"Some names are buried.
Some live on in whispers.
But some come back—wearing other faces."
---
(Arago – Inner Courtyard, Nightwind Stirring)
The duel was over.
But the silence that followed felt like a second blade hanging in the air.
Duke Aslac stared across the torchlit courtyard, voice low and sharp:
"Are you his son?"
"Or his disciple?"
Dantes tilted his head, half of his face lost in firelight.
A flicker of a grin—not arrogant. Just tired.
"I suppose that depends on who you're asking about."
Aslac's brow tightened.
"Don't play games."
Dantes exhaled slowly.
"I've had many teachers."
"Some taught me to survive. Some taught me to disappear. And some left behind more than just a name."
---
Above them, Alberta and Francesca stood frozen on the balcony.
Francesca leaned forward.
"Did he just admit—"
"No," Alberta murmured.
But her hand trembled on the stone rail.
---
Cornelius, further behind, said nothing.
But inside, he felt it: that creeping sense that the man beside them was not just who he claimed to be.
Dantes' silence was no longer mysterious.
It was haunted.
---
Aslac stepped forward again, voice quieter now.
"You carry him."
Dantes looked up.
"We all carry ghosts, Duke."
"Some of us are ghosts."
The wind stirred. No one spoke further.
---
Then, from the edge of the courtyard, a knight cleared his throat.
"Shall we escort them to their companions?"
Dantes turned away at last.
"No need. I've already bled for the privilege."
---
(Arago – Private War Room, Before the Map Is Unrolled)
As the others moved around the table, Alberta lingered by the window, her gaze cast over the distant torchlights.
Duke Aslac approached, his voice lowered, meant for her ears alone.
"Alberta," he began, his tone soft yet heavy. "Before you leave—I must ask."
She turned, startled by the gravity in his eyes.
"Are you still hiding it?" he asked. "The ability they covet. The part of you they fear… the very part I've tried to protect."
Her breath hitched.
"I'm afraid they'll come for it, child. Not your title. Not your name. That."
"So I ask you—are you hiding it properly?"
She didn't look away.
"I never stopped hiding it, Father."
He nodded, his jaw tense.
"Then be on your guard. There are things darker than any blade. And some will smile when they find you."
---
(A Few Steps Away – Near the Map Table)
Cornelius had joined quietly, meaning only to ask about the next route.
But he caught a fragment:
"The part they fear…"
It was enough.
Enough to stiffen his posture.
Enough to stir something protective—and suspicious.
His eyes moved to Alberta. Then Aslac.
What are you hiding from me?
Francesca, standing nearby, noticed.
She smirked and leaned in with a teasing whisper.
"Plotting conspiracies again, Your Highness?"
"Or is it just that you're jealous the Duke still calls her daughter?"
Cornelius narrowed his eyes, but said nothing.
Francesca grinned, satisfied.
---
(War Room – Strategic Briefing)
Old maps stretched across the table. Torchlight flickered over tired faces, shadowing steel and skin alike.
Aslac spoke first.
"Your Highness," he said to Cornelius, "if you wish to stand by my daughter, I will not question it. You've proven yourself in the field. Whatever your father failed to give you, you've built yourself in fire."
Cornelius inclined his head with unexpected grace.
"I stand with her. That will not change."
Aslac nodded.
Then turned to Dantes. The air shifted again.
"But you…"
"You have no title. No homeland. No loyalty to crown or temple."
Dantes said nothing.
"So why?" Aslac asked. "Why help her? What do you gain from this?"
A pause.
Then Dantes replied:
"Maybe I was tired of watching good people burn while I stood in the smoke."
Aslac studied him.
Then—he pulled a sealed scroll from his cloak and placed it on the table.
"Then you'll do it as her protector. Not a ghost. Not a shadow. But a blade in the light. You'll be paid. But the debt will never be in coin."
Dantes raised a brow.
"I've been hired for worse."
---
(Strategic Briefing – Route Planning)
Aslac unrolled the map.
"You'll travel to Sudbury. Herleva and Beatrice are stationed there under my orders."
He tapped the edge of the southern forest line.
"Your Highness—I want you to detour into the Weeping Forest. There's an exile there. He might know what happened at the Montagne estate."
Cornelius frowned.
"You want me to go alone?"
Before Aslac could reply, Alberta stepped forward.
"Then I'm going too."
Francesca crossed her arms.
"Try leaving me behind. I dare you."
Aslac sighed.
"It's not safe."
"It never has been," Alberta said.
---
Dantes watched them all.
Their stubbornness.
Their loyalty.
Their fear, barely masked by fire.
And for the first time in years—he felt something familiar.
Not duty.
Not vengeance.
Belonging.
A ghost with a place to stand.
---
(Later – Cold Stone Room, Alone)
Dantes sat alone beneath a high window.
Moonlight spilled across the floor.
He unbuckled his gloves. Set them aside.
Then the memory returned—quiet, and unwelcome.
---
(FLASHBACK – The Night Edmund Died)
Smoke. Screams. The taste of ash.
He ran through marble halls lit by fire.
The royal chapel door—ajar.
Inside—
Blood. Mercedes' pendant.
And on the wall, carved deep into stone:
EDMUND
And beside it—
A sigil no one dared speak aloud.
Not of Church.
Not of Crown.
But of something older.
He remembered the silence.
The betrayal.
The boy who once believed in justice died that night.
What emerged from the flames had no name.
Only a mission.
---
(Return – Cold Room, Present)
Dantes opened his eyes.
The moonlight shimmered on the edge of his sword.
He whispered, just once:
"Not yet."
Then he stood.
Because ghosts don't rest.
Not when there's still a path forward.
---