The next day, their housemaid returned, bringing a sense of normal routine back into the household. Yet for Elysia, nothing felt normal.
Since her father's return from the arena of the Council of Clans, she had barely looked at him.
Whenever he entered the room, she would simply lower her gaze, turn away, and focus on her sword. She had chosen silence over confrontation, keeping her distance as if a wall had risen between them.
To her father, she offered no words.
Instead, her conversations were reserved for her mother and the maid, and even then, they were fleeting—small exchanges about meals, clothes, and daily needs.
The truth of the Oathblade never passed her lips. It was her secret, her burden, and she bore it alone.
Lady Seraphine often watched her daughter with quiet worry.
She noticed the way Elysia's hands sometimes trembled when she lifted her cup of tea, and how her eyes carried a dull heaviness after long hours of training.
