nujah knocked and entered.
Zirelda stood by the mirror, adjusting the folds of an ornate gown. Cassar lounged on the divan with a glass of wine. The air smelled of perfume and pride.
Without raising her eyes, Zirelda said:
> "The garments?"
Nujah stepped forward and handed them over. Then he spoke, voice low but clear:
> "Thoren… is dead."
The room froze for a moment.
The tailor stopped moving.
Cassar slowly turned his head.
Zirelda blinked once, then sighed—almost wistfully.
> "What a pity. He was fun to break."
Nujah's jaw clenched.
> "Who… are these garments for?" he asked carefully.
Zirelda's eyes snapped to him.
Without hesitation, she slapped him hard across the face.
His head snapped to the side.
> "Don't concern yourself with matters that don't belong to you," she hissed. "Unless you want to end up like your pathetic brother."
Nujah didn't flinch.
> "She's six years old," he said, voice rising with restrained rage. "Six."
Zirelda's fingers curled around her cane. Her arm lifted to strike—
But the door swung open.
Vareth.
He stepped in with the confidence of a prince and the coldness of a butcher.
> "Enough," he said flatly. "Lord Alvaren Deyros will be here soon with his guard. I won't have blood on the rugs."
Zirelda rolled her eyes but lowered the cane.
Vareth marched to Nujah, grabbed him by the hair, and shoved him toward the hallway.
> "Go. Do what you always do in that little hole you call a room."
Zirelda adjusted the sleeves of her gown and whispered to Cassar:
> "Now there are only three children left."
The door closed behind Nujah.
Then—
a distant announcement, echoing from the courtyard below:
> "In celebration of Lady Seren Valinea, sister to King Arthur, a festival shall be held this day. All citizens welcome."
Nujah's breath caught in his throat.
> "Seren Valinea… If anyone in this cursed land can help, it's her."
---
He ran.
Back to his room—
Lifted the mattress—
Beneath it, the wooden decoy he had crafted for moments like this: a false Nujah, shaped and clothed to fool anyone passing by.
He covered it, placed an empty bottle on the floor as if discarded in sleep, and threw on his cloak.
He quietly slipped out of the house and blended into the morning crowd.
---
The crowd had already gathered outside the Church of Calvenhold.
Hundreds of citizens, all hoping for a glimpse of the High Sister.
Nujah couldn't wait in line.
There wasn't time.
He moved through the shadows behind the church—
Found a side wall—
Climbed.
His arms burned, legs ached, but he made it to the upper window.
Inside: a private study.
Seren Valinea sat writing calmly at her desk. Two guards stood at attention.
Nujah slipped in silently.
The wooden floor creaked.
Then, without hesitation, he dropped to his knees, hands behind his head, and shouted:
> "I'm not an assassin! Please—this is a life or death matter!"
Both guards turned instantly, spears drawn and leveled at his throat.
> "DOWN! NOW!"
But he was already down, forehead pressed to the floor.
> "Please… I beg you. Just hear me out…"
Seren looked up slowly.
Beneath the veil of her black habit, her eyes locked onto the boy trembling on the ground.
He wasn't just afraid.
There was belief in his voice.
A raw, desperate kind of truth.
She raised one hand—graceful, firm.
The guards paused, then stepped back.
Nujah didn't rise.
He kept speaking, breathless.
> "My name is Nujah. I was born into the Vantess family… but I am not one of them."
> "I buried my brother today. They're preparing my little sister for marriage. She's six."
> "I don't have time. My family will stop me. Whatever it takes."
> "They say you are the only one in this kingdom who still believes in justice."
> "Please… Just listen to me. Once. That's all I ask."
> "If you wish to punish me after, I'll accept it. But first—please—help me."
Silence.
Then Seren turned to the guards.
> "Leave us."
The doors shut behind them.
She stood.
Her robe, stitched with gold, swept softly across the floor. Her presence—like wind in candlelight.
She stepped toward Nujah.
Knelt before him.
Lifted his chin gently with one hand.
> "Look into my eyes."
Nujah met her gaze.
And in that moment…
She knew.
He was telling the truth.
---
Seren slowly walked toward the window. She looked out between the curtains at the sun sinking beneath the horizon. Then she turned to Nujah and spoke in a voice that was soft—but firm:
> "Sit down, Nujah. You don't have to be afraid in this room."
Nujah still had his hands clasped tightly on his knees. Hesitantly, he moved to the nearest chair and sat. His legs were trembling.
But Seren's voice… was unlike anyone else's.
Not commanding like his mother's,
Not suffocating like his father's.
It was calm.
Like silence that made you feel safe.
Seren returned to her desk. She picked up a quill, pulled out a fresh piece of parchment, and began to write as she spoke:
> "Your sister, Lyra… You said she's being prepared for a forced marriage. Do you have any proof?"
Nujah lowered his head.
> "I only saw the dress. She's six… and Zirelda wasn't even trying to hide it."
"And…" he continued, his voice dropping lower,
"You're hearing this for the first time, but… the ruler of Calvenhold, Alvaren Deyros, is coming soon. He's the one they're preparing her for—as his bride. I heard Vareth talking about it. That's why… we don't have much time."
Seren paused briefly. Then pressed her quill down harder against the parchment.
> "That's enough. Even this alone is a violation."
A guard was called into the room. Wax and a seal were brought in. Seren took a breath and began to write aloud, each word weighed like steel:
---
📜 Official Statement to the Kingdom of Arthur
From: High Priestess Seren Valinea
Title: Spiritual Advisor of Calvenhold and Royal Guardian under King Arthur
Date: 23 SOL, 763 N.C.
To: The Royal Council of Arthur & High Court of Justice
Subject: Reports of Child Abuse and Criminal Activity Committed by the Vantess Family of Calvenhold
I hereby declare that, based on firsthand testimony and direct observation within the region of Calvenhold, the following offenses have been brought to my attention:
— A six-year-old girl being prepared for forced marriage
— Specifically, to be offered as a bride to Alvaren Deyros, the current ruler of Calvenhold
— The concealed disposal of a deceased male child (Thoren Vantess)
— Clear and repeated signs of domestic abuse, torture, and psychological manipulation
In light of these allegations, I request immediate investigation. Should these claims be validated, I call for the accused to be brought to trial under Arthurian law. Intervention and support from the Crown is urgently required.
Key witness:
> Nujah Vantess, Age 16
Based on testimony and presented evidence, it is recommended he be placed under royal protection.
In the name of sacred light Naraka and justice,
Seren Valinea
(High Priestess and Royal Spiritual Envoy)
[Royal Seal]
---
Seren carefully rolled up the completed parchment. She then approached the small cage near the window where a black raven was perched. Opening the cage door, she gently stroked the bird's head and tied the parchment to its leg with a thin red ribbon. Leaning in, she whispered into its ear:
> "Castle Arthur."
The raven took off the moment it heard the command, soaring with unshakable speed. It was far faster than any normal raven—perhaps five, maybe even ten times faster. In the blink of an eye, it vanished into the sky.
Seren sighed and closed her eyes for a moment. Then she turned to Nujah with a serious yet warm smile. Her voice now carried a firmer, more heartfelt tone:
> "I only have a hundred soldiers right now, but all are sworn to me. Roughly how soon can they arrive, Nujah?"
Nujah swallowed hard, replying with an uneasy voice:
> "Vareth said they've already departed... I'd estimate one or two hours. Five at the most—if the roads are clear, and nothing gets in the way."
Seren furrowed her brows, but didn't panic. She simply nodded:
> "I see. Nujah, can you slip into the house unnoticed? If they spot you, everything might fall apart. Alvaren has more men than I do. It's unlikely he'll try to harm me directly… but if something goes wrong before my brother Arthur arrives, we could lose control."
Nujah nodded—he had clearly thought this through before:
> "I left a puppet in my bed. It's roughly my size, shaped like me, made of wood. I covered it with a blanket. If no one has entered the room… I can slip in without being detected."
Seren gave him a stern nod:
> "Good. Then I'll send you home. I'll be there too—as Seren Valinea, openly. But I'll need a signal to know when they're coming. Something silent…"
She paused for a moment, thinking.
> "When you get near the house, send up a brief flash of light into the sky. Just once. That'll be my cue to intervene immediately."
"I'll have everyone ready in half an hour."
She pulled the Calvenhold map from the bag on the floor and handed him a pencil.
"Mark the location. Exit the same way you came—unseen. If Alvaren finds out you left, one of his men could become a problem."
Nujah marked the spot, then ran toward the window. Just before jumping, he said:
> "No amount of thanks would be enough, my lady."
Seren, with a gentle smile, replied:
> "I haven't done anything yet. Save it for when we succeed."
Nujah slipped away swiftly, unseen. Since entering through the front door was risky, he used the hidden tunnel beneath the house that Vareth had once used. He moved quietly, unnoticed, and reached his room.
Luck was on his side—the paper he had placed as a trap behind the door fell exactly as he had set it. No one had entered. He confirmed it.
Looking out from the balcony, he heard animal sounds—ten times louder than usual—but saw nothing. Judging by the time, at least ten minutes had passed.
Fetching firewood from the living room was too risky, so he grabbed his own clothes, a lighter, and a small dagger. He also took the potent poison he had stolen from his mother, its green liquid now replaced with harmless water.
Once ready, he dashed toward a tree, leapt to it, and safely landed on the ground. He blended into the crowd on the main road. Nine minutes later, he spotted a small army approaching from behind.
He slipped behind a nearby house to remain unseen and lit his clothes on fire, producing a visible column of smoke.
At the same time, Seren Valinea—already disguised in a cloak and hidden among the people with her undercover soldiers—had arrived. She was certain Nujah had sent the signal.
As the carriage neared, Seren and her men stood up and blocked its path.
---