Chapter 984

Luna’s eyes narrowed as she studied the terrain, the rhythm of the tremors, the likely paths the golems would take.

The ground shook again. Much closer. A pale glow flickered in the rain to their right. One of the golems’ sensors, maybe. Luna pulled Viola lower and dragged her toward the flooded grass.

“Down.”

Viola obeyed this time.

They crouched in the dark as heavy metallic footsteps passed somewhere beyond the curtain of rain. Too close. Close enough that Luna could hear the faint internal hum of runes beneath the impact of its steps.

Viola’s breathing grew shallower. Luna placed one hand lightly over her arm. Not comfort. A command. Stay still.

The runic golem moved through the darkness, its outline barely visible through rain and shadow. Then another appeared farther off. Then another.

Luna’s jaw tightened.

Completely surrounded was starting to look optimistic. The net was thicker than she’d hoped.

Luna looked at Viola. Viola looked back. Neither spoke. Because speaking would waste breath they might need for running. Or fighting. Or dying badly in the mud before they ever saw the walls.

After reuniting with Silva and Torvares, they hid behind a hill and lay low. There was no better option.

The runic golems were still moving through the rain-dark fields, heavy steps passing in slow, searching patterns that made the ground tremble beneath their palms. Their lights flickered through the storm now and then, faint glows behind sheets of rain, too distant to reveal their full shapes, too close to ignore.

Luna pressed herself against the muddy slope, one hand gripping a knife, the other keeping Viola low whenever her friend shifted too much. Viola hated every second of it. Waiting felt wrong. Waiting while her grandfather’s breathing grew weaker felt worse.

Silva had circled back to them after nearly getting cut off by one of the patrols, and now the direwolf lay low behind the same hill, his massive body curled protectively around Lord Torvares. Even he looked tense now, ears flat, pale eyes tracking movement beyond the hill’s edge.

Viola used mana to create a small shelter of earth. Small was the important word. Anything larger would have been too obvious. Too much movement in the ground. Too much mana spent. Too much risk.

So she shaped a low earthen cover just enough to shield them from the worst of the rain, a cramped half-dome pressed against the side of the hill. It kept the water from pouring directly onto them, but it did nothing for the cold crawling through the soil. Nothing for the wind slipping through the gaps. Nothing for the damp that had already soaked into their clothes, their hair, their bones.

Luna crouched near the entrance, watching the dark. Viola stayed beside her grandfather. Torvares’s temperature was dropping. She could feel it every time she touched him.

His skin was too cold. Too pale. The veins along his neck had darkened further, ugly black lines branching beneath the flesh like roots spreading through dead soil. His breathing came shallow and uneven, each inhale rough enough to make Viola’s chest tighten in response.

She placed her hands over him again. Tried to gather mana. Nothing useful came. A faint flicker, barely enough to warm her palms.

Not enough. Not nearly enough. Her fingers curled slowly into fists. She clenched them hard enough that her nails dug into her palms.

Still nothing. Viola lowered her head and bit her lip. The pain helped for half a second. Then she bit harder until blood touched her tongue. There was nothing she could do. That thought almost broke her. Not because she accepted it. Because she couldn’t.

She was Viola Torvares. She had trained for this. Studied. Fought. Learned healing magic. Learned command. Learned the difference between panic and urgency, between grief and duty.

And still, here she was, kneeling in a muddy hole behind a hill, watching her grandfather slowly freeze and rot from the inside while enemies searched the fields around them.

Her magic wasn’t enough. Her strength wasn’t enough. Her name wasn’t enough. None of it mattered if she couldn’t keep him alive until they reached help.

A faint tremor passed through the ground again. Another patrol. Closer. Luna looked toward the sound, then back at Viola. Something in her expression changed.

Decision. Viola noticed too late. Luna slowly stood.

“What are you doing?” Viola whispered.

Luna didn’t look at her. “Becoming the bait.”

“No.”

“They’re too close. If we stay here, they’ll find all of us.”

“Luna…”

“I can draw them away. I’m faster than you, and I can vanish into the dark better than Silva can while carrying him.”

“You just told me that was stupid when I suggested it.”

“It was stupid when you suggested it.”

Stolen story; please report.

“That is not an argument.”

“It is when I’m right.”

Luna took one step toward the shelter entrance. Then stopped. Not because Viola grabbed her. Not because one of the golems had seen them. Because a weak voice spoke from behind them.

“Wait.”

The word was rough. Barely more than breath. But it froze both girls instantly. Viola turned so fast her shoulder hit the earthen wall. Lord Torvares’s eyes were open. For the first time in two days, he was awake.

Not fully. Not strongly. His face was still as pale as a corpse’s, and his breathing sounded like every inhale had to fight its way through knives. His eyes were unfocused at first, clouded by pain, poison, and exhaustion.

But they were open.

“Grandfather,” Viola breathed.

She moved closer immediately, one hand hovering over him like she was afraid touching him too hard might make him vanish.

“Grandfather.”

His gaze shifted slowly toward her. Recognition came after a moment. Faint. But real. Viola’s throat tightened so hard she could barely speak.

“How are you feeling?”

Torvares looked at her. Then at Luna. Then at the cramped shelter, the mud, Silva’s massive body shielding them from one side, and the dark rain beyond the opening.

For a second, the old lord seemed to consider answering honestly. Instead, he forced a smile. It was weak. Painful to look at. And he said nothing. Because he didn’t want to lie. That silence hurt more than any answer could have. Viola’s eyes burned immediately.

“No,” she whispered, shaking her head once. “Don’t do that.”

Torvares’s smile softened by the smallest amount. Still no words. His breathing rasped in the silence that followed, each breath too shallow, too fragile, too close to stopping for Viola’s liking.

Luna crouched again, all thoughts of running off as bait stalled by the sight of him awake.

“Lord Torvares,” she said quietly.

His eyes flicked toward her. Luna swallowed whatever sharp thing she had been about to say. Even she could read the moment. Torvares drew in another rough breath. His hand shifted slightly against Silva’s fur, fingers weak but deliberate.

Viola caught that hand in both of hers.

It was cold. Too cold. She held it anyway, squeezing carefully.

“We’re close,” she said quickly. “We’re close to Lionfang. We just need to get through the patrols. Aronia can help. The healers can help. We’re not…”

Her voice cracked. She hated it.

“We’re not stopping here.”

Torvares watched her with tired eyes. The kind of eyes that had seen too many courtrooms, too many wars, too many men smiling while holding knives behind their backs. And now they were looking at her like he understood exactly how hard she was fighting not to fall apart.

His fingers squeezed hers once.

Barely. But enough. Viola lowered her head, pressing his cold hand against her forehead. Luna looked away. Not out of discomfort. Out of respect. Outside, the rain kept falling. The runic golems kept searching. The enemy net kept tightening around the hill.

But inside the small shelter of earth, for one fragile moment, Viola had her grandfather back.

Not healed. Not safe. Not even close. But awake. And that was enough to make her breathe again. Luna studied Lord Torvares in silence. She didn’t need healing magic to understand what she was seeing.

His skin was too pale. His breathing too shallow. The blackened veins along his neck had spread farther than before, crawling beneath the skin like rot given shape. His eyes were open, yes, but there was a distant clarity in them that made Luna’s stomach tighten.

He looked calm. That was the worst part. Not relieved. Not confused. Calm. Like a man who had already looked at the edge beneath his feet and accepted how little ground remained. A man with one foot in the grave. Torvares noticed her staring.

Even poisoned, dying, and half-frozen in a muddy shelter, the old bull still saw too much. His tired gaze met Luna’s, and then he smiled. Just slightly. Not mocking. Almost apologetic. Luna’s throat tightened. She understood then. Not fully. Not in the way Viola would eventually have to understand. But enough.

Her fingers curled around the hilt of one knife, not because there was anything to stab, but because she needed something solid in her hand.

Viola didn’t notice the exchange.

She was too focused on holding her grandfather’s cold hand between both of hers, too desperate to read any sign of awareness as proof that everything might still be saved.

“Grandfather,” she said, voice trembling despite her efforts. “You need to conserve your strength.”

Torvares’s gaze shifted back to her. The smile changed. Softer now. He drew in a rough breath, the sound scraping through his throat.

“Viola.”

She leaned closer immediately. “Yes?”

His fingers moved weakly against hers.

“I’m sorry.” ℴ

Viola blinked.

“For what?”

Torvares’s smile thinned, but stayed.

“For spoiling you too much.”

The words landed strangely. Wrongly. Viola stared at him as if he had started speaking nonsense from the poison.

“What are you talking about?”

Luna looked away. She already didn’t like where this was going. Torvares breathed in again, slowly, carefully, as though every word had to be dragged out of him by will alone.

“I worked very hard,” he said, “to let you live a normal life.”

Viola’s brow furrowed. “Grandfather…”

“As much as possible,” he continued.

His eyes remained fixed on her, tired but clear.

“I wanted you to have choices. Real ones. Not the kind nobles pretend to offer their children while building cages around them.”

Viola’s grip tightened around his hand.

“I don’t understand.”

“You do,” Torvares said softly. “You just don’t want to.”

That made her go still. The rain beat against the earthen shelter above them. Somewhere beyond the hill, heavy footsteps moved through the night, but inside the cramped space, the world had narrowed to his voice. Torvares looked at her like he was trying to memorize her face.

“I kept the worst of the courts away from you as long as I could. Gave you room to grow. To laugh. To make friends. To be angry over things that were small enough to survive.” His breath hitched, but he forced it steady. “I wanted you to become strong without becoming cold.”

Viola’s eyes shone wetly.

“You did.”

“Perhaps.”

“No. You did.”

His smile warmed for a second. Then faded at the edges.

“But I did not expect things to turn out this way.”

Viola shook her head once. “Then don’t talk like that.”

Torvares ignored the plea with the gentleness of a man who loved her too much to obey.

“The world has moved faster than I hoped. Faster than I prepared you for.” His gaze shifted briefly toward the darkness outside. “The Empire has rotted deeper than even I wanted to believe. And now war has come to your home.”

Viola’s lips parted, but no words came.