Flashback: Ten Years Ago – Kingdom of Tarolynia, Henveil Village
In the heart of a vast, lush meadow—where wildflowers danced in the morning breeze and a clear river wound its way through willow and oak trees—lay a small village called Henveil. With its thatched-roof cottages, dirt roads, and the chirping of sparrows, this dreamlike hamlet exuded tranquility.
In one of these houses, its yard adorned with colorful geraniums and violets, lived a young couple. The woman, with golden hair and emerald green eyes, was pregnant, dressed in a long, white linen gown. Her rounded belly whispered of an approaching birth. She stood in the yard with gentle hands, hanging freshly washed clothes on the line, their fabric gleaming in the sunlight, the scent of soap wafting through the air.
A soft breeze brushed her hair aside. She paused for a moment, gazed at the blue sky, and with a tender smile called out to her husband, who was just a few steps away in the stable, milking a brown cow:
— "Darling! Breakfast will be ready in five minutes."
The man, in a simple rustic shirt, with dark eyes and tousled black hair, held a pail of fresh milk. He looked up from the cow, smiled warmly, and replied in a loving tone:
— "Alright, my love. I'm coming."
She carefully picked up the basket of laundry and stepped inside the house. At the same time, the man followed her in, carrying the pail. Inside, the cozy home was filled with the scent of fresh bread, homemade jam, and the comforting aroma of dry wood. He hung his straw hat on a wooden peg by the door, washed his hands, and sat down on a wooden chair.
With a soft smile, the woman placed a steaming mug of milk in front of him, paused, and gently kissed his cheek. The man took her hand, his gaze full of warmth and affection. Their breakfast was simple yet rich with love: rustic bread, local cheese, homemade strawberry jam, and fresh milk still steaming in the cup.
In that sweet silence, only the songs of birds and the bubbling of the kettle could be heard. The two were immersed in a rare, peaceful moment—unaware of the fate lying in wait just beyond the horizon…
Patrick sat in his chair and looked fondly at his wife. Ariana, with her delicate features and radiant eyes, seemed to carry all the light of the sun within her. With a calm smile, he reached out and gently placed his hand on her rounded belly, stroking it lovingly.
With joy in his voice and softness in his tone, he said:
— "I'm so happy we're about to welcome a new member into our family, Ariana…"
Ariana smiled, her eyes glistening. She took Patrick's hand, brought it to her lips, and kissed it. Her face was bright and serene—like a sea without waves.
— "I'm the happiest person on earth… As long as I have you by my side, Patrick."
They sank into a quiet moment, wrapped in each other. Only the wind in the trees and the chirping of birds filled the air. Suddenly, a familiar voice from outside broke the silence. A voice rich with memories:
— "Hello! Anybody home? Guess who's here?"
They paused, their eyes lighting up, and hurried to the door. Patrick opened it to find Charles standing there—his old friend, companion of both hardships and joys.
Charles appeared well-dressed, wearing a blue coat with fine white stripes. His face was younger and livelier than ever, his black hair neat, and a broad smile played on his lips.
Patrick shouted joyfully:
— "Charles! My best friend and brother! Welcome to our home!"
The two embraced, warmth of long-time friendship flowing between them. Charles, still smiling, said:
— "I hope I'm not intruding. I thought—what better way to celebrate a new life on the way than by sharing it with you!"
Ariana, with a heartfelt smile, placed her hands gently on her belly and stepped forward:
— "It's so lovely to see you, Charles. Your presence truly brings us comfort. Please, come in."
Patrick gestured warmly:
— "Make yourself at home, brother. This place is yours too."
Charles entered. The cottage was simple but inviting. There was no luxury—no couches, no electric lights. Only the glow of half-melted candles lit the room, and the warm scent of beeswax filled the air. A small kitchen stood in the corner with an old stove and copper pots hanging from the wall. A plain but polished wooden table and chairs stood in the center of the room.
Patrick, slightly self-conscious about the simplicity of his home, ran a hand through his hair and said:
— "I know this humble cottage isn't worthy of you, Charles… I couldn't offer much hospitality."
Charles, sitting on one of the chairs, replied sincerely, with a satisfied look:
— "Don't say that, Patrick. A home filled with love and kindness is worth more than a thousand golden palaces."
Patrick smiled—a calm, confident smile.
— "This has always been my dream… a simple house in the countryside, away from the noise—beside my wife and children. After I stepped down from teaching at the Academy, I put everything I had into building this life."
Charles locked eyes with Patrick. He paused, as though drifting through their shared memories, then said warmly and softly:
— "Patrick… I've always been proud of you. You were brave. You chose what most only talk about. You built freedom… you built a love that's real. That's why I admire you."
Ariana, hearing the gentle silence between them, placed two steaming cups of tea on the table. Her smile was deep and true:
— "Thank you, Charles… your words are truly comforting. You're a precious friend to us."
With a playful twinkle in his eyes and a lighthearted tone, Charles broke the moment's gravity:
— "So tell me… have you picked a name for the little one?"
Ariana and Patrick exchanged a look. A smile passed between them—an old, secret code.
They answered in unison:
— "If it's a boy, we'll name him Hannibal… and if it's a girl, Anna."
Charles laughed and said:
— "Beautiful names… I hope that whatever name you choose, it brings blessings, love, and a great destiny with it."
A gentle breeze rustled the curtain. A candle flickered. And a quiet, deep stillness settled among them—as though a magical moment had taken root in the heart of a rural morning.
**Charles looked at his friends with a tender, calm gaze. Their hands were entwined, the warmth between their fingers a silent promise of peace. Together, they turned their eyes toward Charles—eyes that carried a story yet to be told.**
Charles felt the weight of their gaze and smiled softly. He sipped his hot tea, as though allowing a moment for the words to find their place, giving them the space to speak.
After a brief silence, Patrick began with a gentle voice and a faint smile:
— "Charles… I've known you for years. You stood by me through the hardest days of my life. Not just me—Ariana too. We're truly grateful for everything you've done. And because of that, I'd like to ask you for something."
Charles slowly placed the tea tray on the table, his expression warm and open.
— "Of course, Patrick. If it's within my power, I'll do it."
Ariana, with a serene, loving smile, reached for Patrick's hand and spoke softly:
— "We want you to be our baby's godfather. Because we trust you—and we know you'll always be there for us, and for them."
Charles's eyes widened as his heart began to race. A wave of joy surged through him, warm and unfamiliar. But alongside it came a gentle fear—a seed of doubt. *Could he truly be good enough to carry such a profound responsibility?*
They sat in silence for a moment. Charles was deep in thought. Then, with a voice hesitant but full of reverence, he said:
— "This means a great deal to me... Thank you for trusting me like this. I'm far from perfect, but I'll do my best. I accept—proudly."
Patrick and Ariana beamed with heartfelt smiles and said in unison:
— "Thank you, Charles."
The hours passed softly, turning into a small celebration of stories and memories. Later, as Charles prepared to leave, he said with a quiet chuckle:
— "It's hard to leave a place like this… but I've got too much work waiting at the academy. I promise I'll be back soon—to meet the little one. Goodbye for now."
Patrick and Ariana waved him off, smiling. Charles stepped out into the misty night, the soft drizzle of rain tapping against his hat. He walked down the dirt road, the village fading behind him in the dark.
Once the door closed, Patrick and Ariana exchanged a loving glance. A tender kiss passed between them, and hand in hand, with hearts full of love and hope, they stepped back into their home.
---
**That Same Night**
The rain outside was cold, but the home was warm—alive with expectation. Heavy breathing and clasped hands filled the room with tension.
Patrick, holding Ariana's gaze—eyes full of pain and strength—said with steady urgency:
— "Just a little more, love… you're doing so well. Deep breaths, okay?"
Ariana, drenched in sweat, her teeth clenched, gripped the blanket with all her might. The pain of labor was overwhelming, but the thought of meeting their child filled her with boundless strength.
Cries and the sounds of pain echoed again.
And then, at last, a soft new sound emerged—the whimpering breath of a newborn.
Patrick hurried to wrap the baby in a clean white cloth. Ariana, gasping and spent, looked on with tearful eyes. Exhaustion covered her face, but a smile bloomed—one of pure peace.
Patrick said with joy trembling in his voice:
— "It's a girl… our daughter. Thank you, love… for this gift."
He kissed her forehead with trembling lips and gently placed the baby beside her.
Ariana didn't wipe away the tears—tears of love, not pain. Tears of peace, like rain after a long drought.
In that moment, their small home filled with light, with life, and a new hope for the days ahead.
Her breaths were heavy and ragged, tangled with pain and life. Sweat clung to her brow, her damp hair sticking to her face. But upon seeing her child, a tired but radiant smile appeared. Through her breaths, she whispered:
— "Welcome to this world, my daughter… you're so beautiful… like heaven sent you to me…"
Her gaze fixed on the child's innocent face—emerald-green eyes that seemed too large for her tiny body, and soft black hair, glistening like a calm night before a storm.
Ariana paused, tears of exhaustion, love, and serenity running down her cheeks. She reached out with a trembling hand to touch her daughter's cheek and said:
— "Your name is Anna… because you brought peace with you. Just like your name means calm, your presence is a light in the darkness for your father and me… I promise, I'll never, ever let you be alone, my love."
Patrick, with eyes shining and a smile on his face, wrapped his arm around his wife's shoulders. The three of them—like a perfect circle—a true family. In that moment, nothing in the world could break their bond.
---
**One Week Later...**
Charles, dressed in a classic blue coat and black trousers, his hair neatly combed, walked briskly through the woods. The scent of damp earth, the song of birds, and sunlight filtering through branches made the morning feel almost magical.
In his hands, a bouquet of white roses, vibrant chrysanthemums, and pink carnations. His heart was filled with anticipation—to meet the child whose name he would forever remember as her godfather.
But in the distance, a gray smoke rising above the trees struck a blow to his heart. His face twisted in alarm. He quickened his pace, dread pounding in his chest.
As he stepped into the village of Henwell, it was as if he had entered a nightmare. Broken windows. Burned doors. The acrid scent of smoke and blood clung to the air. Women and men wandered aimlessly, wounded and sobbing.
With trembling hands, Charles approached one of the women.
— "What happened?… Oh God, what happened?"
The woman, her face streaked with dirt and tears, replied:
— "Bandits… they attacked the village. Killed so many… burned everything…"
The bouquet slipped from Charles's hands. His legs gave out. But his mind screamed only one thing: *Patrick. Ariana. The baby...*
He ran. As fast as he could. Past burned homes, through ashen streets, until he reached the house of his dearest friend.
And time stopped.
At the doorway, Patrick lay still—silent. A sword through his side. Blood dried in a dark pool beneath him. His eyes no longer saw.
Charles collapsed to his knees. Breathless. Silent. Tears streamed down his cheeks, unbidden.
Then—a sound. The cry of a baby.
Hope—like a flicker in the dark—sparked in his chest.
He rushed inside. In a room still holding the scent of life, he found Ariana. Fallen. Her body draped protectively over the cradle. She had given everything to shield her daughter.
Anna was alive. Trembling, crying, eyes wet with fear—but alive.
Charles leaned in with shaking hands, lifted her gently, and held her close.
— "It's over, little one… I'm here… it's over now…"
He cried. Not only for his friends—but for the brave woman who had died a mother. For the girl now left to face the world alone.
Once Anna quieted, he laid her back in the cradle and looked at the bodies of his fallen friends. He could hold back no longer. He knelt, screamed, and wept with the sorrow of years in silence.
Then, he stood. Slowly. Deliberately. He placed Patrick and Ariana in a cart left by the house. He walked to the green field beyond the village, where the dead were being buried.
With his own hands, he dug. Sweat and tears mingled. He laid them down gently, side by side, and covered them with earth. He carved a piece of wood and inscribed:
**"Patrick & Ariana – May your souls rest in peace"**
When he finished, he took Anna into his arms, knelt before the grave, and with a voice tight with grief, said:
— "I hoped I'd come back in time to celebrate with you… but…"
He looked to the sky, tried to smile—but only tears came.
— "You said if it was a girl, her name would stay Anna. I'll keep that promise. I'll raise her to make you proud. I swear… I'll never let her feel alone."
And in the whisper of the wind, it was as if Patrick and Ariana smiled from beyond.
Charles, heart shattered but spirit unbroken, now held the future in his arms.
---
**One Month Later – Midnight, in the Dark Forest near Henwell...**
The cold wind howled through the trees. A thick mist covered everything. The only sound was the frantic breath of a man running—his clothes torn, face filthy, eyes wide with fear.
He didn't know where he was going—just that he had to run.
He tripped on a root and fell hard. Struggling to rise, he looked around with desperate eyes, whispering between sobs:
— "I don't want to die… please… I don't want to die…"
His legs gave out. He drew his sword—not to fight, but to hold himself up.
A twig snapped behind him. He froze. Turned. And found a man standing there.
Eyes like ice. Clothes bloodied but unscathed. Sword in hand—dripping crimson.
It was Charles.
The man screamed:
— "Don't come any closer! I—I have a family! Please!"
The mask had fallen. This was one of the raiders who had attacked Henwell.
Charles stood silent. Took a breath. Then said:
— "The families you destroyed had families too…"
Before the man could beg, the sword fell—severing head from body.
Charles stood over the corpse. Dropped his sword. Closed his eyes.
— "Patrick… Ariana… it's done. You can rest now."
He had hunted them all. One by one. No mercy. Vengeance, exacted to the end.
But even with their blood, the void inside remained—until tonight.
Tonight, it was finished.
---
**Seven Years Later – Midnight, Inside Charles's Manor…**
The warm glow of a desk lamp illuminated Charles's face. His hair was dusted with gray, his eyes no longer cold.
He sat in a leather chair, dressed in comfortable clothes, writing in a worn journal—pages filled with fatherly notes.
**Charles's Diary – Tonight's Entry:**
*"Today marks exactly seven years since I took Anna in. I still remember the day I found her in that ruined house, crying, nestled beside her mother's dying body... That tiny, helpless child has become my everything.*
*We've played together, painted, I even baked her a cake for the first time. We celebrated her first lost baby tooth. She taught me how to smile again."*
Charles paused, a faint smile touching his lips, before continuing:
*"I tried not to pass on the mistakes I've made in life, only the understanding of them. She's not just an adopted daughter to me… she's my child. With all my heart."*
Just then, the door creaked open. Anna, a seven-year-old girl with jet-black hair and emerald green eyes, stepped into the room in her pink pajamas, hugging her teddy bear. Her sleepy, delicate voice filled the space:
"Papa… I can't sleep. Will you tell me a story?"
Charles smiled warmly. He stood, scooped her into his arms.
"Of course, sweetheart. Come on, I have a beautiful story just for you."
Anna's room resembled a fairy's dreamworld—walls painted in soft pink, the ceiling adorned with hand-drawn stars, clouds, and moons. Plush toys lay scattered like loyal guardians. Charles tucked her into bed, lay beside her, and ran his hand gently through her hair as he began, his voice a soothing balm in the night:
*"Once upon a time, in a land far away, a princess was locked in a tall tower…"*
His voice was calm and sure, like a warm embrace on a cold night.
By the time the story ended, Anna was sound asleep. Charles rose quietly to leave the room. But her soft voice stopped him:
"Papa… can you stay with me?"
Charles smiled, eyes full of love.
"Of course, my love. I'm always here."
He lay down beside her. She hugged him tight and whispered:
"I love you, Papa… as big as the sky…"
Charles kissed her cheek.
"And I love you, sweetheart. Always… as long as this heart beats, I'll be here."
---
**The Next Morning – Charles's Manor Dining Hall…**
Sunlight poured through the tall windows. The large breakfast table was set with silver cutlery and a white tablecloth. Anna cheerfully spread strawberry jam on her toast and giggled as she ate her soft-boiled egg.
Charles sat across from her, slicing a sausage, his eyes filled with quiet affection.
"Anna, you've got Tarolic literature class today, right?"
Anna nodded eagerly.
"Yep! Tarolic literature is *so* cool—it's all about the human languages! We learn all these weird words even moms don't know!"
Charles chuckled.
"When I was your age, Elvish literature was my favorite. Their language is music—every word a poem. If you get the chance, read the old Elvish texts. They'll open your mind."
Anna's eyes sparkled.
"I promise I will, Papa."
Behind Charles, the ever-faithful butler, Sebastian, silently prepared the morning tea, as precise and quiet as always—an integral part of this growing, beautiful family.
The dark carriage rolled softly over dew-wet cobblestones as it approached the inner grounds of the Royal Academy. The morning air smelled faintly of rain beneath a gray sky. Anna sat beside Charles, her eyes still sleepy but gleaming with excitement—like a student finding her place in the rush of daily discovery.
Three months had passed since the semester began. Anna had not only adjusted to academy life, she'd made many friends. But Charles… Charles's mind was elsewhere.
When the carriage halted before the tall, brick entrance of the Academy, Anna smiled and said:
"Thanks for bringing me, Papa. We've got a practical class today—I might be home late."
Charles, lost in thought, replied with a delay and forced a smile.
"All right, darling. Take care of yourself."
Anna stepped down and, after a few steps, ran into two friends. They laughed, shared a few words, then disappeared into the classroom building. Charles watched them through the window until they were out of sight. He took a deep breath, adjusted his long black coat, gripped his bag tighter, and headed toward the main building.
His thoughts were heavy. Two nights ago, the Headmaster, Marcus, had sent him a message. *"Urgent and critical."* And Charles's mind had jumped instantly to the one thing that could warrant such alarm: the book.
When he reached the Headmaster's office, he paused a moment. Then knocked three times.
Marcus's gravelly voice answered:
"Come in, Charles."
The door opened. Charles stepped into the familiar room: heavy with the scent of old paper, half-dormant spells, and a lingering tension always hanging in the air. Marcus sat behind his desk, lips tight, eyes weary.
"Thanks for coming. Sit down."
Charles sat. "It's about the book, isn't it?"
Marcus sighed, gaze fixed on the edge of the desk.
"The seal is weakening. Something inside it is struggling to break free. We're pouring more and more energy into keeping it contained, but it's not enough anymore."
Charles frowned. "What happened exactly?"
Marcus exhaled hard.
"Last night, a new fracture appeared on the seal. Five wardens near the book… lost their minds. One tried to throw himself out a window. Two others attacked the rest. They're in quarantine now. Severe mental corruption."
Charles stood abruptly, stepping back. His voice trembled with restrained fury.
"You've kept it here for three months, after everything we saw… I told you in the *first week* we should move it—or destroy it. This place isn't safe, Marcus."
Marcus ran a distressed hand through his graying hair.
"You don't understand… This book, as dangerous as it is, holds the key to knowledge sealed for centuries. We can only read one page a month, but even those few pages… Charles, they contain truths we've *never* seen in any text."
Charles snapped.
"Knowledge that demands human sanity in exchange isn't worth it. Even if that book holds ultimate truth, if the means are tainted, it's already lost. Especially with children just a few floors above! Anna, the others… Have you *even considered* what happens if the corruption spreads upward?"
Marcus was silent for a moment. His voice came quiet, but cold:
"There is no safe path to growth. We either evolve… or die in ignorance."
Charles's voice was ice.
"You're not seeking wisdom anymore, Marcus. You're surrendering. To temptation. To greed."
He grabbed his bag and turned to leave. At the door, he stopped, looked back, and said:
"I hope that by the time you finally decide… there's still someone left to save."
The door closed behind him.
Marcus stared into the silence. Outside, the sky had darkened further. A soft wind slipped in through the half-open window. He whispered to the empty room:
"You don't understand… because you have something to lose."