Feeling his body grow weak for a moment, Stiletto searched for what to say.
Standing at the foot of the bed, a multitude of thoughts crossed his mind. For one, he had never seen an individual appear so frail—so defenseless.
Valerie du Life lay flat upon the mattress, her bones pressing faintly against her skin, her once-vibrant red eyes now dull and sunken. She was fifty-six years old; it was only natural that her deep-purple hair would begin to gray in places.
But there wasn't a single trace of color left.
It was like staring at death itself.
And faced with this undeniable reality, Stiletto could only turn his gaze away.
"Ss—"
Instinctively, he looked back.
"Dont... don't speak. I'm here."
That was all he could think to say as he placed his hand over hers.
So cold...
Stiletto was shaken. In his mind, he knew this woman was his biological mother—but even so, it felt strange.
He had expected not to care much about her, even with his body's memories of time spent at her side. Yet somehow, all his confidence was stripped away in the presence of that unmistakably dying soul.
A soul the previous Stiletto had cherished.
And so, while his mind insisted he had no reason to care, his heart refused to listen.
The feeling was akin to being adopted—slowly growing to love those who took you in. Only here, that process had been compressed into a brief span of time, accelerated by a web of complex and conflicting factors.
'I...'
Slowly, he brushed his sleeve across his eyes, wiping at his lashes.
Valerie almost seemed to smile as the faintest squeeze tugged at his hand, as though reassuring him that everything would be all right.
Taking a deep breath, Stiletto came to a decision.
He would uncover what was wrong with her—something no one had managed to do even now—and then find a way to heal her.
How was he supposed to enjoy anything with this nagging pain in his heart?
Then another thought crossed his mind.
Did she know what her husband had been doing all this time? Stiletto was certain that Syril had taken care to never be seen by Valerie, yet there was still the possibility that she had learned the truth through the gossip of her caretakers.
For her well-being, he hoped she hadn't.
"I'll take care of it, Mother."
A flicker of surprise surfaced in her hollow eyes. He wasn't sure what had caused it.
Drawing a labored breath, her dry lips parted as she tried to say something—but no sound came. In that same moment, a single tear slipped down her right cheek.
As the silence stretched on, Stiletto tightened his grip on her hand and brought it to his lips, placing a gentle kiss upon it.
Another instinctual move.
'This is troublesome...'
It was alarming how easily his emotions were swayed by his predecessor's influence. The last thing Stiletto wanted was to become a slave to his emotions.
And yet… for some reason, he didn't mind what he felt in this moment.
Perhaps there was another reason he regarded Valerie with such admiration.
But nonetheless, he was too busy to dwell on such thoughts right now. He had an objective:
Finding the Goddess.
Truthfully, he was worried. It had been a week since he arrived in this world, and for all seven days, she hadn't changed locations. It was almost certain she was trapped…
Which meant trouble.
Locking his eyes with his mother, he spoke:
"I have something I've gotta do…"
After a few frozen moments, his mother gave a faint nod as he gently set her hand back down and exited the room.
Almost immediately, the heavy feeling subsided as he let out a sigh.
'I'm not sure how to handle this...'
For the time being, the best option he could come up with was distraction—burying himself in something else to quiet his thoughts.
Walking down the hallway, he made his way back toward his father's office. It was the first time he had returned since he and Syril had been scolded a week ago.
When he opened the door, he was greeted by a peculiar sight.
Daeron sat behind his desk, slumped forward, his once-proud posture noticeably diminished. Dark circles hung beneath his eyes as he focused on the paperwork before him. Even his plain brown eyes looked lifeless, their usual sharpness gone.
He hadn't even noticed the door open.
"Ahem."
Startled, Daeron lifted his head.
"Oh... Stiletto."
He lowered his pen.
"Anything you need?"
"Yes, Father. I'd like a carriage."
Daeron raised an eyebrow, suspicion creeping into his expression.
"What for?"
"Sightseeing."
At first glance, the excuse sounded preposterous—but Stiletto was almost certain it would work.
"Sure."
A brief pause followed.
"And... take Ellie with you."
"Oka—wait, what?"
"I said take Ellie with you."
Caught off guard, Stiletto stared at his father for a moment before finally nodding.
He had a good idea why the request was made.
His sister, Elaine, was much like the former Stiletto—unbelievably timid and closed off. That same trait was precisely why he had been confident his father would accept the excuse so readily.
What father wouldn't be pleased to see their child step out of their shell?
Still, this development wasn't ideal. Having to look after and protect his sister would only hinder him. He wasn't yet someone capable of defending another.
But for now, it seemed he had no choice.
"Yes, Father—I will make sure to take her as well."
"Good. I'll have a butler give you both a ride. Be back before dark."
"Yes, sir."
Daeron nodded, clearly satisfied.
"You may leave."
Without hesitation, Stiletto pivoted and strode toward the door. He had just opened it, ready to head for his sister's quarters, when a familiar pair of ears appeared directly in front of him—followed quickly by the rest of her.
Syril was walking toward his father's office, her head lowered as if lost in thought.
That focus quickly shattered when the two inevitably collided, Syril's forehead bumping squarely into Stiletto's chest.
She snapped her head up at once, fire in her eyes, ready to curse whoever had dared run into her—despite it clearly being her fault.
"Who th—OH! Hey... Stiletto."
A strange, unsettling smile surfaced as she reached out and wrapped her fingers around his arm.
"I haven't seen you in a week."
Stiletto blinked.
"Ye—"
"Syril. What are you doing here? Didn't I tell you to stay in the room?"
Behind them, Daeron stood in the doorway, his massive frame looming over the hall.
Syril released her grip on Stiletto's arm.
"Yeah, but—"
"No buts."
Daeron sighed.
"Go to your room. That's an order."
The dark elf tried to speak, but before she could, the engraving around her neck pulsed. Without a word, she turned and walked away. Anger and fatigue flashed briefly across her face, only to be replaced by a blank, emotionless stare.
Seeing the slave seal in action for the first time, Stiletto found himself impressed.
It was remarkably effective.
Of course, he knew there were limitations. It could not dictate emotions—at least, not for those bound within his household. Syril's anger had been entirely her own, and knowing her pride, it was no small thing.
Still, she understood restraint. Speaking out would only deepen her punishment, so she chose silence instead.
A wise choice. Daeron could make her life hell if he wished.
Once Syril disappeared from sight, and almost as if on cue, Stiletto felt a tired hand settle on his shoulder. When he turned back, his father offered him a faint, weary smile.
"Get going."
Before Stiletto could reply, another set of footsteps echoed from around the corner. Daeron's gaze shifted past him, his eyes widening.
"What are you doing here?"
A smooth, deep voice slipped through the air, thick as honey and laden with womanly presence.
"Oh, my~ I simply stopped by because I was curious about something…"
Stiletto tried to turn and see who was speaking, but before he could, his father's grip tightened around his shoulder, stopping him cold.
'Fuck! I can't move...'
Daeron spoke next, his voice steady but edged with tension.
"Let's take this conversation into the office. Away from the boy's ears."
After a slight push as his father let go, Stiletto began to walk away—but not before turning back at the last moment, trying to catch a glimpse of the woman.
She wore a tight-fitting black robe that clung to her heavy breasts and thighs. A dark hood was pulled over her head, concealing most of her features.
Yet one feature stood out unmistakably.
Long, curly purple hair cascaded from beneath the hood, swaying as she followed Daeron into the office.
Stiletto frowned.
'What the hell's going on there...'