Sam's lips thinned. He had won the fight, but the victory soured as the crowd turned him into the villain. His words of righteousness crumbled under their glares.
Sylvia tugged his sleeve. "Sam. We leave."
And so, they did. Like butter left in the sun—softened, smeared, unable to hold shape despite all their show of strength.
The people carried Lucien gently. His breathing rasped, seizure still twitching faintly in his limbs. Rlen and Leya clung to his sides, pale with fear.
And at the mansion's door—Mary arrived.
She froze at the sight: children trembling, Lucien half-collapsed in their arms, the crowd's shadows heavy behind them. Her hands flew to her mouth, then reached out, pulling Lucien close.
Inside, everyone gathered. Worry painted the air thicker than smoke.
And then—
From the path, ragged and breathless, Elias appeared. His clothes worn, his hair disheveled, his face pale as though he hadn't rested in days. In his hands, a small vial of shimmering liquid.
---
Lucien's body trembled violently in Mary's arms, his breath short and shallow, lips paling with each second. Elen's face was drained of all its earlier defiance, her chaotic grin gone; now her teeth dug into her lip so hard it bled. Leya stood stiff, her small hands clenching the hem of her skirt until the fabric twisted painfully in her grip, as if holding herself together.
Then the sound of slow, dragging footsteps broke through their panic.
They turned—and froze.
Elias stood in the garden's threshold, his figure framed against the late sun. His clothes were torn, dust clung to his hair, and his pale skin carried the exhaustion of someone who hadn't rested in days. But what struck them wasn't just his fragile appearance—it was the small vial he held in his steady hand.
"Give this to him," Elias said softly, his voice hoarse but unwavering.
Mary's eyes widened. "Young master—your face—you look—" Her childish words faltered, caught between relief and horror.
Elen rushed forward, not to grab the medicine but to clutch Elias's sleeve. "Why do you look like this?! Were you fighting again?!" Her voice cracked, almost angry, but the tremble betrayed the fear underneath.
Leya silently stepped closer, her gaze darting between Lucien's shivering body and Elias's unsteady stance. Her lips parted but no words came—her throat refused to allow sound. She could only stare, her eyes glassy, as if seeing him like this broke something she had carefully kept locked.
Lucien, even in his haze, weakly turned his head at the sound of Elias's voice. His trembling slowed for a moment, almost as if his body recognized safety in that familiar tone.
"Medicine first," Elias repeated calmly, pushing the vial into Mary's shaking hands.
Mary obeyed, whispering prayers under her breath as she fed the liquid to Lucien. Slowly, painfully slowly, the tremors eased. Relief washed over them, but it was sharp and heavy, not light.
Only then did the children turn fully to Elias.
Elen wiped her tears furiously with her sleeve, glaring at him with red eyes. "You can't… you can't just show up like this, scaring us half to death! Do you know—do you know how much we—" Her voice cracked again, and she bit it off, ashamed.
Leya's silence broke too—barely above a whisper. "Don't disappear like that… please." The single word "please" lingered heavier than a scream.
Mary sniffled, trying to smile despite tears streaking her cheeks. "You always look after us… but who looks after you, young master?"
For the first time, Elias faltered. The steadiness in his gaze wavered. He opened his mouth to reply, then closed it again. Instead, he simply reached out and rested his hand lightly on Lucien's now-still shoulder, as if to ground them all in silence rather than words.
And in that silence, the children realized—they were just as worried for him as he was for them.
Because of everything that happened in the market, the children didn't even notice at first—Elias wasn't wearing his blindfold. The storm had passed, Lucien was calm, Mary was wiping her eyes, Elen and Leya clinging to each other. Only when their panic dulled into silence did they see his bare face.
But their attention wasn't on his eyes—it was on the dark hollows beneath them, shadows carved deep by sleepless nights. They understood without words: he had worked himself into this state, just for them.
Elias's thoughts:
I found it. I finally made the medicine. Mine too—unfinished, rough, but enough to quiet the pain. I drank it. The fire in my skull dimmed, my senses sharpened. I wasn't blindfolded—I was about to put it back on when I heard their voices.
Something's wrong.
My heart raced. I grabbed the vial, the one that glowed faint gold, and ran outside. And there—there was the sight I least wanted. Lucien, trembling in Mary's arms. Elen and Leya behind her, eyes wet with fear. Their faces turned to me the moment I stepped forward—relief, worry, accusation all tangled together.
I told them to give him the medicine. Mary obeyed, hands trembling. Slowly, Lucien stilled. I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. Damn… that could have gone so wrong.
But before I could rest, their scolding hit me.
Elen clutched my sleeve, glaring through tears. "Do you even see yourself?!"
Leya's whisper barely reached me. "Don't… disappear like that."
Mary tried to smile, though her eyes were red. "You always take care of us, young master… but who takes care of you?"
I thought I could brush it off, say everything was fine. But I was wrong. I hadn't cared for myself. I hadn't thought what it meant for them to see me like this. If I could go back… I'd still do it again. But I couldn't tell them that. They knew anyway. Their silence said it all.
So I stayed silent too. Sometimes silence speaks louder.
Still, when Lucien's breathing steadied, I let myself smile—just a little. It vanished instantly when I saw their faces: Are you seriously smiling right now? I nearly laughed. It was so awkward, so raw.
Mary sighed, like a scolding mother. "You really know how to make our hearts skip beats, don't you? One of these days…"
"What can I do? I'm too handsome."
They all pulled faces at me, disgusted. I smirked. They couldn't deny it. But truth be told—they were the beautiful ones. My children. My reason.
I sent Mary to take Lucien to bed. She obeyed, calling me brother with that childish tone she never lost. I smiled. She had grown, but she was still the same girl I'd once pulled out of despair.
Lucien stirred. I patted his head. "It's okay now." He calmed at my touch. Thank God.
"How long?" Leya asked quietly.
"A week to return to normal. A month until his soul heals fully."