Chapter 345: Daughter
Outside the inn, the air was cool and tinged with the salty tang of the sea. The robed young woman, Elara, walked with measured steps, her hood still drawn low over her face. Beside her, Cedric matched her pace, his sharp eyes darting to their surroundings, ever vigilant. The cobblestones beneath their feet gleamed faintly in the pale light of a distant streetlamp.
After a few moments of silence, Elara slowed her stride, turning her head back to glance at the inn they had just left. Her blue eyes, hidden beneath the shadow of her hood, lingered on the wooden structure as if searching for something unseen.
Cedric noticed her hesitation and frowned slightly. "Is something the matter, Lady Elara?" he asked, his voice low and cautious.
She didn't answer immediately, her gaze fixed on the inn for a few more seconds before turning forward again. "Nothing much, Cedric," she said softly. "It's just… that face felt familiar for a moment. As if I've seen him somewhere before."
Cedric's brow furrowed, and he shook his head firmly. "I don't think that's possible, Lady Elara. I would've remembered someone like him. A scarred face with a cat on his shoulder? That's not exactly common. You must be mistaken."
"Perhaps," she murmured, though her voice carried a trace of doubt. Her thoughts returned to the brief moment in the inn—the way the young man's black eyes had widened, as though he recognized her. And then there was the cat.
As she walked alongside Cedric, her thoughts wandered back to the cat. Something about it had stirred an inexplicable sense of familiarity in her. The way its serene gaze had held an almost knowing quality reminded her of someone—or rather, something.
'It's so similar to Master's familiar,' she thought, her fingers brushing lightly against the hem of her robe. She could vividly picture the majestic creature that often accompanied her master, a being of both grace and power. Her master's familiar had carried the same aura, a blend of wisdom and sentimentality that seemed far beyond a mere animal.
The memory brought a pang of homesickness, and she drew in a steadying breath. This wasn't the time to dwell on such things. Still, her gaze flickered briefly to the sky above, where the stars peeked out between rolling clouds.
'Master,' she mused silently, 'you always told me that the world outside your tower would teach me what your lessons could not. I hope… I hope I'm ready.'
The reason she was here came rushing back to her—a whirlwind of nerves and determination. Her master had sent her to Stormhaven with a purpose: to hone her magic, to test her abilities in real-world situations, and to gain a better understanding of her craft. This was her last trial, the final step before she could prove herself worthy of attending the prestigious academy she had dreamed of for so long.
'She is also there...'
Since she has also been notified of the fact that, 'she' would also be attending there.
'And if I want to be there, I need to master everything.'
That was what her master had told her.
"Even if you want to achieve your revenge, you need the strength. Are you confident?"
Her steps faltered for a moment, and she clasped her hands tightly beneath her cloak to keep them from trembling.
'It's my first time joining a real fight,' she admitted to herself. The thought was both exhilarating and terrifying. She had practiced endlessly in the safety of her master's domain, her magic sharpened through lessons, discipline, and careful guidance. But this—this was different. There would be no controlled environment here, no gentle corrections or second chances.
'I have to prove to Master that I'm ready,' she resolved. Her gaze hardened beneath her hood, the nervous flutter in her chest settling into a steely determination. 'If I can do this—if I can face whatever comes my way in this city—I'll show her that I'm strong enough. Strong enough for the academy. Strong enough to walk this path.'
Cedric's voice pulled her from her thoughts. "Lady Elara, you've been quiet for a while. Are you sure everything's fine?"
She glanced at him and offered a small nod. "Yes, Cedric. Just thinking."
He didn't press further, though his eyes lingered on her for a moment longer before turning back to the road ahead. Cedric was like that—always watchful, always ensuring she was safe. She was grateful for his presence, even if he sometimes fretted over her too much.
Elara cast one last glance over her shoulder at the inn, her thoughts briefly returning to the scarred young man and his strange, sentimental cat.
'Familiar or not, it doesn't matter,' she told herself firmly. 'I have a mission here. And I won't let anything distract me.'
With that, she straightened her posture and walked forward with renewed focus. The streets of Stormhaven stretched out before her, a labyrinth of challenges and opportunities—and she was determined to face them head-on.
*********
"It really has been a while."
The bartender, returning to the counter with another tankard for a patron, paused and cocked an eyebrow at Lucavion. "Did you say something?"
Lucavion glanced up, his smirk slipping back into place as smoothly as a mask. He waved a hand dismissively, leaning back in his seat. "Just mumbling to myself. Don't mind me."
The bartender gave him a long, appraising look before shrugging and turning his attention to the food. "Fair enough. Here's the meal, like I promised—fresh catch, roasted with herbs." He placed the plate before Lucavion, the scent of the seabass mingling with the faint tang of salt in the air.
Lucavion inclined his head in thanks, picking up a piece of bread as if nothing in the world could pull him from his casual demeanor. The bartender didn't leave, though. Instead, he leaned on the counter, his scarred face creasing into a faint smirk.
"So," the bartender said, his tone casual but curious, "what do you want to know about? You mentioned the Duke's expedition earlier. Looking to get involved?"
Lucavion paused, tearing off a piece of bread and chewing thoughtfully before replying. "I heard a few things here and there. Rumors about the Duke organizing something big—dangerous, even. Figured you might know more."
The bartender nodded, his mouth widening slightly. "Ah, you've got good ears. The Duke's expedition is the talk of the town, after all. It's not just big—it's enormous. Something about uncharted waters, lost ruins, and monsters tearing apart ships like they're made of paper. You interested in that kind of work?"
Lucavion's smile deepened as he leaned forward slightly, resting an elbow on the counter. "Let's just say I'm curious. What's the Duke hoping to gain from this?"
The bartender scratched his chin, his expression turning pensive. "Hard to say for sure. Some say he's after treasure—artifacts or riches buried in the depths. Others think it's about something more… esoteric. Knowledge, maybe. Either way, it's dangerous enough to scare off most mercenaries. Only the desperate or crazy are lining up for it."
"And Captain Edran?" Lucavion prompted. "I hear he's leading the charge."
"Yeah, he's the one running the show," the bartender confirmed. "Edran's a knight under the Duke's banner, and he's known for being sharp, ruthless, and damn picky. He's holding interviews down at the docks near the western pier. If you want in, you'd better have something to prove your worth—skills, experience, or maybe a connection. Show up unprepared, and you'll be sent packing."
Lucavion nodded, his mind already cataloging the information. "Anything else?"
The bartender's smirk widened slightly as he leaned back, crossing his arms. "That's all the free advice you're getting, stranger. If you want more, it'll cost you."
Lucavion chuckled softly, reaching into his coat. With a flick of his gloved fingers, a silver coin appeared, spinning briefly before he placed it on the counter. "Consider this incentive to keep talking."
The bartender pocketed the coin with practiced ease, his tone growing slightly more conspiratorial. "All right. Here's something worth hearing. The Duke's not just looking for adventurers to fill out the ranks—he's got a payment system set up. Every monster taken down earns a reward, scaled based on its threat level. Parties can hunt together and split the prize as they see fit."
"Generous," Lucavion remarked, his smirk deepening. "Unusual for a noble."
"That's the Duke for you," the bartender said, nodding. "Duke Thaddeus has a reputation for being fair. Pays what's promised, no tricks or delays. That's why adventurers trust him. You won't find many nobles with that kind of pull."
Lucavion nodded thoughtfully, tearing off another piece of bread. "Sounds like quite the operation. The Duke must be in a hurry to get results."
"He is," the bartender replied. "Word is he's putting a lot on the line for this. That's why Edran's been tasked with sorting the wheat from the chaff."
Lucavion took a slow sip of his ale before setting the tankard down. "Interesting. And yet…" His dark eyes glinted faintly as his smirk turned sharper.
"I've heard the Duke's daughter hasn't been well."
He dropped a silent bomb.
Chapter 346: Daughter (2)
"I've heard the Duke's daughter hasn't been well."
The bartender's smirk faltered slightly, his gaze narrowing. "Now that," he said carefully, "is sensitive information. I'd tread lightly if I were you."
Lucavion didn't respond immediately. Instead, he reached into his coat and produced a small pouch, placing it deliberately on the counter. The faint clink of coins inside was unmistakable.
The bartender's eyes flicked to the pouch, his expression unreadable. After a moment's hesitation, he took it and slipped it into his apron with a nod. Leaning in slightly, his voice dropped to a lower register.
"All right, since you're paying…" He glanced around briefly to ensure no one was listening too closely. "Lady Aelianna, the Duke's daughter, has been ill for some time. Rumors say it's not just any sickness, either. It's something… strange. No one's been able to cure her, not even the best healers in the region."
Lucavion raised an eyebrow, his posture remaining relaxed as he listened.
"Some say it's a curse," the bartender continued. "Others think it's an ancient ailment—something tied to the lost ruins the Duke's expedition is targeting. Whatever it is, it's got the Duke desperate enough to risk everything on this venture. They say he's looking for something out there—a cure, a relic, who knows? Something that can save his daughter."
Lucavion's eyes softened slightly, his eyes gleaming with something more contemplative. "And Lady Aelianna? How is she now?"
The bartender shook his head. "Don't know. She's been kept out of sight for months. Some think she's too weak to leave her chambers. Others say she's somewhere far from the Duke's estate, hidden away for her safety."
Lucavion nodded slowly, his thoughts turning inward.
The bartender straightened, his tone returning to its usual casual demeanor. "That's all I've got. Anything else will cost extra."
Lucavion chuckled, finishing the last of his seabass. "No, that's plenty for now. You've been more than helpful."
The bartender smirked, stepping back to tend to another patron. Lucavion, meanwhile, leaned back in his seat, his dark eyes distant as he pieced together the web of information.
His smirk returned, faint and sharp as ever.
Well, then. Let's see what the next move brings.
*******
The dark room was alive with the muted crash of waves, the ocean's symphony echoing through the open window. A lone figure stood by its edge, her slender form shrouded in a heavy robe. The veil covering her face swayed gently in the breeze, an ethereal dance that matched the rhythm of her quiet, labored breaths.
The figure stretched a hand toward the horizon as if she could grasp the distant sea with her fingers. Her chest rose and fell with a sleeting, uneven rhythm, each breath a testament to her struggle. Yet, despite the isolation of her room and the layers that concealed her, there was a defiant dignity in her posture—a silent refusal to succumb to the illness that gripped her.
A knock at the door shattered the delicate peace.
"Young Lady," a voice called softly from the other side. "The Duke is here to see you."
Her fingers twitched at the windowsill, gripping the edge as though steadying herself against the intrusion.
"I stated that I do not wish to be disturbed," she replied, her tone cold yet fraying at the edges. Aeliana's voice, though quiet, carried the weight of exhaustion wrapped in unyielding resolve.
"My apologies, Young Lady," the voice continued, hesitant but insistent. "The Duke insists. He says it's urgent."
She turned her head slightly, her veil catching a sliver of moonlight. The Duke. Her father. The man who saw her as both his pride and his burden. Aeliana's lips pressed into a thin line beneath the fabric.
"Enter," she said finally, her voice clipped and weary.
The door creaked open, and the Duke stepped inside. His presence filled the room, a towering figure clad in dark, military finery adorned with the sigil of his house—a ship riding turbulent waves. His eyes, sharp and calculating, softened as they landed on his daughter. For a moment, the hardened exterior of Duke Thaddeus seemed to falter.
"Aeliana," he began, his voice deep yet careful, as if navigating fragile ground.
The air in the room grew heavier, the muted crash of waves beyond the window seeming to still as Aeliana heard her father call her name. His tone was different—not the commanding presence of a Duke, but something softer, more uncertain. For a moment, she faltered, her hand slipping from the windowsill.
Her heart tightened, weighed down by a cascade of emotions she couldn't fully untangle. Anger. Resentment. Sadness. And somewhere beneath it all, the faintest flicker of longing—for understanding, for freedom, for something she couldn't even name.
"How do you feel?" the Duke asked, his voice cautious, as though stepping into a battlefield he wasn't fully prepared for.
Aeliana's lips pressed into a thin line beneath her veil, her jaw tightening. Her father never asked that question without a purpose. It wasn't concern; it was prelude. A prologue to another duty, another demand, another reminder that her life was no longer her own.
'Here comes the talk about marriage,' she thought bitterly, her chest tightening further.
It was always the same. Her worth as the Duke's daughter had been reduced to a single purpose: securing alliances, bolstering her family's power. She was no longer Aeliana, the girl who once ran barefoot through the gardens. She was a pawn—a fragile piece on her father's grand chessboard.
"I'm fine," she lied, her voice steady but hollow.
Her father's gaze lingered on her for a moment, as though trying to see past the veil and the words.
"You don't sound fine," he said at last.
Aeliana turned her head away, back toward the open window. The cool breeze grazed her cheek, offering a fleeting reprieve from the heat that always seemed to simmer beneath her skin.
'I don't sound fine because I'm not fine. But what would you care about that, Father? You only ask because you need something from me. You always need something from me.'
The memory of her sixteenth birthday flickered in her mind, unbidden and cruel. That was the day it all changed—the day the first signs of her illness began to show. At first, she had tried to hide it, tried to pretend everything was normal. But soon the discoloration, the strange marks on her skin, became impossible to ignore.
It wasn't her father who had locked her away in this room.
It was this illness.
Her father's voice broke through her thoughts, bringing her back to the present.
"Aeliana," he said again, and this time there was something sharper in his tone.
The Duke's sharp tone cut through the fragile quiet of the room, drawing Aeliana's attention away from the horizon. His eyes, cold and calculating once more, bore into her with an intensity she could almost feel.
"I hear you didn't attend the meeting with Count Allistor," he said, his voice measured but carrying a weight that made her stomach twist.
Aeliana stiffened, her fingers curling into the windowsill. Of course, it was about the Count. It always came back to that wretched arrangement.
"I didn't feel well," she said flatly, her gaze fixed on the distant waves. "And I didn't see the point."
The Duke's jaw tightened, his posture rigid. "You didn't see the point? Aeliana, you've already agreed to this match. Do you realize how much effort has gone into securing this engagement? How precarious our position was to even negotiate it in the first place?"
'Yes, Father,' she thought bitterly. 'I understand perfectly. That's why I'm being sold off to a man beneath our station—a man with a reputation so unsavory even the servants whisper about him. Because I'm not worth the risk to anyone better.'
Aloud, she said, "I never agreed to this match. You did."
"You knew what was at stake," the Duke replied sharply. "Do you think I wanted this? Do you think it pleases me to see my daughter married to a man of lesser standing? To hear the whispers and feel the stares of those who think the House of Thaddeus has fallen so low?"
Aeliana finally turned to face him, her veil catching the light as it shifted. "Then don't marry me off at all. If my presence is such a burden, let me stay in this room and rot quietly."
Her words hung in the air, sharp and venomous. For a moment, the Duke said nothing, his expression unreadable.
"This isn't about you," he said at last, his tone quieter but no less firm. "This is about the family. About securing a future for our house. You are a Thaddeus, Aeliana. That name means something."
A bitter laugh escaped her lips. "What does it mean for me, Father? That I'm a pawn? A tool to be traded off to some lecherous count because I can't fulfill my duty properly? Don't pretend this is for my benefit."
The Duke's eyes narrowed, and for the first time, his voice lost its restraint. "Enough. You think you're the only one suffering? You think this illness affects no one but you? I've spent years trying to protect you, to shield you from the worst of it, while you wallow in this room and refuse to face reality."
SMASH!
To respond to those words, something flew right into Duke's face.
Chapter 347: Daughter (3)
The vase flew through the air with a sharp whoosh, its trajectory precise and fueled by Aeliana's fury. But before it could shatter against the Duke's face, it crumbled into shards mid-air, disintegrating harmlessly against the shimmering surface of a mana barrier.
The faint glow of the barrier lingered for a moment before fading. The Duke's expression remained stoic, though his sharp gaze fixed on his daughter with an intensity that could cut stone.
Aeliana stood trembling, her chest heaving with rapid breaths. Her hands, still clutching the windowsill moments ago, now hung at her sides, fists clenched so tightly that her knuckles turned white.
"You dare—" the Duke began, his voice low and dangerous.
"I DARE!" she screamed, cutting him off with a raw, guttural cry. "I dare because you've left me with nothing else! Nothing but this cage and your cursed expectations!"
Her voice cracked as she hurled another object—a porcelain bowl this time. It, too, shattered against the mana barrier. The sound of the shards scattering across the floor echoed in the suffocating silence of the room.
"I am not your pawn! I am not a tool! Do you hear me?" Her voice was shrill, teetering on the edge of hysteria. "You talk about duty, about protecting me, but all you've done is lock me away! You've made me into this—this wretched thing you parade around as a shadow of what I used to be!"
The Duke's hands curled into fists at his sides, his jaw tightening. "Aeliana, enough."
"Enough?" she spat, her veil quivering with her rage. "Enough? How dare you tell me when it's enough! You've never once listened to me! You've never cared about what I wanted! It's always been about the family, about Thaddeus, about everyone but me!"
Her hands reached for another object—a silver candlestick this time. She hurled it with all her might, her strength fueled by years of pent-up anger and resentment. It disintegrated the moment it struck the mana barrier, scattering fragments like snow across the room.
Her breathing was ragged, her voice cracking as she continued. "I hate you! I hate this illness! I hate everything you've made me into! Do you even know what it's like, Father? To look in the mirror and despise what you see? To know that the only reason you still matter is because of what you can do for someone else?"
The Duke's voice was steel when he finally spoke, cutting through her storm of words. "You think I don't know suffering, Aeliana? Do you think you're the only one who's lost something? I've sacrificed more than you could ever imagine to keep this house standing—to keep you safe!"
"Safe?" she hissed, her voice dropping into a low, venomous tone. "You call this safe? This cage? This slow, agonizing rot? I'd rather you let me die than live like this—hidden away, forgotten, only dragged into the light when you need something from me!"
The Duke stepped closer, his towering figure casting a shadow over her trembling form. "Do you think I wanted this for you? Do you think this is what I dreamed for my daughter? You have no idea the lengths I've gone to, the deals I've made, to keep you alive!"
His voice thundered, filling the room and silencing her for a moment. But the fire in Aeliana's eyes didn't dim. If anything, it burned brighter, fueled by years of resentment and despair.
"Then let me live!" she shouted, her voice breaking. "Let me make my own choices, even if they kill me! I'd rather die on my terms than live like this—like a ghost, like a prisoner in my own home!"
The room fell into a tense silence, the sound of their labored breathing mingling with the distant crash of waves. The floor was littered with shards of porcelain and silver, a physical manifestation of the chaos that had erupted between them.
The Duke's gaze softened, just slightly. For all his anger, he saw the cracks beneath Aeliana's defiance—the fragility of her voice, the tremor in her hands. She was breaking, and he had no idea how to put her back together.
His face, his stern face, a visage known across the empire for its unyielding coldness, began to shift. For the first time in years, it cracked—not with anger or authority, but with a torrent of emotions he could no longer suppress. His steely gaze faltered, and his jaw tightened as he looked at his daughter. Aeliana, trembling with fury, her voice still echoing in the room, did not notice the storm brewing behind his eyes.
The lines on his face deepened, and his expression morphed—first frustration, then grief, and finally, an unnameable pain that twisted his features. He clenched his fists tightly at his sides, the effort of restraint visible in the quiver of his shoulders.
'Do you think it's that easy?'
The thought came unbidden, sharp and bitter. His eyes, usually hard as stone, softened for a fleeting moment as he studied her frail figure. The veil, the trembling hands, the heaving breaths—every detail etched itself into his mind, a cruel reminder of how far they had fallen.
'You think I haven't tried? That I haven't turned this world upside down for you? For a cure, a remedy, a miracle?'
He looked down at the fragments of porcelain and silver scattered across the floor, their jagged edges reflecting the moonlight. The shattered remnants mirrored the chaos inside him. He had fought wars, crushed rebellions, and held court with the fiercest nobles, yet nothing—nothing—had prepared him for the helplessness of watching his daughter suffer.
His gaze flickered back to her, now slumped against the windowsill, her defiance still smoldering despite the tears she tried to hide.
'From the west to the cursed south, I've scoured every corner of this damned empire. I've negotiated with those I swore never to face again. I've begged, threatened, and sacrificed more than you will ever know.'
He thought of the Holy Kingdom, their sanctimonious priests offering prayers and vague promises that had led to nothing. The northern alchemists, renowned for their elixirs, had failed him. Even the royal family—his enemies—had entertained his desperate pleas, granting him access to their scholars and healers. Each time, hope had been dangled before him, only to be snatched away.
'Do you think I wanted this? To lock you away? To see the same fate that took your mother slowly claim you, day by day?'
His throat tightened as memories of his wife surfaced—her laughter, her strength, and finally, her fragility in those last days. He had watched her waste away, her vibrant presence reduced to a ghostly echo, and now Aeliana was following the same path.
'Is that easy, Aeliana? To fight against a curse that no one can name, no one can cure? To know that every step I take leads to another dead end?'
His face tried to harden again, a reflex honed over years of ruling with authority and distance. Yet, even as he willed himself to retreat behind that familiar mask of control, his emotions bled through, raw and unguarded. The quiver in his clenched fists betrayed him, as did the flicker of longing in his eyes—a longing to reach out, to hold his daughter, to somehow ease her suffering.
But he didn't move.
Something inside him stopped him cold, a shadowy voice whispering truths he didn't want to acknowledge. A devil in his heart, coiled and insidious, tightened its grip.
'Haven't I done enough?'
The thought came unbidden, bitter, and sharp. It wasn't just the years of effort, the endless search for a cure, the sleepless nights spent negotiating and begging—it was the weight of it all, the constant failure. The relentless march of this illness, this curse, had worn him down to the marrow. Every dead end, every false hope, every tear Aeliana had shed, had carved deeper grooves into his spirit.
And beneath the pain, beneath the grief, there was resentment.
'She doesn't even try,' the thought hissed, cruel and biting. His jaw tightened further as his gaze bore into her trembling figure, slumped against the windowsill like a wilted flower. 'She's given up. Thrown herself into this pit of despair and expects me to pull her out.'
He hated himself for thinking it, but the resentment was there, festering like a wound that wouldn't heal.
'Do you think you're the only one suffering, Aeliana?' he wanted to scream. 'Do you think I enjoy watching you waste away, watching the light in your eyes die a little more each day? Do you think I don't feel the weight of every failure, every moment I couldn't save you?'
And yet, for all her pain, he couldn't help but see her actions—her defiance, her tantrums, her refusal to fight—as the petulance of a child.
'You lock yourself away, throwing vases and candlesticks like a spoiled brat while I'm out there tearing my soul apart to find a cure. Do you think this is easy for me? Do you think I wanted this?'
The memories of his wife resurfaced, unbidden and cruel. Her laughter, once so vibrant, now a ghostly echo in his mind. The strength in her voice, the way she had fought until the very end. Even as her body betrayed her, she had faced it with dignity, with grace. She had never let him see her falter, never let her suffering weigh him down.
And now, looking at Aeliana, he couldn't help but compare.
'Your mother never gave up. She never stopped fighting.'
Chapter 348: Daughter (4)
'Your mother never gave up. She never stopped fighting.'
The thought twisted the knife in his chest, guilt and anger warring within him. It wasn't fair—not to Aeliana, not to himself—but it was there all the same.
The room felt suffocating, the weight of their unspoken words pressing down like a vice. His mind churned, a maelstrom of conflicting emotions. He wanted to hold her, to tell her it wasn't her fault, that he would keep fighting for her. But he also wanted to shake her, to demand she take responsibility for her own life, to stop making him carry the burden alone.
"Sigh…."
The Duke exhaled heavily, his shoulders sagging for the briefest of moments as he reined in the chaos of his thoughts. His gaze drifted downward, a fleeting expression of something unspoken crossing his face. But when he raised his eyes to meet Aeliana's once more, they were steeled again—cold, commanding, every inch the authoritative figure she had grown to resent.
"Aeliana," he said sharply, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. "That's enough. Cease this tantrum at once and behave like a lady. You are a Thaddeus, and I will not have you disgracing this house further."
Aeliana's body froze for a moment, her chest still heaving as his words echoed in her ears. Then, her eyes widened, blazing with fresh anger. The trembling in her hands returned, no longer from fear or fatigue, but from a rage so deep it seemed to consume her entirely.
"Tantrums?" she repeated, her voice trembling but louder now. "Does this look like a tantrum to you?"
Her fingers snatched at another porcelain vase from a nearby table, and with a sharp motion, she hurled it with all her might. It soared through the air, its ornate patterns blurring in the dim light, only to meet the same fate as the others—disintegrating into harmless shards against the Duke's mana barrier.
"Does this look like a tantrum to you?" she screamed again, her voice raw and cracking as she grabbed yet another object—a heavy crystal decanter this time—and flung it toward him. It shattered just as the vase had, raining shards across the floor like glittering fragments of her fury.
"You lock me away, you silence me, and then you dare to call this a tantrum?" she shouted, her movements becoming more frantic. She grabbed whatever her hands could find—porcelain bowls, candlesticks, even books—and hurled them one after another at the unyielding barrier.
Each shatter was a punctuation to her cries, a physical manifestation of the years of frustration and pain she could no longer contain.
"I've given you everything I have left!" she cried, her voice breaking as she paused, her breath hitching with emotion. "And you still expect more. You demand I be something I can't, someone I'm not, all for the sake of your precious house!"
The Duke stood firm, his mana barrier glowing faintly with each impact. His expression remained stoic, but beneath the surface, his emotions churned like a storm. He knew she was exhausted—physically, mentally—and that this outburst was years in the making. Yet he couldn't waver now, not in the face of her defiance.
"Aeliana," he said, his tone firm but quieter now. "Enough of this. Breaking vases and screaming will not change the reality we face. This is unbecoming of you. You are a Thaddeus—start acting like one."
"Stop saying that!" she screamed, her voice raw as tears began to spill down her cheeks. "I don't care about being a Thaddeus! I don't care about your legacy, or your name, or your duty! I just want to be free—free of this sickness, free of this cage, free of you!"
She stumbled backward, her legs shaking as if the weight of her rage had finally taken its toll. Her chest heaved, her breath coming in short, uneven bursts.
For a moment, the room fell silent save for the distant crash of the waves outside. The shattered remains of porcelain and glass glittered on the floor, a chaotic testament to her fury.
The Duke looked at her, his expression unreadable. Then, in a voice that was softer but still carried his authority, he said, "And what would you do with that freedom, Aeliana? What would you do if I let you go?"
Aeliana froze, the question catching her off guard. She blinked at him, her tear-streaked face partially obscured by her veil.
"Do you even know?" he pressed, stepping closer but keeping his tone calm. "Or is this just another way to run from what you cannot face?"
"I WOULD!" Aeliana's voice tore through the room, raw and defiant, trembling with both anger and desperation. "At least I would try!"
The Duke's expression darkened, his calm gaze unflinching. "Just like how you've tried until now?"
The words hit her like a blow. Her chest tightened, the air in the room feeling impossibly thick. She wanted to scream again, to hurl something else, to fight back against the quiet sting of his accusation. But her body betrayed her. Her lips parted, yet no sound came out.
'Do you think I haven't tried?' she wanted to shout, but the words caught in her throat, suffocating her.
Her fists trembled at her sides, her nails biting into her palms. Unable to meet his gaze, she turned away, her eyes drawn to the open window. The bright expanse of the ocean stretched far into the horizon, its rolling waves glistening in the sun.
It was a sight she hadn't truly seen in years.
The memories surfaced unbidden, vivid and bittersweet. She had played in those waters once, a lifetime ago. She had swum freely, her laughter carried on the salty breeze. She had marveled at the strange creatures that lurked beneath the waves, their mysterious forms dancing in the depths. The ocean was vast and wild, a place where adventure and wonder felt endless.
It was also a place she had longed to return to, a place that had seemed impossibly far away from her cage of sickness and duty.
'Right?' she thought, her vision blurring. Wasn't that where her heart still yearned to be? Beyond the waves, where she could feel alive again?
Her thoughts drifted further, to a memory buried in the back of her mind. It was a conversation she had overheard one afternoon, the voices of the maids echoing in her chamber as they cleaned. She had feigned sleep, her frail body too tired to speak, and listened as they talked amongst themselves.
"Did you hear? The Duke's forces are preparing to head east," one of them had whispered. "There's been trouble along the trade routes—monstrous sea beasts attacking ships."
"The Duke himself is ordering the expedition," another had replied. "They say it's not just about the beasts. There are ruins out there, ancient ones. Some think they might hold treasures or even answers to strange ailments."
Aeliana had barely moved, her breathing shallow as she absorbed their words.
"What kind of answers?" the first maid had asked, her tone hushed with curiosity.
"Who knows?" the other had shrugged. "But it must be important if the Duke's going. They say the sea itself has grown angry—waves as tall as mountains, storms that come out of nowhere. The expedition's not just about trade; it's about survival."
The memory lingered now, heavy with possibility. Answers. Ruins. The sea that had once felt like her playground now a place of danger and mystery.
Her fingers twitched against the windowsill as her thoughts crystallized.
"Father," she said, her voice quieter now but steadier. Her gaze remained fixed on the horizon. "The expedition… I overheard the maids speaking about it."
The Duke's brow furrowed, his stance shifting slightly. "What of it?"
"I want to go," she said, turning back to him, her veil catching the light as her eyes burned with resolve.
The Duke's expression hardened instantly. "Out of the question. You can barely stand some days, let alone endure the rigors of a journey at sea. Do you have any idea how dangerous this expedition will be?"
The Duke's expression darkened further, his brow furrowing deeply as Aeliana's words settled in the air like a challenge. "You will not go," he said firmly, his voice carrying the unyielding weight of his authority. "The rumors are false—I am not leading this expedition. My men will handle the dangers, as is their duty. You are far too weak to endure such a journey. This conversation is over."
"No," Aeliana said, her voice trembling but resolute. She stepped forward, her fists clenched at her sides. "It's not over. I am not going back to that room to rot while the world moves on without me. If this illness is going to kill me anyway, at least let me see the sea one more time. Let me live—even if it's just for a moment."
The Duke's jaw tightened, his expression like granite. "Aeliana, I will not allow you to risk your life for a fleeting whim. You have responsibilities, whether you acknowledge them or not."
"Responsibilities?" she snapped, her voice rising with emotion. "To what? To marry some Count and be paraded as your sickly, broken daughter? To spend every day locked away, too ashamed of my face to look in the mirror? What kind of life is that, Father?"
"You think the sea will give you freedom?" the Duke retorted sharply. "It will swallow you whole, Aeliana. You'll die out there, and for what? A foolish dream? No. I forbid it."
Aeliana's breaths came in short, sharp gasps, her mind racing. Her father's words felt like chains tightening around her throat. Every part of her screamed against his cold finality, against the prison of her sickness and the endless cycle of his control. She couldn't—wouldn't—go back to that room. Not again.
Her eyes darted to the side, landing on a knife that lay atop a silver tray by the door, its blade catching the light. Her pulse quickened as desperation clawed at her chest.
"If you won't let me live, then let me end this myself," she said, her voice trembling as she snatched the knife and held it to her wrist. Her hand shook violently, but her grip remained firm. "Because I can't—no, I won't—go back to that room. Not this time."
Chapter 349: Daughter (5)
"If you won't let me live, then let me end this myself. Because I can't—no, I won't—go back to that room. Not this time."
The Duke's eyes widened briefly, his composure cracking just enough to show a flicker of alarm. His mana barrier shimmered faintly, but he didn't move. He studied her, his expression unreadable, his body rigid with tension.
"Aeliana," he said slowly, his tone measured but edged with steel. "Put the knife down."
"No," she whispered, her tears spilling freely now. Her chest heaved as she struggled to keep her voice steady. "You don't get to tell me what to do anymore. If you send me back, I might as well be dead. At least this way, it's my choice."
"You're not thinking clearly," he said, his voice softer but no less firm. "You know as well as I do that I could take that knife from you before you even blink. Don't force my hand."
She let out a bitter laugh, her gaze flicking briefly to him. "Then why haven't you? Maybe you're waiting to see if I'll actually do it. Maybe you don't care."
The Duke's fists clenched at his sides, but he didn't move. His eyes locked onto hers, a storm of emotions roiling behind his steady gaze—anger, grief, frustration, and something far more vulnerable.
"You think this will solve anything?" he asked, his voice low and deliberate. "This isn't strength, Aeliana. This is cowardice. Is that how you want to face the world?"
Her grip tightened on the knife, her knuckles whitening as the blade trembled against her skin. "You don't understand," she said hoarsely. "You've never been trapped like this. You've never felt what it's like to suffocate every day. I just want to feel alive again—even if it's the last thing I do."
"You are alive," he said, his voice rising with frustration. "And as long as you are, there's hope. But not like this, Aeliana. Not like this."
Tears blurred her vision as she pressed the blade harder, though she knew, deep down, she wouldn't go through with it. The gesture wasn't about ending her life—it was about making him see her, making him understand the depth of her despair.
The Duke exhaled deeply, the sound heavy and tired, as though the weight of the entire world rested on his shoulders. For a moment, he stood silent, his sharp gaze locked on Aeliana's trembling form, the knife still quivering in her hands. Then, with a voice that carried both resignation and steel, he said a single word:
"Fine."
Aeliana's breath caught, her wide eyes lifting to meet his. She hadn't expected him to relent, not after years of unyielding control. The knife slipped from her grasp, clattering to the floor as she stared at him, disbelieving.
The Duke's expression remained unreadable, but the slight furrow in his brow betrayed his inner turmoil. "I will allow you to join the expedition," he said carefully, his tone measured. "But only under strict conditions. You will observe from a distance. You will not engage, you will not interfere, and you will not place yourself in harm's way."
Aeliana blinked rapidly, her breath uneven. Relief and disbelief swirled within her, and for a moment, she struggled to find her voice. "I… I understand."
"You will not go unmonitored," the Duke continued, his voice firm. "I will ensure you have a secure vantage point from which to watch, but you will be under constant supervision. Guards will accompany you at all times, and the moment you attempt something reckless, they will remove you."
"That's fine," Aeliana said quickly, her voice trembling with eagerness. She clutched the fabric of her robes, her heart racing. "I won't do anything foolish."
The Duke's piercing gaze lingered on her for a moment longer, as though searching for any hint of deceit. Satisfied, he gave a curt nod. "Very well. But mark my words, Aeliana. This is not a reward or a concession. This is your final chance to prove to me that you can act with responsibility."
Her lips parted to respond, but no words came. Instead, she simply nodded, her throat too tight with emotion to speak.
"Go now," the Duke said, turning toward the door. "Rest and prepare. We leave at dawn."
As he strode out of the room, his presence like a receding storm, Aeliana stood frozen for a long moment, her mind racing. She glanced toward the window again, the sight of the endless ocean pulling at her heart.
This was it—her chance to feel a piece of the world again, even if only from afar. The thought of standing at the edge of something vast and untamed filled her with both fear and exhilaration.
She knew her father's conditions were strict, that she would be watched like a hawk, but she didn't care. She hadn't truly expected to be allowed this much.
Even if she could only observe, even if she couldn't touch the water or feel the waves beneath her feet, it was enough. For now, it was enough.
With trembling hands, she wiped the tears from her cheeks and turned toward her bed. Tomorrow, she would see the ocean again. For the first time in years, she allowed herself to feel the faintest spark of hope.
'Even if it's the last time,' she thought, her fingers curling into fists. 'At least I'll have this.'
********
The Duke stood in his chamber, the window open to the cool night air. The ocean stretched before him, dark and restless, its surface illuminated by the faint glow of the moon. Docked at the harbor below were dozens of ships, their sails furled and their crews idle, waiting for the order to sail. Yet they couldn't, not with the sea in its current state—a perilous expanse teeming with danger.
His sharp eyes scanned the horizon, taking in the ships that bobbed gently in the harbor. Merchant vessels, war galleys, and the sleek outlines of privateers—every kind of ship was represented, their crews no doubt frustrated and restless. The Duke's lips tightened as his thoughts churned.
'This was supposed to be manageable,' he thought bitterly. 'The monsters always come, but never like this.'
The waves of sea creatures had grown increasingly aggressive over the past months, their attacks claiming not just merchant vessels but also adventurers and seasoned seafarers. Normally, such threats were left to the adventurers' guild, a lucrative business for those willing to risk their lives. But this time, the monsters had come in unprecedented numbers, and the guild's efforts had proven woefully insufficient.
'It's not just the creatures,' the Duke thought, his jaw tightening. 'The sea itself seems angry. The storms come too often, too suddenly. It's as if something deeper is stirring beneath the waves.'
He turned his gaze inland, where his knights were stationed near the barracks. He had considered sending them to bolster the expedition, but the borders were too unstable. Skirmishes with raiders and rival houses had escalated in recent weeks, and the empire's own internal strife had left no room for error. His forces were already stretched thin, balancing between protecting the estate and maintaining the fragile peace along the empire's edges.
'The Ventor Family,' he thought darkly, his fists clenching at his sides. 'Marquis Ventor really dared to do such a thing.'
The winds of change had begun to stir, carried by the ambitious actions of the Ventor Family. The Marquis's so-called "witch hunt" had sent shockwaves through the empire, targeting long-standing institutions and sects…..
'The chaos they've unleashed has left cracks in the empire's foundation,' the Duke mused grimly. 'And maybe even the sea is no longer safe because of it.'
It was just a laughable comment.
The Duke's thoughts shifted to the expedition group he had hastily assembled. It was a patchwork force—mercenaries, seasoned sailors, and whatever adventurers remained willing to take the risk. It wasn't ideal, but it was a price that needed to be paid.
'I can't send my knights,' he reminded himself again. 'The borders are too unstable. The empire is teetering, and if Ventor's hunt spreads further, there may be nothing left to salvage.'
His gaze drifted back to the ocean, his mind briefly flickering to Aeliana. Her request to join the expedition had caught him off guard, and even now, his agreement felt like a gamble he could ill afford. Yet, he had seen the desperation in her eyes, the fire that had burned despite her frailty.
'If nothing else, it may give her some peace,' he thought, though the words felt hollow.
A gust of wind swept through the open window, carrying with it the salt of the sea. The Duke exhaled heavily, his shoulders sagging under the weight of it all. The ocean, once a symbol of trade and prosperity, now felt like a chasm of uncertainty, its depths hiding more than just monsters.
'The Ventor Family has opened Pandora's box.'
He thought, his eyes narrowing.
'Let's hope that the thing that comes out of that box of Pandora is not something that will cause a distraction.'