In the cold halls of Ravengard Duchy, a knight approached with hurried steps, his armor clinking softly against the stone floor. He knelt before Arthur de Ravengard.
The old lord sat like a looming shadow upon his blackwood throne. Tall, even in old age, Arthur's long white hair was tied back neatly, his beard thick and well-kept, matching the sharp white of his eyebrows. He leaned upon a black cane topped with a platinum handle, its surface etched with faint runes. A heavy black cloak draped over his broad shoulders, the fur lining adding to his imposing presence.
The knight spoke, his voice steady despite the tension in the air.
"We have found young master Kaisel, my lord. A group of loggers discovered him unconscious in the mountains at dawn."
Arthur's eyes narrowed, his voice deep and cold as a winter gale.
"My grandson… is he unharmed?"
"Yes, lord," the knight replied, lowering his gaze. "The young master alright. He is being brought back to the Duchy as we speak."
.....
Kaisel slowly opened his eyes.
Above him, an ornate ceiling stretched across his vision—decorated with intricate silver patterns. It wasn't what he remembered seeing before everything went dark.
He realized he was lying in a bed. Soft sheets, heavy blankets… and bandages wrapped around his battered body.
His chamber.
Pain pulsed through him with every breath, sharp and unrelenting. Slowly, he sat up—each movement sending fresh waves of agony through his limbs. He gritted his teeth, forcing himself upright despite it.
His gaze drifted, staring blankly at the air, his mind sinking into the haze of memory.
And then it came rushing back.
His mother's body being pierced by the blade.
The figures cloaked in darkness, their faces hidden.
That man… with pale skin, cold blue eyes, and just beneath them, a distinct birthmark—shaped like a crescent, dark against his skin.
Himself, running through the forest, wounded and terrified.
A storm of emotions consumed Kaisel—pain, despair, anger, hatred, sorrow, and agony all crashing down at once.
His trembling hands clutched the bed sheets tightly, knuckles white from the strain. His body shook as tears spilled freely from his crimson eyes, falling onto the cold fabric below.
Then, the door creaked open.
Arthur entered, his cane tapping softly against the floor. A butler followed silently behind him but stayed near the door as Arthur approached Kaisel's bedside.
Kaisel looked up, his voice heavy and hoarse.
"Grandfather..."
Arthur's gaze remained steady, though something cold and grim flickered in his eyes.
"How are you feeling?" he asked, his voice deep and composed.
"...I'm fine," Kaisel muttered, though the words felt hollow, empty.
Arthur was silent for a moment, then spoke again—his voice lower, rougher.
"Kaisel... about your mother—"
"She's dead... isn't she?" Kaisel cut in, his words trembling. His crimson eyes stared straight ahead, unfocused. "She's not coming back... right?"
He already knew the answer. He'd known from the moment he last saw her face—that final, desperate look as she gave everything to save him.
Arthur said nothing. The silence hung thick in the air, suffocating.
At last, Arthur's voice broke through,
"Her funeral is today."
He paused, then added,
"You should see her... one last time."
Kaisel didn't speak. He simply nodded, tears falling freely down his cheeks—silent, unending.
.....
Kaisel, with Arthur by his side, walked into the hall where the body was kept. Outside, the mourners waited in silence—it was nearly time for the burial.
Inside, the air was thick and still.
Kaisel's footsteps echoed softly, each one heavier than the last. It felt as if the weight of his heart was dragging him down with every step.
At the far end of the hall stood a black coffin, surrounded by chrysanthemums, silver lilies, and white roses—flowers of mourning. Their scent lingered in the cold air, sharp and overwhelming.
Slowly, Kaisel approached, while Arthur stood back in silence, watching from a distance.
There she lay—Elizabeth de Ravengard.
Her body was wrapped in a gown of midnight blue silk, her hands folded neatly over her chest, covered in black velvet gloves. Her face was pale, almost glowing beneath the faint light of the crystal lamps. Her eyes, once bright and warm, were now closed, forever still. Her long blonde hair had been brushed and pinned neatly with silver ornaments—but no matter how carefully arranged, it couldn't bring her back.
No preparation could hide the truth.
Kaisel reached out, his hands trembling as he placed them over hers.
Cold.
So cold.
His heart sank even deeper under the weight of it.
She's gone...
He had known it the moment he last saw her—but now, standing here, seeing her laid out like a fragile doll for display, the truth struck him with full, crushing force.
.....
Outside, the hour of burial had come, in the quiet solitude of the ancestral grounds. The coffin was closed, lowered into the earth with solemn care.
From among the gathered mourners, several priests stepped forward—figures cloaked in long, flowing robes of deep black, their garments layered and heavy, designed to muffle every movement. Their hoods hung low, casting their faces into shadow, with long, trailing edges that fell like funeral veils down their backs.
One of the priests bore a silver pendant, shaped into an endless pattern of curves and angles.
The Church of Death presided over the dead. It was their duty to conduct the rites and final farewells, overseeing burials with their cold, unwavering presence. Unlike others, the Church of Death was not widely revered or worshipped—but the Ravengards were different. Their family had long-standing ties with the Church, while most others followed the more widely accepted Pantheon Church.
The priests all carried out the formalities, chanting in unison:
"From the first breath to the final sigh, all paths lead to her."
"We gather beneath the quiet sky, to witness this soul's final journey."
"We commend this soul to the embrace of the Goddess of Death,
She who waits at the end of life.
In her arms, there is no pain.
In her halls, there is no sorrow.
Rest now, beneath her watchful gaze.
For all must return, and all shall be received.
May the Goddess's embrace be eternal."
All gathered responded softly together,
"May her embrace be eternal."
After the final rites were spoken, the priest with the silver pendant stepped forward. His black robes whispered against the earth as he knelt by the grave, his face hidden beneath the shadow of his hood.
In silence, he reached into the mound of soil piled beside the grave and scooped up a handful of cold, damp earth. Slowly, deliberately, he let it fall onto the closed coffin. The dirt struck the wood with a dull, soft thud—a sound that seemed to echo in the quiet, lingering like a final breath.
Following tradition, the Ravengards approached the grave one by one.
Arthur moved first, steady despite the weight of the moment. He cast his handful of soil with measured grace.
Anton followed, his small hands trembling slightly as he grabbed at the cold earth. He hesitated for a brief moment before letting it fall. The soil slipped from his fingers in a thin stream, landing softly.
Nerissa was gently nudged forward by Arthur's hand. She stumbled, unsure of what to do, but with Arthur's quiet guidance, she reached down with her tiny hands and dropped a meager handful of dirt onto the coffin before retreating quickly back to her grandfather's side.
Lastly, Kaisel approached.
He stood there for a moment, staring down at the coffin beneath him, unmoving. His fingers curled tightly around the dirt, clenching it harder than necessary. Then, slowly, he let it fall, watching as it scattered across the dark wood.
More earth followed as the attendants and priests took over, working in solemn silence. Shovelful by shovelful, the grave was slowly filled. The sound of the earth striking the coffin faded as it was buried deeper, swallowed by the cold ground.
At that moment, as the last shovelful of earth was packed down, Kaisel stood still, staring at the grave.
Why?
The question throbbed in his chest.
Why did this happen? Why were we ambushed?
His hands curled into fists at his sides, nails digging into his palms.
Slowly, his gaze lifted, drifting toward the gathered nobles standing at a distance—draped in black, their faces hidden behind thin veils and empty masks of mourning.
It must be them.
The thought struck like a knife.
They never liked the Ravengard family. Father's death... it was them too. All of this... their doing.
His heart pounded, his breath growing sharp, shallow.
And then—whispers began to stir at the edges of his mind.
Kill...
Kill...
Kill...
Hehehe... Kill...
Low and cold, the voices curled through his thoughts like smoke, slipping deeper and deeper.
His body tensed. A faint pressure began to radiate from him, dark and suffocating.
Inside him, something uncoiled—killing intent, raw and sharp, twisting itself into something more dangerous.
Bloodlust.
It began to leak from him, cold and thick, spreading like mist as it stirred the air around him.
The whispers grew louder.
KILL...
Anton glanced at Kaisel, something tugging at his instincts.
Kaisel's face was unreadable, his long black hair veiling his expression. But from the side, Anton saw it—those ruby-red eyes, faintly glowing, gleaming with cold light.
A chill crawled down Anton's spine.
Arthur noticed it too.
The old duke's eyes widened. Without hesitation, he reached out and placed a firm hand on Kaisel's shoulder, leaning close and whispering, his voice sharp and low:
"Kaisel, suppress your killing intent. Your brother and sister are right next to you."
In an instant, Kaisel snapped back to his senses.
The bloodlust shattered—breaking like glass—leaving only a hollow stillness behind.
His breath trembled as the weight of what he had been about to unleash faded away.
Slowly, he turned his head toward his siblings.
Anton's face was pale, his eyes wide with fear. Nerissa clung to Arthur's cloak, too young to understand but sensing the tension.
Kaisel's gaze softened, the last flicker of that cold light fading from his crimson eyes.
Quietly, almost too softly to hear, he muttered:
"...I'm sorry."
From that moment on, the light in his eyes vanished completely.
To be continued.