It's strange how quiet the world becomes after a child's cry. That moment is something you never forget.
Eleven months after that night, Anastelle gave birth to twins. It's a rarity among even the most gifted bloodlines and in the House of Argemenes, it's unheard of.
The birth alone was enough to shake the entire noble hierarchy. A sixteen-year-old girl, still technically under the guardianship of her father, had become the youngest Argemenes to ever rule. An Argemenes becomes the House Ruler once they have an heir, or when the previous one relinquishes their rule.
I remember the day vividly. The Vecria Estate was lit with lanterns. The servants whispered about miracles. The Nivarea celebrated as if divinity had descended upon them because in their eyes, it had.
And I stood there, watching the two infants sleep.
My son, Phaser Vecria Argemenes, his tiny hand gripping my finger and my daughter, Xaessiarerich Vecria Argemenes, her eyes already faintly glowing, as though reflecting a light that didn't exist in this world. For the first time in my life, I wanted to live not because duty demanded it but because I wanted to see what they would become.
But fate, I've learned, has no interest in what we want.
It happened when I held Xaessiarerich for the first time. She was so small. I didn't even realize the blood dripping from my lips until I heard Anastelle's voice call for the medics. I had thought I was fine. I had told myself my Fluve Syndrome was manageable. But the moment I touched her, something in my body… broke.
It wasn't just pain. It was as though every vein had turned into glass. My Flux went wild and unstable. I remember collapsing. Someone shouted my name. Someone else was pulling Xaessiarerich from my arms. Then I felt nothing but the taste of iron and the sound of rain.
I was bedridden for months.
The veins in my arms turned faintly blue. My body shook uncontrollably at night, my lungs burning like fire whenever I tried to breathe too deeply. The medics told me I had entered Stage Two of Fluve Syndrome.
They said I was lucky to have survived the attack. Lucky. That word stung worse than the sickness itself.
When I was finally able to sit up again, the first person to visit me was Anastelle. She didn't come in quietly. She never did. Her presence filled the room the way thunder fills the sky before a storm. She wore her ceremonial robes, the sigil of the Vecria burning faintly at her chest. Her coronation was already done.
"How are you feeling?"
I looked up at her. She sounded almost… polite.
"Better. I'll recover soon."
"Good. Because your purpose is done."
Her tone was so casual it took a few seconds for the words to sink in.
"My… purpose?"
"You've given me children. Not just children but anomalies. Do you even realize what you've done, Richer?"
She stepped closer, and for the first time, I saw something like awe flicker in her eyes.
"Normally, when an Argemenes gives birth, the first child inherits one hundred percent of the Concept Flux. The second gets only half. But you gave me two children with one hundred percent Concept Flux."
I blinked, not fully understanding what she meant.
"That's… impossible."
"Exactly. And yet here they are. Phaser and Xaessiarerich are beings no House has ever produced. Your sickness did this. Your corrupted body made them immune to Flux Corrosion."
"Immune…?"
"Yes, but your body is collapsing. Your Fluve Syndrome reached Stage Two because you touched Xaessiarerich. Her Xana frequency is incompatible with yours. If you touch her again, even for seconds, your condition will advance to Stage Three. You'll turn into a Fluvium."
A Fluvium…
"So you're saying I can't hold my daughter?"
She gave a slight tilt of her head. "No. You can't even stand near her for long. Her very existence poisons your body."
Something in me shattered.
I'd promised myself I would raise them. I told myself that I would live long enough to see them grow, to hear their laughter and to teach them what it meant to be alive. But how could I, when I couldn't even touch one of them?
Anastelle must have seen the despair in my eyes, because she sighed softly.
"I told you before, didn't I? You were going to die. I planned to kill you after their birth. It would have been an act of mercy."
"You… what?"
She leaned against the wall, folding her arms.
"Don't misunderstand. This isn't cruelty. It's logic. Your suffering will only grow. I can't have the father of my children dying in agony while they're still infants. It would dishonor my House."
"Then why haven't you done it?"
"Because you're still alive. You can live if you want to, but you'll never touch Xaessiarerich again. You'll never hold Phaser either. You'll watch them from afar, like a ghost chained to the edge of your own story."
"So that's it? You'll let me live just to watch?"
"Yes. You said you wanted to raise them. But can you live knowing you'll never feel their warmth again?"
I hesitated. My chest ached. My hands trembled. Even though she's cold, she is right. Dying is an act of mercy for someone with Fluve Syndrome.
"Yes. I'd rather suffer every day and still see them from afar than die never knowing who they become."
Anastelle was silent for a moment. Then, to my surprise, she smiled faintly.
"You're either brave or foolish, Richer Nivarea. Maybe both. Very well. I'll raise them myself. You'll watch from the sidelines. And if, one day, you grow tired of suffering, you can end it. Touch Xaessiarerich once more and it will be quick. However, tell me when you do. I don't want you to eat my daughter when you become a Fluvium."
The door closed softly behind her. I was alone again. For a long time, I just stared at the ceiling. Somewhere beyond the room, my children cried. I'll never forget that sound. It was the sound of everything I'd lost.
I turned my head toward the window, watching the pale snow fall across the gardens. I wondered if Anastelle ever felt loneliness, or if she was made of something too divine for it. I wondered if my daughter would inherit her mother's strength, or my curse. I wondered if Phaser would grow up knowing the name of the father who wasn't allowed to hold him.
But even then, through the suffering, through the hopelessness, I swore to myself that I would live. If I couldn't hold them, I would at least see them. If I couldn't raise them, I would at least protect them silently, from the shadows of their mother's House.
I was Richer Nivarea, seventh son of a Mid Tier Bloodline, husband to an Argemenes, father of anomalies, and bearer of a curse that ensured my life would be long and unbearable.
But it was mine.
And as cruel as it was, I'd endure it for them.