The Investigation Begins –
Lord Solea stood by the large window of his study, his hands clasped tightly behind his back. His jaw was still tense from the conversation with his daughter. A Hollowborn. The thought disgusted him. He could not allow this disgrace to continue.
He turned to one of his most trusted men, Captain Ruvan, the head of his household guards. A stern, disciplined man, Ruvan had been serving the Solea family for decades.
"Find out who he is," Lord Solea ordered, his voice firm. "Elvienne refuses to tell me his name, but I want to know everything about the man she's involved with. Leave no stone unturned."
Ruvan bowed deeply. "As you command, my lord."
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Ruvan wasted no time. He sent men to discreetly gather information in the city. They started at the Celestara Festival grounds, where many still spoke of the event. It didn't take long for whispers to surface—a noblewoman seen with a man from the lower districts, hand in hand, drawing attention.
A few merchants and festival-goers recalled a dark-haired man, tall, with piercing eyes, one who seemed completely out of place among the noble crowd.
"He was no noble," one vendor scoffed. "Looked like he barely belonged there. But the lady… she didn't seem to mind at all."
Following the trail, Ruvan's men traced the man's movements back to Hollowborn territory, where only the second lowest class of people lived.
And there, at the docks where laborers toiled endlessly under the sun, they found him.
Zehron Astravahn.
A simple worker, living among the Hollowborn. A man with no wealth, no title—yet the one who had captured Elvienne's heart.
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Meanwhile, inside the Solea estate, Elvienne lay curled up on her bed, her face buried in the silk pillows. Her eyes were swollen from crying, and she had barely touched her meals since her conversation with her father.
Her mother, Lady Solea, stood at the doorway, watching with a troubled expression. She had always been soft with Elvienne, and seeing her daughter in such distress pained her.
She stepped closer and sat beside her, gently stroking her hair. "Vienne, my love… you must eat something."
Elvienne shook her head. "I have no appetite, Mother…" her voice was weak, barely above a whisper.
Her mother sighed and turned as the three brothers entered the room. They exchanged worried glances before the eldest, Erevan, knelt beside her bed.
"Elvienne, I don't know what exactly happened between you and Father, but you're not someone who starves herself over a fight," he said gently.
"Yes, please, just eat a little," said the second brother, lucian. "You'll make yourself sick like this."
The youngest brother, Lucian, frowned, crossing his arms. "Come on elvienne, eat something."
Their mother spoke again, her voice laced with concern. "Vienne, your father… he's only thinking of your future. You know how he is. He wants what's best for you."
Lady Solea sighed but said nothing more. She knew her daughter was stubborn.
The brothers remained silent as well, their minds turning. Their sister had never looked so heartbroken before.
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Meanwhile…
Ruvan, having gathered the necessary information, returned to Lord Solea's study.
"My lord," he said, bowing. "We have found him. His name is Zehron Astravahn, a dock worker living among the Hollowborn."
Lord Solea's hands tightened into fists.
So it was true.
A Hollowborn dared to love his daughter.
This would not stand.
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Zehron is Brought Before Lord Solea
The grand chamber loomed in silence, lit only by the flickering torches casting long shadows against the walls. Lord Solea sat upon his ancient high-backed chair, his face carved in stone-like disapproval. The air was thick with tension.
The heavy doors groaned open. Two guards entered, dragging Zehron between them. His boots scraped against the polished marble floor, his posture slightly hunched from exhaustion.
His black hair was disheveled, strands falling messily over his forehead. His usually sharp, light-green crystal-like eyes were dimmed with exhaustion but still gleamed with defiance. His clothes were dirtied, torn at the edges, yet somehow, even in his current state, his beauty remained strikingly evident.
Zehron's breathing was ragged, his chest rising and falling heavily. His body was gravely wounded— and a slight cut near his lip and a small bruise along his jawline. His arms bore signs of struggle, his wrists red and sore from being bound too tightly.
The guards forced him forward. His knees hit the cold marble floor with a dull thud.
Lord Solea's gaze bore into him like a blade. "So… you are the Hollowborn my daughter disgraced herself with."
Zehron, still catching his breath, slowly lifted his gaze. His eyes glowed in the dim light, unwavering, unafraid.
One of the guards grunted and shoved his shoulder roughly. "Show some respect when the Lord speaks to you!"
Zehron wobbled slightly but remained steady. He let out a slow breath before speaking, his voice hoarse but calm.
"What do you want me to say?"
Lord Solea's jaw tightened. The nerve of this boy.
"Do you think you have the right to ask me that?" he said coldly.
Zehron exhaled softly, his expression unreadable. "What you want from me?."
His words were steady—not arrogant, but firm.
Lord Solea's fingers curled against the armrest of his chair. This boy was not only shameless but fearless. It infuriated him.
He leaned forward slightly. "And what exactly do you think will happen now, Hollowborn?"
Zehron met his gaze, barely containing his posture and heavy breadth and without hesitation." My name is...huffs Zehron"
The chamber remained silent for a long, suffocating moment. Lord Aldrin Solea's eyes burned with barely contained fury as Zehron's words hung in the air, his heavy footsteps echoed.
Then, without warning—a sharp crack rang through the hall.
Lord Aldrin had struck Zehron with the full force of his palm, his ring slicing a thin cut across Zehron's cheek. The impact sent Zehron's head snapping to the side, his black hair falling messily over his face.
Another slap.
The sound echoed once more, this time harder. Zehron's body swayed slightly, his jaw clenching. A thin trail of blood painted the corner of his lips, but his expression remained eerily calm, as if this pain meant nothing.
A third slap.
The shadows on the marble walls flickered with the violent motion—Lord Aldrin's hand rising and falling like a whip, Zehron's head jerking with each strike.
Blood gushed from Zehron's mouth, dripping onto his tattered clothes. He exhaled heavily, blinking away the slight dizziness from the repeated blows.
Just as Lord Aldrin raised his hand for another strike—
"Enough."
The cold, firm voice of Lady Marielle Solea cut through the tension.
She had risen from her seat, her elegant figure standing poised yet commanding. Her usual composed face held a sharp edge of disapproval as she stepped forward. Her eyes, though calm, carried weight—a silent order that even her husband could not ignore.
Lord Aldrin hesitated, his hand still raised. His wife rarely interfered with his discipline, but when she did, he knew better than to ignore her.
Lady Marielle's gaze flickered to Zehron, his figure kneeling, beaten, yet still holding himself with silent pride. Her lips pressed into a thin line.
"There is no honor in striking a bound man." Her words were quiet but cut deep.
A tense silence followed.
Lord Aldrin exhaled sharply, rubbing his temple in frustration. His anger hadn't subsided, but something about his wife's intervention made him reconsider further violence—for now.
With a flick of his wrist, he turned away. "Throw him back into his house," he ordered coldly. "He is not worth even a second more of my time."
The guards obeyed immediately. They gripped Zehron's arms and hoisted his half-conscious body up, dragging him towards the grand exit. His boots scraped against the pristine floor, leaving faint smears of blood in their wake.
But just as they reached the hallway—
"Zehron!"
A desperate cry echoed through the halls, shattering the suffocating stillness.
A blur of soft, flowing fabric rushed forward—Elvienne.
She had been passing by when she caught sight of him, his battered form barely able to stand, his clothes, torn and bloodied. Her breath caught in her throat, her bright eyes widening in horror.
Without thinking, she ran to him.
"Zehron… Zehron!" Her voice trembled as she fell to her knees beside him, her delicate hands reaching out.
Her fingertips brushed against his bloodied lips, then tangled into his disheveled hair, her touch tender despite the violent scene before her.
Zehron's gaze, hazy from exhaustion, barely managed to focus on her. His light green eyes flickered with recognition—but there was no sadness, no fear. Only the same unreadable calmness he always carried.
Elvienne, however, was anything but calm.
Tears welled in her eyes as she held his face, her palms now stained with his blood. She hugged him tightly, as if her embrace alone could shield him from all the cruelty in the world.
"Who did this to you?" she whispered, though she already knew the answer. "I'm sorry, Zehron… I'm so sorry…"
The sight was enough to stir something deep within Lord Aldrin—something painful, something reluctant.
He clenched his jaw, his heart aching at the sight of his daughter sobbing over a man he could never approve of.
But he stayed firm.
With a swift motion, he turned to the nearest maid. "Useless fellows did I not tell you to not let her out untill I give you the order to do so? Take her to her room and lock her in. Do not let her out." His voice was sharp, leaving no room for disobedience.
"No!" Elvienne clung tighter to Zehron, shaking her head frantically. "Father, please—don't do this! I love him!"
The guards hesitated, looking between the lord and his daughter. Her cries, filled with raw desperation, made even the most hardened men uncomfortable.
"Take her." Lord Aldrin's tone was final.
The maid, though reluctant, stepped forward with two additional servants. They gently but firmly pried Elvienne away from Zehron's injured form.
"No! No, please! Let me go!" Elvienne struggled, her arms reaching out towards Zehron even as she was pulled back. Her voice cracked, her body trembling.
As the servants dragged her away, her tear-streaked gaze never left Zehron. His calm expression, the tired yet gentle look in his eyes—it only made her cry harder.
She fought until the very last second, her cries echoing through the hall even as the doors to her chamber slammed shut behind her.
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The commotion had drawn attention.
From the far end of the corridor, three figures rushed forward—Elvienne's brothers.
Ereven, the eldest, stopped in his tracks, his sharp eyes scanning the scene before him—Zehron, beaten and barely conscious, the blood-stained floor, and their father's unreadable expression.
Lucian, the second eldest, frowned deeply. "What in the world is going on?"
Meanwhile, the youngest brother, Felix, took one look at Zehron's state, then at the closed door where Elvienne had been taken, and his face hardened.
"Father," lucian spoke, his tone composed but tense. "What have you done?"
Lord Aldrin didn't answer immediately. Instead, he rubbed his temples once more, as if the weight of the situation had finally begun to press upon him.
Zehron, on the other hand, merely exhaled through his nose.