The journey back to the castle Hart was silent.
Rush sat across from his father, the events of the night still playing on a loop behind his eyes. Lord Ryanheart didn't say a single word. He didn't need to. He sat with his arms crossed, observing Rush not like a father, but like a master assessing his student.
The caravan arrived at the castle gates, the iron hinges groaning as they opened. News of the incident during the hunt was already passed to the Lady; the courtyard was already waiting.
Lady Elsa Ryanheart stood at the top of the great stone stairs leading to the keep. She wore a dress of winter-red silk, her silver hair pinned in perfect knots, but her composure was a lie. Her fingers were curled white-knuckled into the edge of her cloak.
Below her, in the courtyard, stood Liz. She wasn't poised. She was shifting from foot to foot on the frozen cobblestones, her eyes scanning every wagon, desperate for a sign of life.
The moment Rush pulled aside the canvas flap and climbed down, Liz spotted him.
"Brother!"
Her boots slipped on the frost as she ran. Rush barely had time to straighten before she collided with him, her arms thrown around his ribs in a fierce, breath-stealing grip.
Rush winced as the hug squeezed his bruised torso, but he didn't push her away. He dropped his hand onto her head, messing up her pristine silver hair.
He froze—then slowly returned the gesture, careful not to squeeze too hard.
"I'm fine, Liz," he said softly. "I promised, didn't I?"
"You're hurt," Liz insisted, her voice muffled in his shoulder. She pulled back, looking at his bandages with wide, terrified eyes. "You never come back hurt. You're always the fastest in the training yard. You promised you wouldn't get hit."
Rush almost smiled. That is true. In the sparring ring, I was untouchable. But the world outside is not a sparring ring.
"I was a little slow today, Liz."
Lady Elsa descended the stone steps. She didn't walk with her usual slow, noble grace; her steps were hurried, almost stumbling in her haste to reach him.
She stopped in front of him. Her blue eyes scanned him—checking for missing limbs, for curses, for death. When she saw he was whole, her face crumbled.
She pulled him into an embrace, smelling of lavender and old books. It wasn't the polite hug of a noblewoman; she held him like she was afraid he would vanish if she let go.
"My boy," she whispered into his ear, her voice trembling.
Rush closed his eyes, leaning into the warmth.
Lord Ryanheart stood by the carriage, watching them. He didn't join the hug—he was the Lord of the domain, after all—but the hard line of his mouth had softened. He rested a heavy hand on Rush's shoulder.
"Inside," he commanded softly.
Physicians hurried forward with stretchers toward the second wagon.
As they lifted the apprentice, the boy woke up.
"No!" the apprentice screamed, thrashing against the straps. His eyes were wide, seeing things that weren't there. "The cold! Don't let the cold in! It's eating the mana!"
"Hold him down!" a physician shouted.
Lord Ryanheart didn't look at the screaming boy. He looked at Rush. The calculation in his gaze sharpened.
"To the inner infirmary," Lady Elsa ordered the staff. "I want mana healers called immediately."
The Lord said nothing. He merely watched his son—quiet, calculating, and far too perceptive for Rush's comfort.
The castle swallowed the noise of the courtyard behind them.
For the first time since the cave, Rush allowed himself to breathe.
Home.
Though for the first time, the great stone halls felt smaller. And colder.
In the inner infirmary, the screams of the apprentice had faded to a muffled sobbing from the next room, a constant reminder of how close death had been.
The castle physician, Krasin, prepared a diagnostic mana crystal.
"Touch it, young master," Krasin instructed.
Rush touched the clear stone. At first, it didn't react. Then, suddenly, the crystal flickered violently. It turned a muddy, violent red before it burst in the physician's hand.
Krasin pulled his hand back, shaking off the dust, his eyes widening.
"What is it?" Lady Elsa demanded, stepping forward. "Is he hurt?"
"His Core, My Lady," Krasin whispered, looking at Rush with pity. "It is… fractured. The mana isn't flowing; it's vibrating. It's highly unstable."
Rush looked down at his hands. He knew this, but hearing it out loud made it more real.
"Will he recover?" Elsa asked, her voice sharp with fear.
"There is no known cure," the doctor hedged. "If he rests, perhaps. But if he tries to push his magic… if he tries to cultivate too aggressively… the Core might shatter completely."
A shattered core meant the end of mana. The end of magic.
Rush looked at his mother. He saw the devastation in her eyes. She wasn't disappointed in his power loss; she was heartbroken for him.
"It's okay, Mom," Rush said, putting on a brave smile. "I'll be alright."
Elsa took a deep breath, forcing the trembling in her hands to stop. She walked over and kissed his forehead.
"Yes. We will fix this, Rush. Even if I have to buy every elixir in the capital."
Late that night, Lord Ryanheart stood by the fireplace, staring into the flames. The warmth of the fire did little to chase away the chill of the day's events.
Elsa sat in the leather armchair, looking exhausted.
"He lied to you," Elsa said softly.
"Yes," Erwin admitted.
"He cannot use Khaos Arts. He cannot use Forbidden Spells. He is thirteen." Elsa looked at her husband, her eyes searching his face. "He is hiding something, Erwin."
Erwin turned. He didn't look angry. He looked thoughtful.
"He faced a B-Rank Lycan and survived," the Lord said quietly. "He protected the apprentice. He protected the family name. And when I asked him how… he looked me in the eye and lied."
He took a sip of his wine, but there was no malice in his gaze.
"Most fathers in our position would beat the truth out of their sons," Erwin said. "They would demand to know the source of that power."
"And you won't?"
"No." Erwin shook his head. "Trust is not demanded, Elsa. It is earned. He lied to protect himself, or perhaps to protect us. If I force him to speak, I break that trust."
He looked back at the fire, his voice lowering.
"I was worried, you know. I watched him in the training yards for five years. He was skilled, yes. But his heart… it was never in the killing. I feared he was too soft for this world."
"And now?"
"Now I see that he has a strength I didn't give him." Erwin swirled the wine in his glass. "I would never want him to become a mirror of me, Elsa. I will never force him down the path of shadows and blood. I want him to have a choice."
He looked up at his wife.
"If this secret of his leads him down a different path—one that he chooses for himself—then I will not stand in his way. I will wait. When he is ready to tell me the truth, I will be here to listen."
Elsa softened. "You are a patient man, Erwin."
"I am a father," he corrected gently. "I can afford to be patient."
Rush lay in bed, staring at the canopy.
He tried to cycle a tiny bit of mana to soothe his aching chest, but the pain made him wince.
Broken, he thought bitterly.
The door creaked open.
Liz peeked in, holding a tray with steaming soup and bread.
"Mom said you didn't eat."
She tiptoed in, as if loud noises would break him. She placed the tray on his nightstand and sat on the edge of the bed.
"Brother?"
"Yes, Liz?"
"Are you… are you going to be alright?"
Rush looked at her. In the candlelight, she looked terrified. She had seen him spar a thousand times, seen him dodge training blades with ease. Seeing him broken like this terrified her more than any monster.
"Yes, of course, Liz. I promise," Rush said gently.
Liz looked at him, searching his face. Then she smiled—a bright, trusting thing.
She hugged him again, careful of his chest, and ran out of the room.
Rush watched the door close. The warmth in his chest wasn't mana. It was something better.
"Admirable," Beelzebub whispered. "But remember, Boy… love is a heavy shield to carry."
Silence settled over the castle, but not everyone slept.