Chapter 6
Don't worry, Eldern. I'll protect you from this bastard, Ryudien whispered to himself.
"Why?" Elyra asked softly.
"Why?" Damnern echoed, raising a brow.
"Why Eden mutht twain? Eden thtill a baby!" Elyra protested, planting her tiny hands firmly on her hips. Inside the toddler's shell, Ryudien's soul was practically screaming at the sheer, unadulterated injustice of it all.
Damnern stared down at her for a long moment before a deep, rumbling chuckle broke from his chest. "Oh? It seems dear Elyra really loves Eldern, huh? Can't bear to be apart for even a second." His eyes crinkled with teasing amusement. "Alright then… Eldern, Papa will cancel training today. But—"
Elyra's small body instantly locked up. What is this ugly man up to now?
"But what?"
A mysterious, wolfish grin spread across Damnern's face as he tapped his own broad chest. "Papa wants to play too. Is that okay?"
"No!"
The refusal shot out like a fired bullet—instant, unhesitating, and entirely devoid of toddler-like filters.
Damnern froze dramatically. A second later, his shoulders slumped as though the foundation of his entire world had just collapsed. He turned on his heel and trudged away, projecting an aura of theatrical, soul-crushing heartbreak.
Elyra blinked, watching him go. He's really just walking away…?
A swell of fierce triumph surged in her chest. She looked proudly up at Eldern. At least I saved him.
Eldern, however, only stared back down at her with a look of profound confusion. "Why doesn't Elyra want Eldern to train?"
"Becauth…" Elyra bit her lip hard, frustrated by the clumsy, half-formed consonants of her two-year-old tongue. Translating adult logic into baby talk was an insult to injury. "Eyya doesn't want Eden to get huwt again…" Her voice tapered off into a quiet mumble—partly sincere, partly a calculated tactic to wring out sympathy.
The bedroom fell quiet. Eldern gazed at her, and slowly, a remarkably pure, gentle smile bloomed across his face.
"Hehe… so Elyra was worried about Eldern?" He reached out, his small hand softly patting her bright blonde hair. The touch was so warm, so entirely unearned by her cynical soul, that it made her freeze. "But Eldern is okay. Besides…"
Eldern's eyes suddenly flared, reflecting the golden afternoon sun with absolute, unshakeable resolve. "Eldern wants to become the strongest warrior someday. Cool like Papa."
Thump.
A sharp, unfamiliar tightness gripped Elyra's chest. It was heavy, suffocating, and entirely unwelcome.
Why? she questioned herself, a sudden panic flaring in her mind. She should have been glad to witness a child's innocent ambition. But why did hearing Damnern held up as an idol make her feel so profoundly sick to her stomach?
Eldern smiled again, this time with a touch of boyish apology. "I'm sorry, Elyra. Eldern can't play with you this afternoon…" He gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "But tonight, I promise, I'll read a storybook to you. Okay?"
Elyra stayed silent, weighing the tactical options in her mind before finally yielding with a reluctant huff. "…Okay."
"Then Eldern has to go first, alright?"
The instant Eldern turned to leave, Elyra's tiny hand darted out like a striking viper, hooking into the fabric of his sleeve. "I'm coming too!"
Eldern's eyes widened in surprise.
Deep within the dark recesses of her mind, Ryudien was already screaming curses into the void. Damn you, Damnern Solv. You've brainwashed this kid so thoroughly he's terrified of missing a single drill... Yeah, it has to be that! She adamantly refused to believe Eldern was subjecting himself to this nightmare willingly.
"Hm…" Eldern sighed softly, clearly torn. But when he looked down and met her unyielding, pleading gaze, he surrendered. "…Alright. Let's go find Papa first. He's probably in the clearing."
The sharp, whistling slice of wood cutting through thin air grew louder as they approached the open clearing behind the manor—a vast, sprawling training ground that stretched out wide enough to swallow several companies of soldiers, bordered by towering ancient oaks under the vast open sky.
Swish! Swish! Swish!
Under the glare of the relentless sun, Damnern stood planted like a mountain. His formidable, well-built frame moved with a fluid, hypnotic rhythm, swinging a wooden sword with terrifying focus.
"Papa," Eldern called out.
Damnern's swing halted mid-motion. He glanced over his shoulder, a fine sheen of sweat glistening across his brow. "Oh? I thought you were playing with your sister."
His gaze shifted downward, landing on the tiny blonde girl standing rigidly beside Eldern, her arms stubbornly crossed over her chest.
"Oh?" Damnern offered a warm, teasing grin, stepping closer. "Did Elyra come to watch Papa train?"
Elyra's face soured into a bitter scowl. "Eyya came to watch Eden!" she yelled, glaring daggers at the man. I came to make sure you aren't abusing this kid.
Damnern merely laughed a rich, hearty laugh, entirely unbothered by her obvious hostility. He dropped a heavy hand onto Eldern's shoulder. "Alright, Eldern. Get ready."
Eldern nodded with grim, grave seriousness. He marched over to the weapons rack, hoisting a heavy wooden training sword that was easily almost as tall as he was.
Then, the training commenced.
Swish.Swish.Swish.
Just that. Nothing extraordinary. Just swing after swing into empty air.
Minutes bled into one another, yet Eldern's rhythm never faltered. Sweat began to soak through his tunic, his small muscles trembling visibly under the strain of the heavy wood, but his focus remained absolute.
Elyra blinked, her mind screeching to a sudden, jarring halt. Are you actually serious right now?
All of Ryudien's deeply ingrained expectations of a 'warrior's upbringing' shattered into dust. In her scarred imagination, she had envisioned Eldern being cast into monster-infested wilderness or forced into brutal, bone-breaking spars on the brink of execution.
Is it really just... swinging a stick at the air?
Noticing her wide, unblinking stare, Eldern paused and flashed a proud, toothy grin. "You're staring so hard at my training, Elyra. Kikiki," he giggled, wiping his brow.
Elyra was rendered utterly speechless. Isn't sword training supposed to be dangerous? Fighting strong enemies, dodging fatal attacks, surviving on the brink of death… Isn't training basically gambling with your life?!
"Oh, no wonder it's so quiet out front. Mama's little shadow tracked us down," a gentle, beloved voice cut cleanly through her mental spiral.
Elina approached them, carrying a polished wooden tray lined with glasses of cool, sweetened water. Her mere presence acted like a soothing balm, instantly quietting the perpetual storm raging inside Ryudien's soul.
"Mama alwaysth come here?" Elyra asked, looking up as Elina drew near.
"Yes, sweetheart. Mama always brings cold drinks for Papa and Eldern," Elina murmured softly, crouching down to set the tray aside before effortlessly scooping Elyra up into her lap.
"Papa only has time to teach Eldern on his days off. That's why Eldern takes it so seriously—so serious he even turned down playtime earlier. You must have felt a little lonely waiting, didn't you? Hehe," Elina continued, affectionately tapping the tip of Elyra's nose.
Nestled safely against Elina's warm chest, Elyra finally let her gaze drift back to the father and son. Stripped of her paranoid delusions, she saw it clearly for the first time: the beads of honest sweat dripping from Eldern's chin, the aching tremor in his small arms, and—most jarringly—the quiet, radiant pride burning in the boy's eyes every time Damnern offered a single, approving nod.
"Ith twaining... weally that fun, Mama?" Elyra asked quietly, her thumb nervously catching her lip as she watched the effortless warmth pass between the two men. The icy fortress of suspicion built by her past life began to fracture from within.
"Mama doesn't really know either, sweetheart," Elina replied with a soft, enigmatic smile, gently brushing a stray blonde lock from Elyra's forehead.
A Messenger From the Palace
The tranquil afternoon shattered without warning when a heavy-booted servant hurried into the backyard, flanked by a rigid stranger clad in the stark, unmistakable gray-and-gold uniform of a royal palace courier. The courier's striking, slicked-back purple hair caught the glaring sunlight, framing a sharp-jawed face dominated by cold, piercing dark violet eyes that swept across the courtyard with detached, bureaucratic indifference.
Gabnor, the estate's stoic guard captain, immediately stepped forward to intercept them.
"Lord Damnern," Gabnor announced, his voice tight with sudden gravity. "A direct messenger from the royal capital. He bears an imperial dispatch carrying the King's personal seal."
The peaceful, sunlit atmosphere evaporated into absolute nothingness.
In a fraction of a second, Damnern lowered his wooden sword. The relaxed, gentle aura of an indulgent father vanished completely, stripped away like a discarded cloak. In its place stepped a suffocating, razor-sharp pressure—the lethal, commanding presence of a legendary war general.
Clutched tightly in Elina's lap, Elyra's (Ryudien's) body went rigid as stone. Her breath caught, and her heart slammed violently against her ribs.
This aura…
Flashing neon-bright across her mind's eye, the ghosts of her blood-drenched past screamed to life.
That gaze… this is the Damnern I know.
To be Continued...