Octavia shifted in the velvet armchair, the plush fabric seemingly swallowing her small frame. She looked less like a guest and more like a bird trapped in a gilded cage. After a long, agonizing silence, she let out a deep, fractured sigh, her eyelids fluttering shut.
"I... I cannot speak of his upbringing, My Lord," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I am truly, deeply sorry."
Leyhwin's expression didn't flicker. He remained a statue of aristocratic calm, his white eyes tracking the steam rising from the tea. "Is there a specific reason for this silence, My Lady?"
She leaned forward, her reply so muffled it barely stirred the air in the silent study. The words were stuttered, broken by a fear she couldn't name. "I... I cannot seem to remember."
The Count's posture broke. He leaned back, his eyes widening as a visible shock rippled through his powerful frame. "Are you telling me, Lady Octavia, that you possess no memory of the man who sired your son?"
Octavia could only nod, her head hanging low as her fingers began to knot together in her lap.
"Well..." Leyhwin murmured, his voice dropping to a low rumble intended only for himself. He glanced toward Athel, who was still occupied at the far end of the room, mesmerized by the ancient books. "From your story alone, the pieces are beginning to form a terrifying picture."
Octavia's hands began to shake violently, and her emerald eyes, so like her son's, began to shimmer with unshed tears. "I try, My Lord. Every night, I reach into the dark for a face, a name... but it is as if he has simply vanished from my mind. There is only a void where a man should be."
Leyhwin reached for the porcelain pot and poured her a cup of tea, the motion smooth and practiced. "Drink. The herbs will soothe your mind."
Then, he raised his right hand, palm upward. In a sudden, violent flicker, a localized warp appeared in the air, a dim, swirling light that seemed to swallow the room's shadows. Out of the void, a spiral of weathered, ancient leather began to manifest. It solidified into a heavy, thick volume that dropped into his waiting hand with a muffled thud.
Leyhwin wiped a layer of invisible dust from the cover, revealing the title embossed in faded, jagged gold, Source of the World. The book looked as though it had survived centuries of ruin, its edges scarred and its spine cracked.
He held the tome out to Octavia, finally drawing her gaze away from her trembling hands. "This book..." He paused, his voice gaining a resonance that demanded her attention. "It will help you."
"What is this?" she asked, her voice a mere breath of air.
"The Source of the World," Leyhwin explained, taking a slow sip of his tea. "Written by a wandering bard centuries ago who traveled the farthest reaches of the map to find the truth behind our myths. Today's researchers have verified its contents as the truest history we possess." He leaned closer, the mischievous eccentric gone, replaced by the overwhelming authority of a Count. "Contained within these pages are the missing pieces you and Athel so desperately require."
Octavia stood abruptly, clutching the scarred leather to her chest as if it were a shield. "Will it help me find him? Athel's father?"
Leyhwin didn't answer immediately. He turned his gaze toward Athel, his white pupils pulsing with a strange light. "I cannot say for certain. But tell me, Octavia... has there ever been a moment where the boy suffered? A sudden, crushing sensation in his heart whenever he tried to grasp at a memory of his father?"
The color drained from Octavia's face. She collapsed back into the armchair, the book nearly falling from her lap as she pressed her hands over her mouth in raw, shock. "H-how did you... how could you possibly know that?"
"I am a Seventh Circle mage, My Lady," Leyhwin said, his voice cold and somber. "I can perceive the threads of reality that remain invisible to common men—and even to most sorcerers. And that boy..."
He paused, the silence in the study suddenly absolute.
"He is not merely gifted. He is cursed. He is bound by Draconic Magic—a primal, ancient power so absolute and so dangerous that even I cannot fathom its depth."