In the palace of House Douglas,the chamber in the eastern wing lay in half-shadow.
From afar, the restless prayers of the city could be heard — an uneasy murmur, like a swarm uncertain whether to beg or to condemn. Sofía had drawn the curtains shut, as if even the light itself offended her.
Lusian rested with his head upon her lap, and she stroked his hair with a softness that contrasted sharply with the tension locked in her jaw. Her fingers were a refuge; the rest of her body remained a contained storm.
"That… hero." She spat the word like poison. "To point at you like that. Before the entire court. As if he had the right to judge you. I almost forgot that I am not allowed to kill children — even those who believe themselves chosen."
Her hands tightened, but her voice did not break.
Lusian did not answer at once. He knew the effort she was making not to let fury take hold. He could feel it burning beneath her skin, pulsing in every word.
"Mother…" he began carefully.
"Don't." She lowered her gaze to him. "If I had opened my mouth out there, I swear by whatever you wish that 'hero' would have left that hall without a tongue. Or without a head. And then I would have had to endure the rest of the court staring at me as though I were a monster."
She inhaled deeply. Her hand trembled slightly over her son's hair — not from weakness, but from the violence she still restrained.
Lusian swallowed. Not because he feared her… but because he knew she spoke the truth.
"He tried to humiliate you," she whispered. "And I do not tolerate anyone touching what is mine. Humans, heroes, heralds… it makes no difference. I will not allow them to harm you."
Lusian swallowed again. He did not want her to see that he was afraid… but he was. What he had glimpsed in the "game" of his destiny was not a vague premonition. It was a foretold death. And with every passing day — every divine intervention, every new hero — the pieces seemed to shift toward that end.
"I know," he said quietly. "But, Mother… we cannot remain here."
Sofía lifted her gaze slowly, like a threatened predator.
"Why?" she asked, a dangerous edge beneath the word.
Lusian chose his next words with greater care than ever.
"I think… we are no longer safe here."
She took him by the chin, forcing him to meet her eyes. There was the hardness of someone who had survived too many wars — and the pain of someone who feared only one thing: losing her son.
She studied him in silence.
It was always the same. First she understood the emotion. Then she demanded the strategy.
"Speak," she ordered softly.
Lusian drew a breath.
"Since the Heralds arrived… I feel them watching me. As if they are searching for something. I don't know what they want… but I know that to their order, House Douglas is an inconvenient piece."
Sofía frowned, though her response remained cold.
"Then we must be cautious not only of the hero," she said. "But of those who stand behind him."
"Exactly. Here… I am the perfect target. In the duchy, I can grow. Train. Reach a level they cannot touch. While the heroes are still 'growing,' they will not be able to act against me. But if I remain in the capital… sooner or later they will move. And if the Heralds choose to intervene…"
He paused.
"And if their believers support them…"
"You would die," she finished, without softening the word.
Lusian lowered his gaze.
"Yes."
Sofía inhaled deeply. When she exhaled, fury transformed into something far more useful: a plan.
"We will return to the duchy," she declared. "And we will do so flawlessly — without the slightest shadow of suspicion. Whatever you require to grow, you shall have it. Masters. Resources. Territory. Escorts. We will strengthen our defenses. If they wish to strike you… they will pay dearly."
She leaned forward until her face was level with his.
"Listen carefully, Lusian. Even if the churches gain power, even if the temples swell with the devotion of the people, even if the Heralds begin to see themselves as judges of the world… no written faith will touch you. Not while I stand here. If a hero wishes to face you, he will have to cross your lands. And the Douglases do not forgive."
A chill ran through him.
"Thank you, Mother."
"Do not thank me," she corrected. "You are my son. The most important thing I have."
She rose to her feet with the lethal elegance that defined House Douglas and added, a sharp gleam in her eyes:
"We are going home. To the duchy. Where power does not belong to faith… but to you. Its lord."
The royal hall stood quiet. Only King Philip, Queen Adelaine, and two advisors were present when Sofía entered. Each step the duchess took carried serene authority; she did not impose — she reminded them that her word held weight in every corner of the realm.
"Your Majesty…" She inclined her head slightly. "I have come to inform you that I shall depart for the duchy tomorrow."
Philip frowned, weighing every syllable.
"So soon?" he asked, almost uncertain. "The capital remains fragile, and the people place their trust in… in what you and your son have done."
Sofía made a small gesture with her hand — calming and firm at once.
"And they shall continue to receive it," she said slowly, measuring every word. "But not from here. The duchy needs us. And my son… now more than ever."
Adelaine nodded gently, concern hidden behind years of friendship and trust.
"Duchess Sofía… if we can breathe today without hunger, it is because of your caravans and your foresight. The kingdom will not forget that."
Sofía lowered her gaze briefly, assessing the tension in the room, then lifted it with quiet resolve.
"It was our responsibility." A pause. "But now we must think ahead. Not only of containing monsters… but of containing heroes. Their blessings, their followers…" She stopped, choosing her words carefully. "If we do not act with caution, a single misstep could destabilize the entire realm."
Philip nodded slowly.
"I know. Their potential is immense… but unpredictable. And if the gods decide to intervene directly… the balance itself may shatter."
Sofía drew in a breath, containing fury and tension within a thread of composure.
"The arrival of the gods may bring prosperity… or disaster. That is precisely why we must move swiftly — and precisely. Nothing must depend solely upon faith or the devotion of the people."
Adelaine lowered her gaze, understanding the gravity without need of further words.
"May your journey be safe… and thank you, Sofía. The kingdom trusts you."
"Thank you," the duchess replied, letting the pause weigh upon the silence. "Safety no longer exists. But control does. While I stand beside my son, while the duchy remains under our guidance… nothing human or divine shall decide his fate without passing through us."
Philip exhaled slowly, trusting in the certainty that radiated from her.
"Then let it be as you say. May this journey strengthen the kingdom."
Sofía straightened with poised elegance, determination visible in every movement.
"We are going home. To the duchy." She made a slight gesture with her hand, as if drawing an invisible boundary. "There, power does not belong to faith… but to us."
And with that gesture, the hall fell into respectful silence, aware that beneath the calm, Sofía had drawn the line between stability and the chaos encroaching upon the realm.