Chapter 986

“Still,” he said, “that does not matter.”

Viola let out a broken sound. “How can you say that?”

“Because it is true.”

His hand remained against her cheek.

“I had the privilege of watching you grow.”

Viola’s shoulders shook.

“To see you become a wonderful woman.”

He smiled. Not forced this time. Weak, yes. Dying, yes. But real.

“That is my greatest pride.”

Viola collapsed forward onto his chest.

Not enough to hurt him, though she barely had the strength left to care. She buried her face against him and sobbed like a child. Ugly, helpless sobs that shook her whole body. Tears and snot smeared across his clothes, across her own face, across the hands still clutching at him like a drowning person holding onto driftwood.

Torvares rested his hand against the back of her head.

“My little flower,” he whispered.

She cried harder. His fingers moved weakly through her wet hair.

“From now on, Viola,” he said, each word slower than the last, “live your own life.”

She tried to answer. Only a sob came out.

“The Empire will change after this,” he continued. “Like never before. Too much has been exposed. Too much blood has been spilled. The old shape of things will not survive what comes next.”

His breath hitched. He endured it.

“You will be able to follow your own path.”

Viola shook her head against his chest, refusing, denying, breaking, all at once. Torvares let her. For a moment, he only held her as much as his failing strength allowed. Then his gaze moved to Luna.

She stiffened. Not much. Enough for him to see.

“You should do the same,” Torvares said.

Luna’s throat moved.

“I’m not the one you should be wasting words on.”

“That is for me to decide.”

Even dying, there was still a flicker of the old lord there. The Bull. Weak, poisoned, and half-buried in mud, but still capable of making people listen. Luna lowered her eyes. Torvares studied her with tired kindness.

“Viola will follow her own path,” he said. “And you should do the same.”

Luna’s fingers tightened against her knees.

“Accept all of it,” Torvares continued. “The consequences that come with choosing. The failures. The successes as well. Do not let anyone decide your path for you.”

Luna swallowed. Then nodded once. The way she did when something mattered too much to say properly. Torvares watched her for another moment. Then his expression shifted. Regret.

“Forgive me, Luna.”

She looked up quickly.

“What?”

“Someone once told me you would become a good bodyguard for my granddaughter.”

Luna went still. Viola’s sobbing quieted slightly against his chest, though she did not lift her head. Torvares’s voice was faint now, but every word landed.

“I listened.”

Luna said nothing.

“It was wrong of me,” he said, “to determine your life from the time you were five.”

The rain outside seemed louder for a moment. Luna’s face did not change much. It rarely did when things truly hurt her. But her eyes lowered.

“I was still grateful,” she said.

Torvares’s gaze softened.

“For everything,” Luna added, quieter. “Even if it wasn’t fair.”

“No,” Torvares said. “It was not.”

That answer seemed to wound her more than comfort would have. She pressed her lips together. Then, finally, the question came out.

“But about my parents…”

Torvares closed his eyes. For the first time, he looked truly old. Not powerful. Not calculating. Not the lord who had survived courts and wars.

“Your mother also had poor health,” he said.

Luna’s breathing changed. Only a little.

“She died a long time ago.”

Luna stared at him. Rain drummed softly against the earthen shelter.

“And my father?”

Torvares opened his eyes again. There was no lie in them. No polished comfort. Only what remained.

“Unfortunately,” he said, “I never met him.”

Luna’s gaze dropped to the ground. For several seconds, she said nothing.

Viola finally lifted her face from Torvares’s chest enough to look at her friend through tear-blurred eyes. Her own face was a mess of snot, tears, mud, and grief, but she still reached one shaking hand toward Luna.

Luna looked at that hand. Then at Torvares. Then down again.

“I understand,” she said.

Her voice was steady. Too steady. The kind of steady that meant something inside had cracked cleanly instead of shattering loudly. Torvares watched her with quiet sorrow.

“I should have told you sooner.”

Luna shook her head once.

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“Maybe.”

A pause. Then she forced herself to breathe.

“But not now.”

Her eyes lifted toward the shelter entrance, toward the rain and the searching enemies beyond.

“Now we survive.”

Torvares smiled faintly at that. Pride again. For both of them.

“Yes,” he whispered. “That would be best.”

Viola clung to him, crying softly now, no longer trying to argue because some part of her had finally understood that this was not a battle she could win by refusing to lose.

And in the small shelter behind the hill, Lord Torvares gave the last pieces of himself to the two girls he had tried, in flawed and human ways, to protect from a world that had finally found them anyway.

Torvares looked at Luna for a long moment. Long enough that she nearly turned away.

There were too many things in his eyes now. Pain. Regret. Tiredness. The strange calm of a man who had already accepted where the road ended and was only choosing how to spend the final steps.

Then he spoke.

“I have no right to give you advice like a fatherly figure.”

Luna’s face tightened.

“Lord Torvares…”

“But I will anyway,” he said, a faint smile touching his mouth. “For once.”

That stopped her.

Viola remained curled against his chest, still crying quietly, her hands clutching his clothes like she could anchor him there. Silva lay near them, massive and silent, his pale eyes fixed on the shelter entrance. Outside, the rain kept falling, and somewhere beyond the hill, runic golems continued their slow search through the dark.

Luna sat very still. Torvares’s gaze did not leave her.

“As someone who sought love for a short while,” he said, voice rough but clear enough, “I can say with certainty that you lose nothing by seeking it.”

Luna’s fingers curled faintly against her knees.

“That is a strange thing to say now.”

“Most true things are inconvenient.”

She almost laughed. Almost. Torvares drew in another slow breath. His chest rose weakly beneath Viola’s trembling form.

“I spent many years avoiding anything that might hurt me. I called it duty. Discipline. Prudence.” His smile thinned. “It was fear wearing expensive clothes.”

Luna looked down.

“That doesn’t sound like you.”

“It sounds exactly like me,” Torvares said. “You are simply kind enough not to say so.”

Viola let out a broken little sound against his chest, somewhere between a sob and a laugh. Torvares’s fingers moved gently over her hair before he looked back at Luna.

“It might be painful at times,” he said. “Seeking love. Wanting someone. Letting yourself hope for something that may not return the way you wish.”

Luna’s jaw tightened. He saw it. Of course he saw it.

“But you can do it.”

She didn’t answer.

“The good moments far outweigh the bad ones,” he continued. “Even if the bad ones feel larger while they are happening.”

The rain beat steadily against the earthen roof. Luna’s voice came quieter this time.

“You make it sound easy.”

“No,” Torvares said. “I make it sound worthwhile.”

That landed. She hated that it did. Her eyes lowered, and the mask she usually wore, sharp, dry, unreadable—cracked at the edges.

“I tried,” she said.

The words came out before she could stop them. Viola’s crying quieted slightly. Torvares waited. Luna swallowed once.

“Before the party.”

Her voice stayed controlled, but only because she forced it to.

“I tried hard. Stupidly hard.”

A strained smile crossed her face, bitter and embarrassed.

“I tried to look pretty.”

Viola lifted her head a little, eyes wet and red, but said nothing. Luna looked away from both of them.

“I thought maybe he would notice. Just once.” Her smile grew more fragile. “Maybe say something different. Maybe look at me like I wasn’t just… there.”

She exhaled, shaky despite her best attempt to hide it.

“But Ludger reacted the same as always.”

Torvares listened silently. Luna’s hands clenched tighter.

“So I gave up.”

The words sounded smaller than she wanted.

“I told myself it was obvious. That I had my answer. That chasing something impossible would only make me pathetic.”

Her eyes closed briefly.

“And I have enough problems without adding that.”

Viola wiped her face with the back of one hand, though it did nothing to make her look less ruined by tears.

“Luna…”

“Don’t,” Luna said softly.

Not harsh. Just tired. Viola stopped. Torvares watched Luna with an expression that was almost amused despite the condition he was in.

Then he said, “Ludger is a blockhead, but while that exasperated me for the longest time, he is also Arslan’s son. He isn’t a machine, he is able to feel that as well. He already knows that you are pretty, but it isn’t enough for him, but I believe that you possess the thing that will break the ice around his guard.”

Luna blinked.

Viola stared at him.

Torvares continued with perfect seriousness.

“A very powerful blockhead. A dangerous blockhead. A blockhead who can probably raise walls, break armies, and insult nobles with the same face he uses to ask for breakfast.”

Despite everything, Viola let out a small, ugly laugh through her tears. Luna’s mouth twitched against her will. Torvares’s smile grew faintly.

“But he is not a golem.”

Luna looked back at him. The old lord’s eyes softened.

“He has a heart too.”

Luna said nothing. Torvares’s voice weakened, but the words remained steady.

“It is buried under duty, danger, bad habits, and that absurd belief of his that if he simply solves enough problems, no one will notice he is a child carrying too many things.”

Viola’s face crumpled again at that. Luna looked down, because that sounded too much like Ludger. Far too much. Torvares continued.

“He notices more than he shows. Feels more than he says. And fears losing people far more than he will ever admit.”

Luna’s throat tightened.

“Then why…”

“Because some people do not know how to reach for warmth even while freezing,” Torvares said. “They simply stand there and pretend they are not cold. People like him show warmth to others, but they can’t reach it without feeling weaker.”

The shelter went quiet. Outside, a distant tremor rolled through the ground. Inside, no one moved. Torvares looked at Luna with a tired gentleness that hurt more than pity ever could.

“Even if it feels impossible to reach him,” he said, “you are definitely the only one who can. You know him for the longest time as well.”

Luna’s forced smile returned, but this time it trembled.

“That sounds like a terrible responsibility.”

“It is not a responsibility.”

His eyes sharpened, just a little.

“It is a choice.”

That distinction made her go still. Torvares squeezed Viola’s hand weakly, then looked between the two girls.

“Do not confuse love with duty. I did that too often. It made me foolish in many ways.”

Luna breathed in slowly. Her eyes burned, but she refused to cry. Not now. Not here. Not when Viola was already breaking enough for both of them.

“I don’t know if I can do that,” Luna admitted.

Torvares smiled faintly.

“Good.”

She frowned. “Good?”

“Certainty makes young people stupid.”

Viola almost laughed again, but it turned into another sob. Torvares’s gaze returned to Luna.

“Doubt means you understand that hearts are not missions to complete. They are not enemies to defeat either.”

His breathing hitched, and for a moment, pain twisted across his face.

Viola immediately lifted herself. “Grandfather…”

He raised one finger slightly. She froze. He endured the pain until his expression settled again. Then he finished.

“Walk your own path, Luna. If that path leads toward him, then walk it because you chose it. Not because I told you. Not because Viola needs you. Not because anyone someone your role when you were five.”

Luna’s eyes lowered.

“And if it hurts?”

Torvares’s smile became terribly sad.

“It will.”

No comforting lie. No softening. Just truth.

“But if there are good moments,” he said, “even small ones… keep them. They are worth more than fear wants you to believe.”

Luna stared at him for a long moment. Then she nodded once. Not fully accepting. Not healed. Not suddenly brave in the clean way stories liked to pretend people became after advice. But listening. That was enough.

Viola reached for her hand. This time, Luna let her take it.

Torvares looked at them both, his tired smile carrying pride, grief, and farewell all at once.

“Good,” he whispered.

Then, softer…

“Both of you… live greedily.”