~ ☆ ~
The massive moon stood as a silent witness in the tranquil night sky, watching every tragedy unfold without uttering a single word.
The cold, serene lake swallowed the mother and child into its depths, maintaining its flawless beauty as if to ensure this drowning remained an eternal secret.
Meanwhile, the majestic, sprawling forest let out a low, mourning rustle—weeping like a soul that had just lost its most beloved person.
Arzel was sinking deeper into the abyss. His eyes flickered, dimming like a dying flame. His lips parted weakly, letting out a faint, desperate plea that was instantly silenced by the weight of the water.
"Mom... mom...!"
His hands reached upward toward the unreachable surface while his body drifted further down into the dark. As he sank, his silver hair began to lose its luster, turning dull and lifeless.
In stark contrast, the distinct streak of burgundy running through his locks began to glow with a vivid, eerie intensity, pulsing against the shadows of the lake.
Struggling to keep his fading consciousness, he barely opened his eyes and caught sight of a faint, blurry light. His hands desperately reached out for that dim glow, as if that pale radiance was calling him by name.
Summoning every ounce of his remaining strength, he forced his eyes wide open to look directly at the light.
An absolute, suffocating silence enveloped everything. At the bottom of the lake, the only sounds left in existence were the frantic, heavy thumping of his own heart and the resonance of his dying breath.
Suddenly, the silence was shattered by a scream of the soul.
"Mom! MOM! MOOOOM!!!"
Arzel's mind shrieked as he witnessed his mother's delicate body sinking lifelessly through the water. Ignoring the cold liquid rushing into his mouth and burning his throat, he fought against the currents.
He swam upward with all his might toward her. His jaw was clamped shut, and his muscles burned with exhaustion, but he forced himself forward.
He finally reached her motionless body. He wrapped his arms tightly around her, pulling her toward the surface with a strength born of pure terror. In his mind, he was screaming her name over and over, begging her not to leave him.
The moment they broke the surface, the night air hit them like a cold blade. Arzel immediately began swimming toward the shore, his teeth gritting so hard they could have shattered.
"K-hhq! Mom!"
The shore felt endlessly far away, a horizon that refused to get closer. No matter how hard he paddled against the dark water, the land seemed to drift back. Holding her fragile frame, Arzel felt a wave of utter helplessness—he could neither shed tears nor release the rage burning in his chest.
The deep, severe wound on his shoulder pulsed with agonizing pain, sending jolts of fire through his nerves, yet he continued to swim. The physical agony vanished before the terror of losing her.
Finally, the fleeing shore drew near. Arzel hauled his mother onto the land, his limbs trembling and nearly giving out.
There, on a small grassy patch between the quiet lake and the roaring forest, he pressed her cold frame close to his chest. Her body was freezing, the chill of it seeping into his own skin.
"MOM! MOM, WHAT HAPPENED?! PLEASE, ANSWER ME!"
He screamed in a hoarse, broken voice, his tears falling like a snapped string of pearls. As he held her close, his eyes suddenly fell upon the silver and crimson bloodstains covering her dress, glowing faintly in the moonlight.
"Blood...?! What happened to you, Mom?!"
He shrieked in horror, his head snapping in every direction as he frantically searched the shadows for any sign of help.
"HELP! IS ANYONE THERE?! PLEASE! HELP ME!"
He screamed at the top of his lungs, but his voice cracked and choked. The severity of his own wounds betrayed him, turning his plea into a ragged, bloody rasp. A violent cough racked his chest, tasting of salt and copper.
At that exact moment, Arzel's eyes locked onto a figure in the distance.
A man sat on a lower balcony, casually sipping wine—the very same man from the gambling room. With dead, soulless eyes and a mask of cold indifference, the man stared at the mother and child as if they were complete strangers.
Arzel's pupils dilated. A boiling rage surged within him, so intense it felt as if his eyes might burst. Staring at the silhouette of the man, a single, bitter word escaped his lips:
"...Father!"
His face contorted, twisting violently with a sudden, pure hatred.
"TCH... ZUNAFAR!" he screamed, the name a curse hurled at the balcony.
His father, Zunafar, acted as if he were seeing the boy for the very first time. He merely tilted his wine glass, watching them out of the corner of those lifeless eyes, before turning back to the darkness.
At that moment, Mithian stirred in her son's arms. Her breath came in weak, wet wheezes.
"My son... Arzel..."
"Mom! You're alive! What happened to you?! Please, don't leave me! I will heal you, Mom!"
Arzel bombarded her with desperate words, unable to stop the flood of tears. He looked around again, his mind racing, searching for a miracle that wouldn't come.
Struggling to find the strength to speak, his mother called out his name again.
"Arzel..."
"I'm listening, Mom!" he said, desperately trying to swallow his sobs so she wouldn't hear his pain.
Mithian placed her soft, gentle hand on her son's cold face. Her touch was a ghost of the warmth he remembered.
"My son, I wanted to see you be happy. But..." She paused, her eyes searching his. "Please, Arzel... I want you to build your own world and live happily in it."
"Mom...!" Arzel interrupted, his heart fracturing.
Mithian placed her fingers on her son's lips to silence him. A soft, heartbreaking smile appeared on her face as she caressed him one last time.
"My son... I want you to be free from this world of revenge and suffering. Build your own world..."
Arzel wept bitterly, but he forced a shaky smile through the salt of his tears. He didn't want her last sight of him to be one of sorrow.
Realizing that every door in this castle was barred against them, he carefully lifted his mother's fragile body onto his back. He turned away from the stone walls and began walking toward the tree line.
"Mom... we will go to that world you talked about. Together."
With those words, he stepped into the roaring, towering forest.
As he walked deeper into the woods, he wept quietly. It felt as if his soul were overflowing, and the tears were simply the leak. Even though he could still feel her shallow breath against his neck, the cruelty of what had been done to her filled the abyss of his heart with a dark, crystalline resolve.
His wounded body carried her with small, heavy steps through the tangled brush. Above them, the brilliant moon occasionally pierced through the canopy, lighting the dark path.
To Arzel, the moon felt like a traitor. It had watched everything and done nothing. Its light felt like a mockery.
In his mind, Arzel stood alone against the entire world. That fierce defiance was written in every line of his face as the forest swallowed them whole.
As Arzel carried his mother's increasingly lifeless body, his mind became a battleground where memories of her warmth collided with a boiling hatred for the world. His face contorted, a mask of agony under the indifferent stars.
No matter how hard he tried to break into a run, the deep gash on his shoulder and the heavy blows to his stomach flared up with every movement. The pain acted like an anchor, dragging at his pace. He forced himself forward, navigating the darkness with a frantic, desperate certainty.
Mithian remained silent, balanced on the narrow bridge between life and death. Her soft, delicate hair danced in the gentle forest breeze. She rested her head on Arzel's shoulder, wrapping her arms around him in a final, weak embrace. Pressing her face against his neck, she inhaled his scent deeply—drawing it in as if it were the only thread keeping her soul bound to the living world.
The dark, vast forest began to sway before Arzel's eyes. The giant trees seemed to groan and creak, singing a funeral dirge that echoed in the hollow of his chest. From the shadows, the mocking whispers of forest spirits drifted toward him, cold and high-pitched, trying to lure him deeper into the gloom.
Suddenly, his legs gave way. The ground seemed to vanish beneath him. A heavy fall was inevitable, but just as he was about to collapse with his mother, her faint, trembling voice reached his ears.
"Arzel... My son..."
The sound snapped him back to reality. He slammed his knee against the hard ground with a dull thud, barely managing to support their weight. After steadying his shaking frame, he gritted his teeth and pushed upward.
The dark forest felt like a living enemy. Fallen trunks, thick grasses that spread like a suffocating blanket, and muddy puddles fought against every step. He stumbled again and again, his body fueled only by a crushing spiritual helplessness and a refusal to let go.
Each breath became heavier. As his body temperature plummeted against the freezing night, visible vapor escaped his lips in ragged clouds.
***
Meanwhile, back at the castle, Malakar was a man in ruins. He leaned heavily against the stone walls of the corridor, his silhouette illuminated by the cold moonlight.
"Mithian....! Mithian....!"
He muttered her name over and over, his eyes dimming as if they were sinking into a black abyss. He flung open the door to a nearby chamber and stumbled inside, drunk with a grief of his own making.
Inside, several noblewomen sat chatting. Upon seeing Malakar, they rushed toward him with bright, eager smiles.
"Lord Malakar!" one chirped.
"My Prince! You've arrived safely!"
They began to giggle, their carefree laughter ringing through the room like shattered glass. Malakar stared at their happy, oblivious faces. His cold expression shattered into pure, blinding rage.
With a roar, he shoved them away.
"LEAVE! GET OUT OF HERE!"
He bellowed at the top of his lungs, his voice cracking with madness. Terrified, the women scrambled to escape, their silk dresses rustling as they fled.
Left alone, Malakar began to overturn the furniture. He smashed everything within his reach, the sound of breaking wood and porcelain filling the room until his strength was spent. He slumped against the bed and began to weep uncontrollably, his sobs echoing in the emptiness.
Outside in the corridor, the girls whispered among themselves as they hurried away.
"I bet Lord Malakar has just returned after watching Lady Mitian from a distance again," Lira whispered, her voice laced with a cruel curiosity.
"That is obvious!" Odri giggled, adjusting her dress as if nothing had happened.
"With young ladies like us right here, his obsession with that outsider... It really gets on my nerves," Kaelis huffed, crossing her arms tightly.
"What do you think, Sister Selena?" Lira asked, turning to the eldest among them.
The tall, elegant girl named Selena leaned against the balcony railing, resting her chin in her hand. "I think that even though Mithian has aged, she is still more beautiful than any of us. Her scent alone is enough to drive any man out of his mind."
"That is exactly why she lives isolated in the north wing!" Odri added quickly.
"Hey, Sister! Are you actually taking her side?" Kaelis frowned. "Have you already forgotten what their people did to us fourteen years ago?"
A chorus of light, cruel giggles rippled through the group.
"No," Selena said, her gaze drifting toward the dark, sprawling forest. "I am actually much more interested in her son."
"Aaaa! Sister, that is even worse!" Lira gasped, covering her mouth. "Most of the castle staff call him a young monster."
"Arzel Silvent," Odri whispered the name as if it carried a dark weight. "They say that despite his age, he slaughters hundreds on the battlefield all by himself."
"So, how did this fascination of yours happen?" Kaelis asked, stepping closer.
Selena smiled faintly, the memory dancing in her eyes. "A few days ago, I saw him rubbing his eyes over and over. I approached him, wanting to help. It turned out his eyelashes are so long that the rain had curved them right into his eyes."
"What a romance," Odri sighed dreamily.
"He is half your age, Odri!" Lira protested.
"That is exactly the point," Selena's smile grew mysterious, almost predatory. "In that moment, it felt as if my maternal instinct and my womanly desires woke up at the exact same time. When I helped him, I demanded payment."
The girls gasped in unison, leaning in. "I hope you didn't do anything inappropriate, Selena!"
"No. I just asked for his clothes."
"Clothes?" Kaelis blinked. "But why?"
"To hug them while I sleep, of course. His scent is simply incredible."
"I have heard that the Silvent bloodline naturally emits a sweet, intoxicating fragrance," Odri murmured. "Especially as they approach maturity."
"Sister, maybe they will just give Arzel to you one day!" Kaelis giggled, nudging her. "Most of the people here can't stand the sight of him. They'd hand him over just to get rid of him."
Their mocking laughter echoed through the cold stone corridor. Selena didn't join them. She leaned against the wall, gazing out at the vast forest under the moonlight with strangely melancholic eyes.
***
Inside the room, the air was thick with Malakar's agony. But suddenly, his face transformed. The tears stopped, and his expression grew dead and cold.
"Adaro," he commanded.
At that exact moment, Captain Adaro appeared behind him. His form materialized out of a shimmering, fiery wave of transparent energy. He knelt instantly.
"At your command, Prince!"
"Do you remember what you have to do tomorrow?" Malakar asked without turning around.
"Yes, of course, Prince. Everything is ready."
"One more thing," Malakar turned, locking onto Adaro with a piercing, murderous gaze. "Inspect the entire forest... and kill any escapees you find."
Adaro felt an immense, suffocating pressure from that stare. His head felt too heavy to lift, and his vision blurred from the pure dread radiating from the Prince.
"As you wish," Adaro managed to rasp.
With a faint shimmer of heat, Adaro's fiery silhouette flickered and disappeared into thin air, leaving Malakar alone in the silence.
The deeper Arzel plunged into the forest, the more the shadows seemed to swallow his vision. His eyelids flickered, heavy with exhaustion, as his breath escaped in ragged plumes of white mist.
His pace faltered. He swayed, his balance betraying him, before he forced his trembling legs to push forward once more. Each intake of air felt like swallowing shards of glass.
Against his chest, Mithian clung to the fraying threads of life. She remained deathly still, her arms wrapped around her son as if his scent were the only anchor keeping her soul from drifting away.
Silver blood—luminous and ethereal—leaked from Arzel's wounds, leaving a glowing trail on the forest floor that mirrored the shimmering tresses of his hair.
A sudden, suffocating silence fell over the woods—the kind of stillness that precedes a catastrophe. It was a warning whispered by the wind, but Arzel, drowning in the depths of his own racing heart, remained deaf to it.
The silence shattered when a long, predatory howl tore through the dark.
Arzel froze, glancing over his shoulder as the echoes drew closer. His features contorted, his pupils dilating in terror. He ground his teeth together to stifle a pained groan. Panic ignited his nerves, and he bolted into the thicket.
The chorus of the hunt grew louder behind him, a cacophony of snarls and heavy paws closing in. Arzel's eyes darted frantically, searching for a miracle in the dark.
At the source of the clamor, a man clad in obsidian-black armor sat perched atop a colossal, lupine monstrosity. The beast towered three times the height of a man, its fur the color of a void. Iron chains were stitched directly through its eyelids, trailing down its snout like frozen tears.
Sparse patches of white fur along its spine pulsed with a faint, ghostly light.
The peace of the forest was now a memory, replaced by the harsh shouts of soldiers.
"Check this perimeter!" one barked.
"Nothing here!"
"Keep searching, you lazy curs!"
The distant shouts lashed at Arzel's ears. He felt a hollow ache in his limbs; he had no strength left to draw a blade. He had only enough for a hiding spot.
One of the great beasts suddenly halted. Its snout twitched, drawing in the cold air. It jerked its head toward Arzel's direction, its eyes unseen but its instinct sharp. The soldier atop it followed the beast's gaze, a predatory smirk tugging at his lips.
"No matter how deep you burrow, your wretched nature always leaves a scent," the soldier hissed.
He nudged the beast forward, beginning a slow, rhythmic whistle—a shrill, haunting tune that grated on the nerves like a blade against stone.
Whether guided by scent or some twisted instinct, the beast's white fur glowed brighter with every step toward a massive, ancient tree. The soldier's grin widened, savoring the impending kill.
Tucked within the hollow roots of that great tree, Arzel pulled his fading mother closer. He tried to shroud them both with his cloak, desperately tucking her silken hair beneath the fabric, but their silver radiance bled through the cloth like moonlight.
Tears traced paths through the grime on his face.
"Mom... please. Just a little longer. Please!" he whispered, his voice breaking as he crushed her to his chest.
Outside the hollow, the rhythmic crunch of paws on dry leaves grew deafening. The soldier and his beast were there. The haunting whistle echoed through the roots, cold and final.
~ ☆ ~