Thousands of miles away, far removed from the biting blizzards of the northern wastes, the climate was vastly different.
The sun shone brightly over the RuoHan residence, Within the estate walls, the air smelled of blooming jasmine and warm earth.
Karas was sitting at a massive, polished table positioned perfectly in the center of the main parlor, illuminated by the bright afternoon sun. He was diligently reviewing a thick stack of trade ledgers, surrounded by three elderly, distinguished merchants wearing the fine silks of the eastern provinces.
Karas's face was calm, his posture radiating the effortless grace of a seasoned, dependably young master of the house. He was listening to a detailed report regarding winter silk distributions when the peace was shattered.
The gilded double doors of the parlor were kicked open with a resounding crash.
Riru stomped into the grand parlour. Her arms were folded tightly across her chest, her youthful face twisted into a tear-stained pout. She was weeping openly, her blue eyes swimming with tears as her shoulders shook with sobs. She marched right past the stunned line of household servants, ignoring everyone in her path.
"B-brother!" she wailed.
The eastern merchants all stopped talking mid-sentence, their ink brushes freezing over the expensive ledgers. They looked confused, deeply uncomfortable, and uncertain of where to divert their attention, glancing awkwardly between the loudly weeping young lady and the calm, young lord of the house.
Karas closed the thick ledger before him with a soft thud, his expression remaining poised as he looked up at the startled guests.
"Excuse me for a brief moment, gentlemen," he requested, his voice smooth and commanding.
The merchants all nodded their heads in understanding, bowing slightly as they began to gather their loose papers to grant the family privacy.
Karas stood up, he took a few steps, clearing the distance across the parlor in seconds. He reached his sister just as she was about to collapse into another wave of tears, gently catching her by the elbow. With ease, he guided her away from the public eye of the parlor, pulling her into the quiet, secluded sanctuary of his private library.
He shut the wooden doors behind them, instantly blocking out the curious stares and rising whispers of the mansion's staff.
Turning back to her, Karas's rigid demeanor melted away. He gently grabbed her face with both hands, using the pads of his thumbs to wipe away the hot tears that were spilling over her flushed cheeks.
"What's wrong, Ri? Why are you crying like this?"
"B-brother..." RiRu choked out, her breath hitching as her fingers dug desperately into the fine fabric of his sleeve, looking up at him with despair. "I don't want to get married! Why does Father keep doing this to me? Why does he keep forcing me to accept these strange marriage proposals from noble families I don't even know?"
Karas's expression softened further, a fierce protective brotherly instinct taking control of him. He pulled her gently into his chest, wrapping his strong arms around her smaller frame as she trembled against him.
"Don't cry now. Stop crying princess, .....I will handle it," he murmured softly into her hair. "I will speak with father tonight during dinner. I promise."
"You always say this!" Riru cried out against his shoulder, her voice thick with frustration and helplessness.
"Every single time a new matchmaker comes to the gates, you say you will talk to him! Brother... why can't you just get married instead? If you finally take a wife and provide an heir, Father will stop looking at me! I don't want to leave this house. I don't want to be given away to a stranger."
Karas went quiet, the sudden mention of marriage striking a painful chord deep within his chest. He didn't answer her question, nor did he offer any explanation for his perpetual bachelorhood. Instead, he simply leaned his head gently against her crown, using a steady, soothing hand to pat her dark hair in a rhythmic motion.
"Hush now... let it go for today. You won't get married if you do not wish to. I will not let anyone force you out of this mansion against your will."
"You promise me?" Riru sniffled, pulling back slightly to look up at him with wide, hopeful, and vulnerable eyes.
"Yes. I promise you," Karas murmured,
He continued to rub her back in slow, calming circles, standing by the library window until her breathing finally hitched and the weeping stopped. When she was entirely calm, he pressed a gentle kiss onto her forehead, guiding her over to his favorite chair. He settled her down comfortably so she could rest in the quiet room, safely hidden away from their father's relentless demands.
Meanwhile, back in the frozen yard of the Northwest territory, the short-lived peace between Zaliyah and his daughter had already evolved into an new kind of parental struggle.
The northern wind was howling softly over the stone battlements, scattering fine, glittering crystals of fresh snow across the expansive training grounds. Zaliyah stood in the center of the yard, his long silver hair braided tightly back away from his face to prevent it from whipping in the wind. Beside him, Sylaris stood balanced on a flat, elevated stone, looking like she wanted to be anywhere else in the mortal or immortal realms.
When her father had apologized so beautifully to her in the corridor earlier, she had fully expected a grand reward for her forgiveness. She had naturally assumed they would do something fun and indulgent—perhaps go shopping for new, lavish fur coats , ribbons, or visit the playgroup where she could bully other noble children.
Instead, she had been dragged outside into the freezing, miserable cold to practice what her father called "hearing problems."
"Focus, Sylaris," Zaliyah commanded, his sharp eyes scanning the distant, snow-covered horizon.
"Close your eyes. Do not rely on what you see. The snow blinds the eyes of the foolish, but the air never lies to the ears."
"But Dada, I'm so hungry," Sylaris whined loudly, her little knees knocking together beneath the weight of her oversized fur coat.
Zaliyah let out a long, weary sigh, placing a cool, slightly throbbing hand against his forehead to check his own temperature. The stress of the past two days was beginning to take a physical toll.
"You just ate five minutes ago, Sylaris," Zaliyah countered flatly. "I watched you personally consume three entire honey cakes before we came out here."
"And I'm still hungry," she countered instantly, pushing her bottom lip out again. "The cold makes my stomach empty. It's a medical fact."
"Okay. Just do this one exercise properly, and you can eat whatever you want from the kitchens when we are done. I won't stop you."
"But Dad—"
Zaliyah ignored the little girl's dramatic whine, stepping gracefully behind her. He placed his slender, warm hands over her ears for a second, channeling a microscopic, controlled spark of his celestial energy directly into her sensory pathways. He was attempting to gently awaken the dormant elfen listening abilities embedded deep within her.
"Listen to the mountain, Sylaris," Zaliyah instructed softly, his voice echoing in her mind. "Filter out the sound of the wind whipping near your nose. Filter out the sound of my breathing right behind you. Push your awareness past the walls of the fortress. Tell me what is happening at the tree line, half a mile away."
Sylaris grumbled under her breath, but under her father's intense gaze, she finally squeezed her eyes shut. She focused her innate energy, her small pointed ears twitching slightly beneath her thick fur cap. For a moment, the chaotic world went dead silent to her.
Then, a sudden rush of distant amplified sounds flooded her young mind. She could hear the metallic crunch of iron-toothed boots walking along the northern ridge, the perimeter guard changing their scheduled shifts. She could hear the soft rustle of a winter crow shaking the frost off its feathers on a pine branch far below the cliffs.
"I hear... iron boots," she whispered, her eyes still tightly shut as she concentrated. "And a big, fat bird scratching its beak against a tree."
"Good," Zaliyah murmured, a genuine spark of pride and satisfaction igniting in his chest. "That is the long-distance draft. Keep that sensory pathway open. If an enemy ever approaches you through a blinding blizzard, your ears will be your only shield."
The moment the lesson was officially concluded, Zaliyah waved his hand toward the edge of the yard, signaling the waiting maids to bring out a silver tray piled high with roasted meats and sweet pastries for the child.
As Sylaris cheered with delight, jumping off the stone, a senior maid stepped forward from the shadows, holding out a sealed, black-wax scroll with a trembling hand.
Zaliyah took the parchment, snapping the dark seal easily with his thumb. As his eyes rapidly scanned the elegant calligraphy written within, his beautiful face twisted into a dark, complex expression. The soft lines of his mouth hardened into a grim, cold line. Without uttering a word to the waiting servants or his cheering daughter, he spun on his heel and left the training grounds.
The very moment his vibrant red robes vanished around the stone corner of the yard, Sylaris's face lit up with mischievous excitement. She didn't care about elfen hearing or any training anymore. She immediately dropped to her knees, scooped up a handful of wet snow, compacted it into a hard ice ball, and threw it with right at the back of the nearest maid's head.
"Snow fight!" Sylaris screamed at the top of her lungs, laughing hysterically as the training yard instantly erupted into chaotic, playful screaming and running.
Meanwhile, Zaliyah marched through the interior of the castle. He burst into Xulthas's private chambers without knocking, the doors slamming against the interior walls with a concussive, echoing bang.
He stood defiantly in the threshold, his breathing slightly elevated as his eyes swept the expansive room. The last time he had stepped foot inside this specific chamber, he had been pregnant and consumed by rage. He could still vividly remember the cold, dismissive look on Xulthas's face back then, and the final words the warlock had thrown at him: "Don't let me see you."
A dark, mocking smile touched Zaliyah's lips as he stood there in the present. How much times have changed, he thought. The very man who had once banished him from his sight was now sending him unnecessary, lavish gifts and acting desperate for a glance from him.
The grand chamber appeared empty at first glance, the lavender drapes casting the vast space into a deep, purple twilight. Then, without warning, Zaliyah felt a powerful presence manifest directly behind his back.
The freezing air of the room suddenly grew intensely warm, with the scent of dark magic and ozone.
Before Zaliyah could spin around to face him, a large calloused hand moved fluidly from the shadows. The warlock's long fingers touched Zaliyah's wrist first, the physical contact slow and seductive. The large hand slithered like a serpent, sliding up the silky, expensive fabric of Zaliyah's sleeve, tracing the lines of his forearm, moving over his shoulder blade until it finally rested at the side of his neck.
The hand stopped right there, the broad palm cupping Zaliyah's jawline firmly from behind, tilting his head slightly. Xulthas's long, rough fingers gently nudged Zaliyah's long silver hair to one side, exposing the smooth, pale back of his neck to the dim light.
With torturous slowness, the warlock's sharp fingertips hooked beneath the edge of the fresh, white linen bandages Zaliyah had carefully wrapped around his throat that morning. He pulled the white cloth down just an in
ch, his rough, warm skin tracing the raised, angry white silvery scars that Malachi's claws had left behind.