"My Lord"
Darby called out gruffly as he handed a glass of water to the long-absent master of the castle.
Rayan, who had been quietly observing the familiar yet changed halls, snapped back to the moment and turned toward him. Darby now bore a heavy beard and moustache. Deep lines etched his forehead, and his eyes were sunken with wear.
This wasn't the steward from his memories.
Rayan recalled a man who took pride in his duties, who wore his post like a badge of honour and maintained a pristine appearance—almost as if the castle itself mirrored his discipline.
But now, neither Darby nor the castle bore any resemblance to those days.
"My Lord," Darby repeated, his voice lower this time.
Rayan nodded, accepting the water.
Around him, the other knights sat with glasses in hand. The table offered a modest selection of snacks, though none but the curious Aria seemed to take notice.
Seeing this, Darby looked pained.
"My Lord, I shall begin preparing a proper meal shortly. You may eat and rest afterward," he offered with a deferential bow, already moving toward the kitchen.
But Rayan's voice halted him mid-step.
"Where are the others?"
Darby froze. His back remained turned, as though the question weighed too heavily for him to face it.
Eventually, he turned around. Whatever flicker of joy had shone in his eyes at their return was now extinguished. Red-rimmed and downcast, his gaze betrayed a burdened soul.
Aria, though she didn't understand the language, felt the shift in the air. She glanced at the man who had welcomed them so warmly mere moments ago. Seeing the sorrow in his expression, her own features twisted in concern as she looked to Rayan for answers.
But Rayan's focus was fixed solely on Darby.
"After you left, My Lord, things took a dire turn," Darby began, voice shaking.
"More and more people fell ill. The servants wished to stay by their family side. I could not deny them. In the end, none remained."
The room sank into silence.
The knights exchanged grim glances. Rayan remained unreadable, his face a mask.
"Guards? Casper? What of them?"
Darby's eyes flared—not with sorrow, but with anger this time.
"They were taken."
Rayan's brow furrowed. Before he could speak, Eden had already risen, confusion written across his face.
"Taken? Why? When? Where?"
Darby's voice turned bitter.
"Four weeks after His Excellency's departure, Lord Vernon arrived with soldiers. He claimed it was the King's order—to burn the grounds and the sick alike."
"What in the name of Satan—" Eden exploded. "Has His Majesty lost his mind?"
No answer followed.
Rayan sat silently, hands clenched on the table so tightly his knuckles blanched. His voice, when it came, was calm enough to silence devils.
"And then?"
Darby continued, "There was resistance. From all—from the guards, Sir Casper, the squires, even the common folk of Ludwig. Seeing his plan unravel, Lord Vernon retreated… but not without retaliation. He arrested Sir Casper, the squires, and all remaining guards. Some ordinary citizens too."
His words hung heavy in the air.
"This isn't an order His Majesty would give." Maxim broke the silence, looking to Rayan.
Rayan did not defend the King. His thoughts were solely with his people.
He stared ahead, lost in thought. Suddenly, a light touch brushed his fingers, jolting him back. He looked down to see Aria, eyes filled with confusion.
Coldness reduced in his eyes as he stared at her.
She didn't understand any of it. She didn't know that…
"You've found her?!" A voice rang out, thick with awe.
An elderly man stood at the dining room entrance, white beard trembling as he stepped forward. His eyes—brimming with wonder—were locked onto Aria.
The room was completely silent.
Reaching her, he whispered, "I knew they weren't just stories… nor legends."
His hand rose, almost trembling as it reached for Aria's face. But before it could make contact, Rayan brusquely pushed it away.
The old man looked affronted. Rayan remained unfazed. Instead, he nudged a plate of snacks toward Aria. Thankfully, she complied without protest, showing no interest in the strange old man's attention.
"You recognized her, Henry?" Lenn asked, confused by the man's reaction.
None of them had identified Aria. Yet this old man had done so at a glance.
Henry forgot Rayan's earlier dismissal instantly at the mention of Aria. Practically shaking with excitement, he answered
"Of course! Just look at her hair! Have you ever seen such a hue? Legends speak of witches with hair as red as flame. The brighter it shade, the stronger their magic."
Everyone's eyes turned to Aria's vividly bright red curls.
She remained blissfully unaware, happily sampling each unfamiliar snack.
Eden narrowed his eyes at Henry. "You might've shared this earlier. Would've saved us some trouble."
At that, Henry finally tore his gaze from Aria and replied with an exasperated sigh.
"I wasn't certain! I've only ever read the tales. And they say witches could alter their appearance—even their hair. So I did not dwell on it."
Now visibly more excited, Henry turned back to Aria and asked, "Can you? What else can you do?"
But Aria didn't even glance at him.
Henry frowned, worried he had somehow offended her.
Someone finally clarified, "She doesn't understand you."