03

The atmosphere inside the Mon'draigg manor was colder than the night breeze that swept through its dimly lit halls. What should have been a room filled with the warmth of family now felt hauntingly empty, the silence pressing in on them like an invisible weight. Cynthia's amber-colored eyes narrowed as she watched the man across from her. Alcor sat with a book in hand, his posture rigid, as if by ignoring the tension in the air, he could will it away.

"Alcor," she called out to her husband, her voice soft yet tinged with an edge as she absently twisted a strand of her apple-green hair around her finger. "Earlier this mornin'—"

"I'm already aware of the supply shortage, dear," Alcor interrupted, his voice cool and distant, his eyes refusing to meet hers. "I'll fix it as soon as I'm able." His tone was dismissive, almost mechanical, and it made Cynthia's heart clench with frustration. She clicked her tongue softly, catching herself just before her irritation could spill over. She forced a sweeter smile, though the warmth behind it was hollow.

"I won't rush you on that, my love, but that wasn't what I was referring to." She leaned forward slightly, her voice dropping to a gentler, more concerned tone. "It's about the kid, Alcor. What you sai—"

"The kid's been helping you out in the kitchen, hasn't he? Is he enjoying himself?" Alcor cut her off again, his words sharp and quick, like a blade severing the topic before it could fully form. He turned a page in his book, feigning interest in the text to avoid the conversation.

Cynthia's eye twitched, her patience wearing thin as she drew in a slow, steadying breath. The room felt even more suffocating now, the silence between his interruptions amplifying the unspoken words that hung heavy in the air. She shifted in her seat, her fingers unclenching from the strand of hair as she steeled herself to confront her stubborn husband.

"He has, I'm very happy he was brought here. Every time he finishes cooking a dish, he has the brightest smile, one he doesn't even realize he's making." Her voice softened with the memory, momentarily calming her rising frustration.

Alcor's brow furrowed slightly. "I see. That's… good, more than good," he muttered, his voice betraying a flicker of emotion as he began to flip through the pages of his book with more agitation. Cynthia watched him, a faint smile tugging at her lips despite the tension.

"That's why, Alcor, what you did earli—"

"We should find a talented chef to teach hi—"

"Enough!" Cynthia snapped, the sweetness in her voice vanishing as her tone cut through the silence. "You will not cut me off again, Alcor Mon'draigg. Do you hear me?" Her voice echoed through the empty manor, startling Alcor, who froze in his seat, his eyes widening in surprise as she stood up and marched toward him.

"Cynthia… dear," he stammered, his voice quivering as he felt the pressure of her gaze bearing down on him.

"Don't you 'dear me,' Alcor!" Cynthia growled, looming over him as he remained seated. "Your attitude earlier was uncalled for! That young boy gathered all his courage to ask you something, and not only did you reject him, but you tried to snuff out his dreams!"

"All I did was be honest, Cynthia," Alcor huffed, averting his gaze to the floor. "He's better off focusing on other things in life. He likes cooking, right? Then let him cook."

"That's not the point, Alcor! We can't choose for him. If he wants to try fighting, then let him!" she argued, her voice softening but still firm.

"Cynthia, that is a child! I will not train a child," Alcor retorted, his voice rising slightly.

"Oh, please! You and the others were training at a younger age than he is. Don't you dare use that as an excuse."

"Just because the last clan head didn't doesn't mean I will!" Alcor snapped back, his own temper flaring as he stood up to face her.

"It's far too late for that, don't you think?" Cynthia shot back, her eyes narrowing as they locked onto Alcor's, the intensity between them thickening the air.

"Drop it, Cynthia. I am not going to train that kid."

"Then tell me why!"

"BECAUSE I DON'T WANT HIM TO BECOME A TOOL!" Alcor roared, shoving his chair back as he shot to his feet.

"Don't you get it? Training him means he'll be used by the Soru'draiggs—the very people who abandoned him! If not them, then some other family like the Rosefince, for example." His chest heaved as he ran a hand through his disheveled chestnut-brown hair, the tension in the room now almost unbearable.

"What are you saying?" Cynthia asked, her voice trembling with confusion. "They already abandoned the boy, didn't they?"

"As if. They just sent him here to see if he can become a tool they can use. Haven't you figured it out? The Soru'draiggs don't throw anyone away; they'll come back for him, and I—"

"That is enough, Alcor," a voice echoed from the doorway, commanding and firm. Both Alcor and Cynthia turned to see an old woman standing there, her silver eyes sharp despite the signs of age on her face. She exuded a presence that made Alcor gulp, the weight of her authority stifling any response he might have had.

"Grandma…" Alcor whispered, his defiance melting away.

"The children are sleeping," the clan head said softly, her gaze shifting down to the young boy clinging to her leg. "And this little one was awoken by your voices. The poor boy thought you were fighting because of him."

"Oh, we aren't fighting because of you, sweetie," Cynthia cooed, rushing to the boy's side and wrapping her arms around him, her hand resting gently on his indigo-colored hair. "Let's go to sleep, okay? How about you sleep with me and Alcor tonight?"

The boy's tear-stained dark-violet eyes lingered on Alcor, who bit his lip and looked away. "Yeah… go on ahead. I'll catch up," he whispered, urging Cynthia to take the boy away.

The echoes of their footsteps faded, leaving the room steeped in silence. Alcor stood motionless, unable to meet the clan head's gaze as she let out a heavy sigh.

"Compose yourself. Your words tonight were not befitting of the heir of the Mon'draiggs."

"I… apologize."

"Good. In light of your past, I'll turn a blind eye this time," the old woman muttered, turning to leave. "And ease your worries. That child is far more gifted than you were at his age." With those parting words, she left, closing the door behind her and plunging the room into darkness.

Alcor slumped back into his chair, the weight of her words pressing down on him.

"That's… what I'm afraid of," he whispered to the empty room, his voice barely audible in the suffocating silence.