Raymond staggered back with the sword still piercing his chest, blood spraying across the battlefield as the silver-blonde haired man, the one he had trusted above all, stood before him with eyes that carried neither regret nor mercy. Raymond's hand went instinctively to the hilt of the blade buried deep within him, but he did not pull it out. He knew it was useless. Instead, he lifted his face, his lips curling into a fierce and wild smile.
Through the haze of blood and chaos, through the storm of screams and roars that filled the castle, he turned his head toward the scrying spell that Ciara had cast. It was as if his eyes pierced the walls and the distance, finding hers across the void. Husband and wife stood apart in two different rooms, but in that moment they were closer than ever. His smile, wide and fearless, carried words his dying throat could not speak. His gaze seemed to say, Take care of our son.
Ciara stood in that small sealed chamber, Damien held tightly in her arms. She remained calm and still, her expression unmoving, but her husband could see the faint shimmer of tears glistening in her eyes. She did not sob. She did not tremble. She only looked at him, burning his face into her heart, as if to carve every line of his expression into her soul for eternity.
And then Raymond roared.
What followed was not the battle of a man but of a beast who had nothing left to lose. With blood still pouring from his chest, he threw himself forward with a ferocity unseen before, his aura exploding into the battlefield like a tidal wave. Every surviving Dreadmore joined him in that last defiance. They unleashed every dark spell, every assassination art, every shred of power their lineage had honed for centuries. The hall turned into a slaughterhouse. Black shadows danced through the air, blades of darkness slit throats and tore flesh, poison fumes burned lungs, and curses spread like wildfire. It was not a battle to win—it was a battle to drag the enemy into hell with them.
Damien, watching through his mother's spell, saw it all. His father fought like a devil, cutting down enemy after enemy, his movements fueled by pain and rage and love for the family he could not protect. He killed saints, tore apart masked invaders, painted the floor in their blood. But for every one that fell, three more surged forward. They overwhelmed, they suffocated, and they dragged his father down.
And then it happened.
Surrounded and bleeding, Raymond's knees buckled. He raised his sword one last time, his face smeared with blood and his eyes still searching for Ciara through the scrying link. His lips moved. His voice was faint but clear enough to reach her ears across space. "I love you."
Then the blade fell from his hands and Raymond Dreadmore was no more.
Ciara's body stiffened. Her lips parted as though to gasp, but no sound came out. Her hand instinctively tightened around Damien, pressing him against her chest. Her face remained calm, almost emotionless, but she whispered back, her words trembling despite her composure. "I love you too."
And then she watched. She forced herself to watch as her entire family was slaughtered. Sisters, brothers, cousins, children—all of them fell one after another. She saw her sisters screaming as masked enemies tore at their clothes and forced themselves on them while laughing. She saw nephews and nieces cut apart, their small bodies tossed aside like broken dolls. Blood ran like rivers across the marble floors of the castle. And Ciara did not look away. Her eyes never flinched. Her lips never trembled. She saw everything with a stillness that made Damien's young heart, even through memory, ache with horror.
Damien's tears streamed down his face as he took in every detail. He memorized the masks, the white faces painted with grotesque bloody smiles. He memorized their fighting styles, their spells, the rhythm of their movements. He etched their hair colors, their voices, their eyes into his mind. He was not just watching the death of his parents. He was preparing. He was promising himself he would remember every single detail until the day he could use it.
Ciara finally ended the scrying spell when she felt the bombardments shaking the castle, when she felt the enemy saints drawing closer and closer to the chamber where she hid. She placed Damien gently on the table in the center of the room. Her movements were slow, careful, deliberate, as though she were setting down her most precious treasure. From her spatial ring, she drew out a pair of black daggers, curved and sharp, radiating a faint glow of power. They were her life-bound weapon, forged with her own blood essence, given to her by Raymond himself.
Placing the daggers down, she began carving formations into the table, her fingers swift and practiced, her eyes hard with resolve. She placed Damien at the very center of the formation and lifted the daggers, planting them around him like guardians. Then she raised her hand and without hesitation cut her own wrist, letting her blood spill into the grooves of the formation, soaking the daggers, staining the wood.
Her face softened as she looked down at her baby. "My little Blackie," she whispered, her voice breaking for the first time. "I know you will remember all of this once you step on your path and your soul becomes powerful. I am so sorry… because the process I must use to send you away will damage your soul. It will hurt you, and it will take so long for you to heal. But I have no choice. This is the only way you will live."
Tears slipped silently from Damien's eyes as he listened to her words in the memory.
"You must not blame yourself," she continued, brushing her trembling fingers over his tiny cheek. "This was not your fault. None of it. The fall of our family had nothing to do with you." She paused, her eyes darkening. "But I know you are my blood, my son. I know you will want vengeance. I want to tell you to let it go, to live quietly, to never walk down that bloody path. But if you do choose it… if you decide to carry our vengeance… then be ruthless. Leave no evidence. Plan every step so perfectly that the enemy never even knows who you are until it is too late."
Her voice grew colder, a flicker of killing intent flashing in her eyes. "And above all, never trust anyone. Not even those who seem like friends. Especially nobles. They will betray you the moment their lives or their families are threatened. Remember this, my little Blackie. Do not give your trust away lightly."
She pressed her forehead to his and whispered, her tears finally falling onto his skin. "Forgive me, my son. Forgive me for breaking my promise to always be there for you. But I want you to live. I want you to take care of yourself, because I will not be there to do it. Please… live."
Outside the chamber, the bombardments grew louder. Saints clashed with roars that shook the walls. She knew the door would not last.
Her eyes hardened one final time, her love and her hate, her despair and her hope all swirling together. She smiled at him, that strange, calm, beautiful smile, and whispered, "These daggers… they are a part of me and your father both. Find them one day. Carry them, and we will always be with you."
And then she straightened. Her expression became sharp, filled with love yet radiating endless hatred for her enemies, filled with despair yet blazing with a final spark of hope in the form of her son. It was an expression that would burn into Damien's soul forever.
Ciara spread her arms wide, her blood-stained hands gripping the daggers. Her body began to glow with violent energy as she poured her very life into the formation. The explosion that followed was blinding, tearing through the room with devastating power. The blast powered the daggers, fueled the spell, and in the next heartbeat Damien was gone.
When his vision cleared, he was lying in a small room in Asher City, his tiny body trembling. The first face he saw was that of Miss Beckar, her beauty younger, her eyes filled with grief and burning hatred. Tears streamed down her face as she scooped him into her arms, clutching him as though she would never let him go.
"Young master…" she cried, her voice breaking as she buried her face into his hair. "Young master…"
And she wept, holding him close, as if by holding him she could shield him from the world that had already taken everything from him.