"Father, I am sorry. I have made a great mistake… haven't I?"
His smile looked foolish, almost careless, yet there was something strangely appealing about it.
The Viscount smiled just a little, though concern lingered in his eyes.
"Yes, you did. But I am glad you are safe, my child."
That's the answer I expected, Lior thought to himself. I was right Father can't be angry with me. But still… it hurts. If only he could act more like a natural father.
He turned his gaze away from his loving father, avoiding his eyes.
Then he bent his lean knees, reaching down to pick up the half-burning smoking pipe.
His eyes softened with affection as his fingers gently brushed the brim of the pipe.
For a moment, his eyes softened, carrying an affection that seemed out of place after such a confrontation.
It was not for his father, nor for the pipe itself it was something else entirely.
A fleeting trace of warmth stirred in his chest, the kind that rises when one feels drawn to another at first glance.
Quickly, he masked it again with a careless smile, as if nothing had happened.
Lior immediately slipped the pipe into his coat pocket, making sure his father wouldn't see it.
He bent down to pick up his shoe, but before he could put it on, his father spoke, stopping him gently.
The Viscount's expression softened, a faint trace of dust in his eyes glinting in the light.
"My son… I can't even get angry at you like other fathers."
Lior looked up, heart fluttering.
"But that doesn't change the fact that I love you more than anything else I have," the Viscount continued, his voice filled with quiet affection.
Without warning, Lior threw himself into his father's arms. "Dad… you don't have to be sad."
A pang hit Lior's heart as he thought to himself,' For a moment, I lost my mind to think of him that way… Father is the very reason I am free'.
The Viscount smiled, though it didn't quite reach his eyes, and stepped back.
"Lior… we should get moving. It's already late. We have to prepare for Darkskin, as Valmord has commanded."
Lior froze, a chill running down his spine. Valmord… Valmord… he muttered under his breath.
The name felt strangely familiar. Has he… has he been here, in the Clock Tower?
The Viscount frowned, a flicker of unease in his eyes. "Are you asking if Valmord is here? Haven't you already met him?"
Lior's eyes widened, a mix of confusion and frustration flashing across his face. "Father… what are you saying? How could I have met him? Didn't you tell me to stay away from him?"
"Lior… don't tell me you didn't know. Ivaan's full name… is Ivaan Valmord."
Lior gulped hard, his throat dry, his pulse racing so loudly it almost drowned out his own words. "Father… would you mind if I went alone today?"
For a moment, silence stretched between them. The Viscount's eyes lingered on his son, searching, perhaps even tempted to ask why. But in the end, he simply gave a small nod, his expression unreadable. No questions, no protests. Only quiet agreement.
Lior bowed his head in gratitude, though guilt pricked at the edges of his heart. Turning away, he let the silence carry him to the great door of the Clock Tower.
For the last time, Lior caught sight of Ivaan Valmord's shadow inside the car. Seated in the backseat, he appeared calm, his slender fingers turning through a stack of reports with slow, deliberate precision.
In the front, Irwin started the engine broom… broom… the low growl breaking the stillness of the night.
Just as the car began to roll forward, Ivaan lifted his head. For the briefest second, his gaze flicked toward the world outside, eyes glinting faintly in the dim light.
From his place behind the pillar, Lior stood frozen, watching.
He watched until the car's taillights faded into the distance, carrying Ivaan away before his very eyes.
____ ____ ____
The last fragments of night faded behind the golden rays of dawn.
A new day was about to begin, yet Ivaan's matters still lay unfinished.
He had not taken even a full breath of rest to nourish his body, and the strain was already showing in his eyes.
He had not yet reached a place he could call a castle, a palace, a house certainly not a home.
For there was no sense of anyone waiting for him.
His black car gleamed in the morning light, its golden rims gliding smoothly along the road.
To others, it might have seemed perfect yet to Ivaan, it was nothing more than an empty passage through another day.
Irwin adjusted the rearview mirror with careful precision, making sure it made no sound. In its reflection, he caught sight of his master.
"The young master has grown so fragile" he thought. "He hasn't had even a few hours of proper rest".
In the back seat, Ivaan sat with his eyes closed, though it was clear he wasn't sleeping.
"It seems as if… he's still dwelling on what happened. Or perhaps… on the late lad"
Irwin reflected, his heart tightening with unspoken worry.
His hands clenched more firmly around the steering wheel, the weight of sadness heavy in his chest.
Ivaan slowly opened his eyes, and for a moment, they met Irwin's in the rearview mirror.
Irwin quickly turned his eyes away, pretending to focus on the road as if he had been driving seriously the whole time.
"Stop the car, Irwin," Ivaan said quietly but firmly.
Irwin slowed down, surprised. "Master?"
"Stop here," Ivaan repeated. "I will walk by myself. You go and prepare the funeral… and arrange the men for Calvary."
He opened the door, stepped out, and began walking on the empty road. The morning air felt cold against him, but his steps were steady.
Irwin pressed the accelerator again, driving away. In the mirror, he saw his master's figure growing smaller and smaller until only the straight road was left in front of him.