Draven
The night was cold, wrapped in a thick silence broken only by the rustling leaves and the crackle of burning wood. Sitting outside the cabin, cloaked in the weight of my mantle and my memories, I stared into the darkness as if it could answer the questions that haunted me. There was a strange peace in that corner of the world, as if time flowed differently there—far from war, politics, and the wounds we carried in our hearts. For the first time in years, my thoughts weren't on strategies, battles, or duties. They were on her. Violet.
I mentally relived the moments from the past few days—her smile through the pain, her shy laughter, the way she wrinkled her nose when trying to hide curiosity. There was a light in her eyes that made everything around feel a little lighter. I thought of her hands—small and fragile, yet firm when holding a cup of tea, or when pointing with determination during a conversation. There was something untamed and pure in her, like a flame in the snow. For a moment, I allowed myself to believe there might be something beyond the shadows for me. Something real.
But that thought was torn from me like a sheet in a storm.
A sharp moan pierced the early morning, a sound that immediately put me on alert. I jumped up and rushed into the cabin, where the fireplace still glowed with embers. There she was, lying down, her face drenched in sweat, her hair clinging to her skin. She looked feverish, trembling as if facing something invisible. She murmured disconnected words, muffled cries, like someone seeing death in a dream.
"Violet?"
I approached, kneeling at her side. I reached out to touch her, to calm her, but as soon as my fingers brushed her arm, she jerked back with a scream. Her eyes snapped open, wide with terror, and for a second, I didn't see the young woman who had shared the warmth of the fireplace with me—I saw someone who saw me as an enemy.
"Don't touch me!" — her voice was like a razor's edge—sharp and trembling.
I instinctively recoiled, my chest tightening, not understanding what was happening. "It's me… Draven… you're safe."
But nothing I said changed the look in her eyes. She saw me as a monster, a shadow pulled from her nightmares. I only got close enough to leave a damp cloth by her side, along with a fresh blanket and a water flask.
I left the cabin in silence. The cold of the forest greeted me harshly, but it was better than the burning pain in my chest. I spent the rest of the night under the trees, staring at the stars hidden among the treetops. I couldn't sleep. How could I? I had been trained to endure physical torture, to resist pain—but nothing prepared me to be seen as a threat by someone I had begun to admire deeply.
The sun rose shyly, painting the leaves in amber tones. Violet appeared at the cabin door, still limping, her hair tousled, dark circles under her eyes. She hesitated before approaching, then sat beside me in silence. For a few seconds, the only sounds between us were the creak of wood and the whispering wind.
"Did you fight in the last war between Cardan and Espadaris?" — her voice was low, but laced with something sharp. Distrust, perhaps.
I nodded slowly, without looking at her.
"Did you... kill many people?"
I took a while to answer. How do you weigh the truth? How do you confess what war makes of a man without losing what's left of yourself? I let the silence speak for me.
She stood abruptly, her expression twisted. "It was you, wasn't it? You killed my mother!"
My head turned sharply, heart pounding. "No! Violet, I swear! I never—"
"Liar!" — her voice echoed through the trees. "You said it yourself—you were at war! You led armies! And you expect me to believe you never raised a hand against her?"
"Yes, I was there. But I didn't kill her!" — I stepped toward her, hands raised in a calming gesture. "Please, listen to me."
"I don't care what you have to say. I'm going back. I'll report everything—about you, about this cabin. About the fact that a soldier from Espadaris is hiding near our borders. I should've known from the start."
My voice grew firmer despite the lump in my throat. "I won't let you go. Not yet. Not without knowing the truth."
"Violet... your mother wasn't who you thought she was."
Her eyes narrowed, her face consumed by fury. "Do you really think anything you say can change what happened? You're a murderer!"
Before I could respond, a neigh ripped through the air like thunder. We both turned at once, eyes searching for the source. Violet's horse—the one she cared for so deeply—was neighing in distress, tied near the cabin. And then we saw it. The wolf. The same one that had attacked before—hungry, fierce—emerged from the shadows, its eyes locked on the animal.
"Astor!" — Violet screamed.
That desperate sound made me run without thinking.
"No! He... he was hers!"
I didn't need more explanation. That bond with the horse ran deeper than words. With a leap, I placed myself between the animal and the wolf. I drew my sword, the steel slicing the air with a shrill sound. I didn't want to kill the creature—just drive it away. With a swift motion, I slashed the ground before it—a clear warning. The wolf growled, then backed off, vanishing once more into the forest shadows.
The horse was agitated but alive. Small scratches marked its flank, nothing deep. Carefully, I untied it and led it back to the protection of the makeshift enclosure, running a hand down its neck to calm it.
When I returned to the cabin, I found Violet sitting down, holding a small wooden carving. I recognized it immediately—one of her mother's works. The delicate form and intricate details revealed a rare talent. Her eyes were red, but she didn't cry. She was beyond tears.
I sat beside her, the weight of the moment heavy on my shoulders.
"I knew your mother," — I began, my voice low, almost a whisper. "Not as an enemy, not as a distant figure. I knew her when she was young, during one of the diplomatic gatherings held before the war. She was... indescribable. There was a light in her not easily found. She was kind, gentle—her presence was like a blooming garden in the middle of a desert. She brought peace wherever she went."
I took a deep breath, trying to keep my voice steady. "But despite all my efforts, I couldn't save her. I was in the castle that night. And her blood... it ran through my hands. Even now, I feel the weight of that moment in my dreams."
She looked at me, unmoving, her fingers gripping the carving.
"Even among shadows, I saw—for a moment—the face of the one who took her from us."
I paused, then continued, slower. "Your mother was a foreigner. She came from a distant kingdom, from lands that don't appear on the maps you know. She was a traveler, an ambassador of unity. She journeyed through all four kingdoms, bringing hope wherever she went. Her dream was a world without walls, without divisions, where everyone could walk together."
"She married the second son of Kronos, the Iron-Handed King of Cardan—a man who was never meant to inherit the throne. But when your uncle was killed... your father took the crown. And with him came vengeance, war, fear. The same man who once shared your mother's dreams became blinded by the thirst for revenge in his heart."
Violet said nothing, but her eyes glistened with tears.
"She was known as the Shadow Ambassador. A title given by those who knew her steps weren't always clear, but her intentions always were. Yet... everything changed because of one person."
I straightened my posture, my voice now firm.
"A man. An infiltrator. Someone who exploited your mother's connections, who sent false messages, who fed the hatred between Cardan and Espadaris. A manipulator."
The silence that followed was heavier than all the words spoken. And I knew—what was coming would be darker still.
"This is only the beginning, Violet."
And she nodded, as if—perhaps for the first time—she truly understood the size of the shadow that loomed between us.
"The one responsible for the war. For the Glass Treaty. For the chaos we live in today. His name... is Jocker."
I leaned toward her, locking eyes with hers.
"And he is still out there. Somewhere among us."