My legs trembled slightly as I turned to face Ezekian. He stood there, his expression unreadable, oblivious to the weight of the moment.
"Whatever you saw here," my voice was cold, firm, and distant. "No one should know about it."
Ezekian, who had just witnessed my skill, paled at the unspoken threat. Then, like an obedient child, he nodded.
I extended my hand, offering him Slayer. He hesitated, lost in thought. My arms ached from exhaustion—I needed to go upstairs and heal myself.
"If you aren't taking it, it's mine." I withdrew Slayer, expecting resistance, but Ezekian only looked shocked.
"Take it," he finally said, his voice too calm, too composed. The response caught me off guard.
Take it? Did he not realize this was his own sword? Or was this something else—something deeper, something unreadable?
Narrowing my eyes, I studied him. "Do you need something from me?" I asked. The Ezekian Nordwyn I once knew would never let go of his weapon so easily.
"Show me the sword technique you used to counter Dain's slash." His tone was straightforward, and his gaze was filled with something close to curiosity.
How odd. This was the same man who had looked ready to kill me just yesterday.
I shrugged, uneasy at the sudden shift. The admiration in his eyes was too much. I knew his obsession with swordsmanship ran deep, but this?
Sighing, I nodded. Better to show him the technique and be done with it. "Follow me to the training ground."
As I walked, he followed. A strange, backward reversal of our past selves.
"Dain attacked you because you were chosen as the successor, didn't he?" Ezekian's voice broke the silence.
I didn't want to talk to him anymore. "Yes. And it was expected."
The path we walked was a mess—ruined roads, shattered trees, destruction everywhere. No matter how much effort was put into restoring this place, the scars would remain.
Just like us.
No matter how much we tried, we would never return to what we once were.
I clenched my fist. Letting go of the person you love is the hardest thing in life.
"You have a messed up family," he muttered. I said nothing.
Then, abruptly, he stopped walking. "About yesterday."
I turned. Was this where he would accuse me? Where would he lash out, desperate to restore his wounded pride?
"Why did you do that?" he asked, looking into my eyes. I felt a strange pull—something raw and unfamiliar. I couldn't even channel my aura to stabilize my emotions—my body was too drained.
But I was Selentia Nyxveil, the woman who kept the entire Court of Ignis on edge with her mere presence.
"Because you deserved it," I said, calm, unshaken.
We stood between the mansion and the knights' quarters, where soldiers and maids worked tirelessly to clear the wreckage of our battle. Ezekian clenched his jaw and nodded, likely suppressing the urge to argue.
But I knew him too well. His pride wouldn't let him leave without a fight.
"What about your sister and mother? Are you going to take revenge on them too?" He was fishing for a reason to condemn me, to frame me as the villain.
I stepped closer, gripping his wrist and pulling him down to my eye level. His breath hitched, eyes widening. This was the closest we had ever been outside of a duel.
"I only humiliated you, Ezekian. I only shattered your pride," I whispered, my lips curling into a smirk. "But my sister and mother? They will face something far worse than death."
His entire body tensed. Before he could respond, I added, "Oh, and another thing."
I let the silence stretch between us before delivering the final blow.
"You should start looking for another fiancée. Because a marriage between Nordwyn and Nyxveil will never happen."
His eyes widened. For the first time, he looked utterly lost.
"You are—"
"Yes," I cut him off. "I will make sure you and Alancia never marry. And since you have no sister, a union with Dain is impossible."
I released his wrist and stepped back. He didn't move, didn't speak. His silence was almost laughable.
"Follow me," I said. "Unlike you, I have things to do."
I turned toward the training hall. After a few seconds, I heard his slow, hesitant footsteps behind me.
A quiet laugh escaped my lips.
All my life, I had followed Ezekian, watching his back as he walked ahead of me. And now, the moment I decided to stop chasing him—he was the one walking behind me.
Life was indeed unpredictable.
................................................................
In his cabin, Zaphry stood motionless in front of the large glass window, his piercing gaze fixed on the scene unfolding below. The ruined training hall lay sprawled out before him, a chaotic testament to the earlier clash.
His eyes followed Selentia as she walked toward training hall, Ezekian trailing behind her . Even from this distance, he could see the tension between them—the way Selentia carried herself with icy resolve, the way Ezekian's usual pride seemed to falter in her presence.
She had clearly threatened him, and Zaphry couldn't help but feel a flicker of pride at her unyielding strength.
"Are you going to leave things like this?" The sharp question pulled him from his thoughts. He turned to face Althea, his wife, her expression as unreadable as ever.
To the outside world, they were the perfect couple, bound together for nearly 25 years. But behind closed doors, they were nothing more than partners in a carefully constructed facade.
"What's there for me to do?" Zaphry's voice was calm, almost indifferent, and it only fueled Althea's frustration. She stepped closer, her eyes blazing with a mix of anger and desperation.
"What's there for you to do?" she repeated, her voice rising. "If we hadn't arrived on time, both of those kids would have died, Zaphry. Do you understand that? Do you even care?" Her voice trembled, her eyes red from holding back tears.
But Zaphry remained stoic, his expression unreadable, his demeanor as cold as ever.
"It was an unfortunate event," he said evenly, "but Selentia managed to counter Dain's attack." His words were like a dagger to Althea's heart. She grabbed him by his collar, her tears threatening to spill over.
"Zaphry, don't you dare act like this is normal!" she shouted, her voice breaking. "Because of you, I can't even love my daughter the way I want to. I've done everything you asked—I've been cold, distant, and I even helped break off her engagement with Ezekian. And yet, you—" Her voice cracked, and the tears finally streamed down her face.
Zaphry said nothing, his silence only deepening her pain. He had always been like this—calculating, detached, and utterly unyielding.
Althea's hands trembled as she held onto him, her emotions spilling over. "You've turned me into a stranger to my own child," she whispered, her voice raw with anguish. "And for what? For your plans? Your ambitions?"
Zaphry's hand moved to her wrist, his grip firm but not unkind. He pulled her closer, his eyes cold and unreadable. "It was Selentia who chose to be my successor," he said quietly. "I didn't force her."
Althea scoffed, her tears mixing with bitter laughter. "Don't give me shits, Zaphry. Are you telling me that you, the great Zaphry Nyxveil, couldn't find a way to keep her from this path? Are you asking me to believe that you didn't have your own motivations when you told her to prove herself in front of everyone?" Her voice was sharp, accusing, but Zaphry remained unfazed.
He reached up, his fingers brushing away her tears with a gentleness that contradicted his cold demeanor. Althea's face was flushed, her emotions raw and exposed. But Zaphry's expression didn't waver. "It was necessary," he said simply.
Althea's hand flew out, the sharp sound of her slap echoing through the room. Zaphry's lip split, a thin trail of blood trickling down, but he didn't flinch. He simply stood there, his gaze steady, as if her anger meant nothing to him.
"You," she said, her voice trembling with rage and pain, "I don't care what you want. If I'm keeping my promise, you keep yours. If a single scratch harms my daughter, you'll see what I'm capable of." Her words were a threat, a promise, and a plea all at once. She released him, stepping back, her chest heaving as she wiped her tears.
Without another word, Althea turned and stormed out of the room, leaving Zaphry alone. The sunlight streaming through the window bathed the room in a golden glow, but it did little to soften the coldness that lingered in the air.
Zaphry turned back to the window, his gaze falling on Selentia once more. She was in the training ground now, demonstrating the sword technique she had used to counter Dain's attack. Ezekian watched her intently, his usual arrogance replaced by something akin to awe.
A small, almost imperceptible smile crept onto Zaphry's lips as he watched his daughter. She moved with precision and grace, her every motion a testament to her strength and determination. He kept his eyes on her until she finished, leaving Ezekian behind as she walked away, her head held high.
For a moment, Zaphry allowed himself to feel a flicker of pride. Selentia was —strong, resilient, and unyielding.
He had shaped her into this, molded her into a weapon, someone who is equally as cruel as him- maybe even more than him. But thats what he wanted, that's what he needed from her.
As the door clicked shut behind Althea, Zaphry remained standing in the sunlight, his thoughts as heavy as the silence that surrounded him.