Written by: Loki<3
"She WHAT?!"
The bellow echoed through the halls of the Althas estate, shaking dust loose from the high ceilings and sending servants ducking behind curtains. A thunderous voice rang through every corner of the mansion.
In the heart of the grand study room stood Duke Everen Vox Althas, father of Saintess Seraphina.... A tall, sharp-eyed man, with his black hair was tousled from stress, and his crimson eyes blazed like torches and currently one second away from setting the next poor soul on fire.
The trembling messenger didn't dare raise his head.
"S-sire, the rumors—"
"I heard the rumors!" the Duke snapped. "My daughter arrived at Alvareth with a child who looks exactly like her, and everyone from the nobles to the street rats are now debating if I've been hiding a bastard son or if Seraphina—saints forgive me—had a secret affair?!"
The man nearly fainted on the spot.
Duke Everen turned away, muttering curses that would make a priest faint.
"That little troublemaker, she should mature now....." he sighed, pacing back and forth. "You nearly set the attic on fire at five trying to enchant a rag doll to walk. You turned the royal pond into ice just to skate on it. You got into sword duels with knights twice your size before your training even began."
Thinking back to the countless troubles his daughter caused as a child, Duke Everen could almost laugh at the memory of how his once dark, lustrous hair had begun to pale from the stress of raising her. The endless worries of grooming her as the next candidate for sainthood had weighed heavily upon him. Who would have imagined that the mischievous, headstrong child he once scolded would one day be revered as the greatest Saintess in all of history? He then suddenly paused.
"Is she trying to send me to an early grave, just to join her mother?" Duke Everen muttered like a madman, pacing back and forth once again.
And yet…
"Not once," he said quietly, "not once did you ever bring shame to our name."
He remembered that day clearly — Seraphina at eight, standing at the gates of the Holy Empire's training academy, with a brilliant in her eyes, too proud to cry but still gripping his sleeve for one last hug and good bye to his only family; his father.
"Don't worry, Father," she had told him wiping the tears dripping on her beautiful face and as if an old woman suddenly took over her body she spoke with much righteousness and determination. "I'll be the best Saintess known to history. They'll write my name in books and tell the future generations of my miracle. I'll make you and mom proud."
That was the last thing I remembered of her as a child, yet now all I hear are stories of the new Saintess—of her kindness toward everyone, and of her miraculous deeds that spread like wildfire. They say she ended a famine that plagued the land for a decade, and because of her, the dukedom of Althas has risen higher than ever. Nobles whisper in envy, looking at their own children with pity for being born in the same era as her. But what are their children's talents compared to my Seraphina? Blessed by nearly all the gods, bearing multiple enigmas, she has surpassed every saint and saintess before her. And to think… that child is my daughter. He never doubted her.
Which is why now—this—the idea that she'd cause a scandal so casually… he couldn't comprehend it.
"Why wouldn't she tell me if she adopted a child?" he muttered, dragging a hand through his hair. "Unless…"
He froze mid-step.
"No. No, Seraphina wouldn't hide a child unless there was a reason—a prophecy? Or a threat? Or—Saints above—did someone curse her?!"
His pacing grew faster. His mind was spiraling.
That was, until—
A knock. Then a calm voice from the door:
"Your Grace," said Bartholomew, the head butler loyal to the Althas household who had raised his voice only three times in his entire life, "Lady Seraphina's carriage has just turned onto the estate road."
The pacing stopped. Silence.
Then—
"What?! She's coming HERE?! NOW?!"
Everen grabbed his coat and stormed toward the front door like a man possessed.
"Bartholomew!"
"Yes, Your Grace?"
"Find out who that child is. And get me wine. No—brandy. The good one. And ready the dining hall. If she did adopt a child without telling me, I swear by the gods, I'll— I'll hug her first. Then scold her. Then maybe hug her again— THEN scold her properly!"
"Yes, Your Grace," Bartholomew said, immune to how doting of a father Duke Everen is and already vanishing with practiced speed.
As the hooves of the holy carriage approached, Duke Everen Althas stood at the entrance of his estate, hands behind his back, heart thundering in his chest.
Looking at the carriage carrying his daughter as it approached the entrance of their household, Duke Everen forced himself to remain calm, masking his true feelings behind the cold and unbothered demeanor he had always shown.