"Who are you, little child, to know its language so well?"
Auriya's question wasn't an accusation, but a genuine, almost scientific inquiry. It cut through the veil of panic that had seized Caelan's body and forced his mind to work.
Why am I so afraid? The thought was cold and analytical, a surgeon's scalpel in the midst of chaos. This isn't that fire. It's not that white flash. It's just… an aura. Powerful, yes. Hot, yes. But it's not a missile. It's not…
He suddenly understood. The problem wasn't her. And it wasn't the fire. The problem was him. What was left of Andrii. It wasn't just fear. It was a reflex, hardwired into his nervous system by trauma. PTSD. He'd read about it, but he never imagined he would experience it himself. His body was reacting to a trigger, ignoring all logic.
He took a shallow breath, trying to regain control. His lips had already begun to move, to form some kind of answer—anything to break the tense silence—but he froze, unable to utter a sound.
Auriya observed this internal struggle. She saw his gaze focus for a moment, then lose its sharpness again. She saw the trembling in his small hands. And she didn't wait.
Suddenly, a wide, slightly wild smile lit up her face.
"Oh, stop it, you little ghost!" she exclaimed, her voice bright and cheerful, echoing through the vast hall.
Before Caelan could even blink, his world turned upside down. With a single fluid, surprisingly strong motion, Auriya scooped him up and swung him onto her back. His arms instinctively wrapped around her neck, his legs dangling as she held them with her hands. His head now peeked over her shoulder, the grand hall suddenly looking strange and inverted.
The physical shock instantly broke him out of his stupor.
"Mama!"
At the bottom of the stairs, Lianna appeared, led by the hand by a young maid. The girl waved happily.
Auriya, still carrying Caelan, began to descend gracefully. The motion, the warmth of her body seeping through the thin fabric of her traveling dress—it was all grounding, distracting. The panic receded, replaced by bewilderment. And it was then that he felt it.
It was like a scent or a faint vibration in the air. The space around Auriya was filled with something invisible yet tangible. They weren't just mana particles; they carried a charge. An echo of her emotions. Right now, it was happiness. A pure, unadulterated happiness. He recalled the cold, "empty" sphere he had shown the Duke. Now he understood firsthand what the two men had meant by "mana without emotions." Here it was, that emotion—warm, vibrant, alive. It's probably because she's finally home, he thought.
Lianna ran up to them as they reached the bottom.
"Mama, Mama! He's my hero friend now!" she chirped, trying to hug both her mother and Caelan at the same time.
The pure joy in the air intensified, and Auriya let out a deep, infectious laugh.
"A hero friend, is he?" she chuckled, the sound making the motes of happiness around her dance. She leaned down, allowing her daughter to cling to her leg, then turned her head to look at her husband over the shoulder Caelan was perched on. Mischievous sparks lit up in her eyes.
"Valerius, my love," she drawled, her voice full of mock accusation. "Whatever did you do to this poor elven child to make him shy away from me like I'm a demon incarnate?"
The Duke, standing nearby, simply rubbed the bridge of his nose tiredly. Darian, the eldest son, grimaced slightly, as if witnessing something deeply embarrassing. Only Leo, the younger one, watched Caelan from behind his brother's back with a quiet, unreadable curiosity.
Auriya's gaze shifted back to Caelan.
"By the way," her voice softened. "What's your name, little one?"
He looked at her, then at the Duke. Be honest. That was the instruction. And as always, he decided to follow it with maximum precision.
"Caelan," he answered, his voice quiet but clear. "Caelan de Valerius."
The silence that fell over the hall was louder than any shout.
The warm, playful smile slowly melted from Auriya's face like wax. She blinked. Once. Twice. Her eyes, which had been shining with joy just a moment before, now held an icy gaze. Just as slowly, like a predator spotting a threat, she turned her head toward her husband.
There was no warmth left in her look. Only a cold, ruthless blue flame now burned there.
The Duke saw that gaze. He understood everything without a word. He didn't try to make excuses, didn't try to explain. He did the only thing a reasonable man could do in such a situation.
Spinning on his heel, he strode away with a quick, decisive pace, heading out of the hall and down the corridor that led to his study.
Darian's face, the eldest son's, became a stone mask. He lowered his eyes to the floor, but a muscle twitched in his jaw. He understood, too. Leo, on the other hand, looked up, his gaze shifting from Caelan to his retreating father, then to his frozen mother, trying to comprehend the sudden shift in the atmosphere.
"Oh, is that how it is?!" Auriya hissed.
Without letting go of Caelan, she took off after her husband.
Caelan just held on tighter to her shoulders. The corridor walls blurred past them. He wasn't afraid. His mind, free from the panic, was now coldly and curiously documenting the events: the Duke was practically running. Not fleeing, but retreating with dignity, and very, very quickly.
Valerius disappeared around a corner. By the time Auriya reached the study, the heavy oak doors had just swung shut with a dull, heavy thud, cutting her off.
She didn't even slow down.
Without any visible effort, she pushed the heavy doors, and they swung open silently. The Duke hadn't locked them. He had merely hoped for a few seconds' head start.
The three of them were trapped.
The Duke stood by his massive desk, his back to them, looking out the window as if nothing had happened. Auriya, breathing heavily, carefully lifted Caelan from her back and, walking deeper into the room, set him down in a large leather armchair by the fireplace.
She didn't start shouting. Instead, she turned to her husband, who still stood like a silent statue by the window, and let out a long, loud, incredibly expressive sigh. It was a whole monologue without words: Valerius, you've gotten us into another one of your schemes, but I trust you, so let's figure this out.
The Duke didn't turn, but his tense shoulders relaxed ever so slightly. He understood: there wouldn't be a direct storm. At least, not yet.
Auriya saw that she wouldn't get a direct answer from her husband right now. She turned to the only other source of information in the room. Kneeling in front of the armchair where Caelan sat, she forced a smile, trying to defuse the tense atmosphere.
"Well, spill it, little one," her voice was quiet, but held a faint note of irony directed at her husband. "My husband didn't hurt you, did he? He didn't hit you?"
Caelan looked at her seriously. He considered the question with all the logical precision he could muster and answered, "No. He only put a collar on me."
He noticed the Duke's shoulders by the window tense up again.
The directness of the answer left Auriya speechless for a moment. Her lighthearted joke had shattered against the cold, childish statement of fact. And in that moment, her gaze fell upon his hands, which rested on the arms of the chair. Dark bruises peeked out from under the sleeves of his simple shirt.
The smile vanished from her face instantly.
"And these…" her voice turned to ice. "Did he do this too?"
"No," Caelan answered quietly. "The priest did."
The word "priest" echoed in the silence of the study like a gunshot.
The Duke spun around. His face was a mask of pure, undisguised shock.
"A priest?" he repeated, his voice quiet with disbelief. "What priest?"
Caelan tilted his head slightly, remembering.
"The one in white, with the sun on his chest. He was throwing ice pellets at me."
Valerius took a step forward. His calm weariness was gone, replaced by a sharp, dangerous fury.
"Who. Specifically. Name him."
"I don't know," Caelan answered. "But the scary men who handed me over at the auction said I was from a 'Father Martinus'."
The Duke froze. His face grew dark as a thundercloud. He slowly shifted his gaze to Auriya. In his eyes now was not just anger, but the shadow of realizing his own mistake.
"You didn't know?" she asked quietly, but with a note of reproach.
"Elias, who investigated that black market, reported that the man who delivered the elf to the auction was one of the bandits 'clearing out' the Barons' lands," the Duke gritted out. "I thought… I thought they were just brigands. I didn't know they were working for the Church. I've already reported their activities to the Royal Guard."
Auriya listened to him in silence. Her anger subsided slightly, giving way to a cold, decisive analysis. She gave her husband a reproachful look.
"Brigands or not… You brought a child into our home knowing nothing about him. Did you even try to ask him anything?" Her voice was quiet, but every word hit its mark. "Look at him, Valerius. He isn't just scared. He's traumatized."
The Duke let out a heavy sigh. He slowly walked to his desk and sank into his massive chair, for the first time showing not unshakable authority, but deep fatigue.
"I was going to," he said softly. "Every day, I was going to talk to him."
He looked at Caelan, and something akin to bewilderment flickered in his eyes.
"But… he kept presenting new surprises. First, the pure mana. Then, the blue flame. Ellard with his maddening experiments…"
His voice trailed off, and he ran a hand over his face.
"I was so focused on his potential that I kept putting off the conversation about his past. Elias's report said he was taken from brigands. I assumed the collar was their doing—a crude tool of control. I left it on as a precaution, until I could understand what we were dealing with. I never imagined..."
He shook his head, his gaze filled with a quiet self-reproach.
"I could see he had been through something terrible. And I… I wasn't ready to plunge him back into that. I thought it best to let him get accustomed to things first."
Auriya listened without interrupting. Her expression softened slightly. She understood him—it wasn't heartlessness, but hesitation. But she didn't agree with his approach.
"Wounds don't heal if you ignore them, Valerius," she said, her gaze fixed on Caelan. "They have to be treated."
She knelt once more in front of the armchair where the boy sat. Her voice became gentle, almost therapeutic, trying to break through his defensive shell.
"Caelan, no one is forcing you to speak. But if you tell us what happened… maybe we can help. And we can definitely punish those who are responsible."
Caelan looked at Auriya, at her sincere, compassionate face. She was offering him a deal. Trust. A chance.
What should I tell them? The thought raced through his mind. The truth? That I'm from another world?
He remembered the dozens of stories he had read. Rule number one for any transmigrator: never, under any circumstances, reveal your true nature without a compelling reason. It was simply disadvantageous. Illogical. It introduced too many variables into the already complex equation of survival.
No, he decided. As much as I want to share this pain, to unload everything onto them… I can only share the truth. The part of it they can comprehend.
He slowly raised his gaze to meet her eyes. He was going to tell them the truth.
"Punishment won't change anything," his voice was quiet and even, devoid of any childish inflection. "They're already dead."
Auriya and the Duke froze.
"My family," Caelan continued, as if reading a report, each word a cold, polished fact. "My mother and younger brother. They died. I was supposed to die too. But I'm here."
He fell silent, leaving them alone with that empty, terrible truth.
Auriya, struck by a calmness that was more frightening than any hysteria, asked in a near whisper, "Who… who did this?"
Caelan lifted his gaze to hers. In his eyes, beyond the cold logic, a deep, unchildlike hatred surfaced. He opened his mouth to spit the true name of the evil in their faces. The sound was already forming in his throat.
"Ru—"
He cut himself off mid-syllable. They wouldn't understand. It would just be an empty sound. He needed a metaphor. A word they would understand, but one that carried the entire essence of it—a senseless, brutal force that destroys everything in its path simply because it can.
"—orcs," he finished, the sound shifting almost imperceptibly.