"What do you think you are doing?" A commanding voice thundered through the hall, heavy and sharp as steel. "Do you intend to drag shame upon our Stormriven name?"
Zephyr froze. His sword hand trembled, and his emerald eyes widened in disbelief. "F... Fa–Father?" he stuttered, breath catching in his throat. His voice cracked between shock and desperation.
He pointed toward Belthar, rage swelling in his chest. "Do you not see what this monster has done to Aria? She was innocent—she didn't deserve this!"
Belthar chuckled darkly, wiping a streak of blood from his cheek where Zephyr's blade had grazed him. "So what? Do you expect me to mourn a commoner rat?" His tone dripped with venom, every word meant to provoke.
Zephyr's grip on his sword tightened. "She was a life, uncle. A life you crushed without hesitation."
Belthar tilted his head mockingly, eyes narrowing with cruel amusement. "And what of it? Do you plan to kill me for a maid, boy? Don't you agree, elder brother Theron?" His words carried a poisonous smirk, aimed like a blade at both father and son.
"Silence, both of you!" Theron's voice cut through the chamber like a blade. To enforce his authority, he released a crushing wave of his sword aura, the air itself vibrating with power. His emerald gaze burned with fury. "How many times must I remind you both? These petty squabbles—these disgraces—stain the Stormriven name. And yet, here I find you again." His eyes fixed on Belthar, cold and unrelenting. "You, always testing the limits of my patience."
Zephyr, still trembling with anger, stepped forward. "Father, we must punish this monster for what he's done! Look at her—look at Aria! If we let this go, how can we call ourselves men of honor?" His voice cracked between desperation and rage.
Theron turned his gaze slowly toward his son, and the weight of his presence was suffocating. "I am not done here, boy." His words struck like a whip. "Who gave you the permission to raise your sword against a member of your own blood?"
Zephyr faltered, his lips trembling. "B... but—"
"Silence!" Theron roared, his aura flaring even stronger, pinning Zephyr where he stood. "You will not utter another word. Do you understand me?"
Zephyr's fists clenched, his entire body trembling in resistance, but he dared not defy further.
Theron's voice dropped lower now, colder, cutting deeper than his shout. "Here is the truth you will speak: this girl was caught stealing from your uncle's chambers. In his attempt to restrain her, she was... killed by mistake. That is the story the world will know. That is the truth you will accept."
Zephyr's chest tightened, fury boiling just beneath the surface. He wanted to scream, to strike, to defy—yet his father's gaze left him no room to breathe.
Belthar smirked faintly at the ruling, his eyes glinting with malicious satisfaction.
That night, Zephyr lay in his chamber, staring blankly at the ceiling. Sleep would not come—his mind replayed the events of the day like a cruel echo. Aria's lifeless eyes haunted him every time he closed his own.
He turned to the side, clutching at the sheets, his chest tight. "Why… why her?" His voice cracked in the stillness.
And then, unbidden, memories surfaced—fragments of his childhood.
Voices of other noble children jeering at him.
"He doesn't even have a mother!"
"Maybe she ran away from him the moment he was born!"
"His father barely looks at him—what a disgrace for a Stormriven!"
He remembered standing alone in the courtyard, fists clenched, holding back tears. And then—Aria's voice, warm and gentle.
"Young master, don't listen to them," she said as she appeared by his side, holding a small plate of bread and fruit. "Here, eat something. Food always makes the sadness go away, doesn't it?"
He had looked at her, eyes burning with shame, but Aria only smiled, brushing dust off his sleeve as though the cruelty of others meant nothing. She never treated him like a noble she had to serve, nor like a lord to fear. To her, he was simply Zephyr—the boy who needed a friend.
She had been there since they were children, the only one who saw him not as an outcast, but as family.
His nails dug into his palms now, drawing blood. The memory burned against the image of her broken body lying in his uncle's chamber.
"You were all I had… and I couldn't protect you." His whisper trembled with guilt and fury.
He rose from his bed and stepped toward the window. The moonlight washed over him, making his emerald eyes glimmer with an unsteady fire. He clenched his fists, looking out over the great walls of Valoryn.
"All my life I've turned away from the truth," he muttered. "I saw the sneers, the way nobles trampled commoners, the way bloodlines decided worth… and I endured it. I told myself it wasn't my fight."
He closed his eyes, and Aria's laughter—gentle, like the clinking of dishes as she hurried to his side—echoed in his ears one last time. Then he opened them again—no longer clouded, but sharp with resolve.
"No more. I won't let anyone else suffer as she did. I don't care if it means standing against nobles, against the empire itself—or even against my own blood."
A soft breeze slipped through the window, tugging at his dark-blue hair. His aura flickered faintly in response—black edged with traces of deep blue, swirling as though resonating with his anger and conviction.
"I swear it, Aria. I will change this world—even if it kills me."