Fractures and Forging : Reflections

After unpacking, Micheal suggested a walk in the gardens. The autumn air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of pine and fallen leaves. The golden hues of the season painted the estate in a serene beauty, but Magda's heart felt anything but calm.

She believed she had hidden her emotions well, but Micheal's attentive gaze told a different story.

Micheal glanced at her, his tone teasing yet probing. "Now, who upset the Imperial Princess? I can't have you looking this gloomy. It's bad for morale."

Magda stiffened at his words, her attempt at composure unraveling. The weight of her emotions threatened to overwhelm her as she stopped abruptly, her crimson eyes shimmering with unshed tears.

"Micheal," she began haltingly, her voice trembling. "Something happened to one of my retainers." She looked away, struggling to find the words. "I can't go into details, but it was horrible. I feel powerless, and I can't let this happen again."

Micheal's teasing demeanor vanished instantly, replaced by a steady, calming presence. He stepped closer, his blue eyes meeting hers with quiet determination. "Magda, you don't have to protect everyone alone. Tell me who it is, and I'll find a way to help."

Magda hesitated, torn between preserving Vivian's privacy and her desperate need for support. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides as she shook her head. "I can't… I just can't say."

Micheal nodded, his sharp mind already piecing together the puzzle. The realization struck him with chilling clarity: both of Magda's female retainers were formidable warriors, capable of outmatching most mages and aura-wielding fighters.

Whoever had the ability to hurt one of them could pose an undeniable threat to Magda herself. Unbeknownst to her, Micheal had already resolved to eliminate this uneasy threat.

"Then don't," he said gently, his tone reassuring but underpinned by an unspoken resolve. "Trust that I'll figure it out."

Her composure shattered, tears spilling freely as she leaned into him. Her barriers crumbled, and Micheal wrapped an arm around her, holding her securely. His steady presence anchored her turmoil, offering a quiet reassurance that she wasn't alone.

"I'm here for you, Magda," he murmured softly. "Always."

For the first time in what felt like days, Magda allowed herself to feel the weight of her emotions. In Micheal's embrace, she found a fragile sense of safety, though her mind remained haunted by the horrors of the morning.

The quiet resolve in his words, however, planted a small seed of hope in her heart, even as Micheal's thoughts turned to the silent danger lurking in their midst.

As they returned to the estate, Magda's heart felt lighter. The sight of Micheal and his unwavering support reminded her why she trusted him above almost everyone else. Yet, as her steps slowed, a new thought struck her—if Micheal had found her, then so might her father.

Her trust in Micheal steadied her fears, but the shadows of duty and expectation lingered at the edges of her resolve.

Location: Micheal's room, Valenhart Estate

A man sat on the window ledge, his platinum blonde hair cascading freely, unrestrained and majestic. The silken strands framed his sharp features, catching the fading light of dusk and casting an almost ethereal glow. One leg rested on the window sill, the other dangling just above the floor. His posture appeared relaxed, yet the piercing gaze fixed on the horizon betrayed a quiet intensity.

Micheal von Shelb, in this moment, seemed more like a young sovereign than the indulgent noble most believed him to be.

"Hunter," he called softly, his voice calm yet laced with an unyielding authority.

From the shadows emerged a half-dog beastman, his amber eyes gleaming with primal intelligence. Hunter's powerful frame exuded restrained energy, his movements precise and deliberate.

Each step brought him closer to his master, his sharp claws clicking softly against the stone floor. To Hunter, Micheal was no ordinary man. He was an anchor in a world of chaos, someone whose presence reshaped the air itself.

"Master," Hunter growled, bowing his head slightly.

Micheal's gaze didn't waver from the horizon. "Did Valenhart's defenses trouble you?"

Hunter's lips curled into a toothy grin. "Their guards are diligent but predictable. I slipped through without a sound."

"Good," Micheal replied, his tone unreadable. "Now, I need you to find the one who disrupted Magda's peace. Someone here has caused her pain, and I want to know who."

Hunter's sharp ears twitched as he nodded. "As you wish, Master." With a graceful leap, he disappeared into the shadows, his movements as silent as they were fluid.

The room fell into a stillness broken only by the faint rustle of leaves outside. Micheal's fingers idly traced the edge of the window sill, his thoughts a quiet storm of resolve. The tranquility shattered when Hunter returned, his amber eyes glinting with certainty.

"Master," Hunter began, his tone low but firm. "The affected retainer is Dame Vivian. Her aura bears traces of Lord Ethan's—intertwined, chaotic. It feels... unintentional, as though influenced by intoxication. I also learned from the camp that Lord Ethan did not report for his usual night watch inspection the evening before Lady Flora's wedding. That absence coincides with the disturbance."

Micheal's brows furrowed, his mind swiftly piecing together the implications. A faint, humorless smile tugged at his lips. "My dear brother," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "Indulging a little too freely at the camp, are we?"

Leaning back, Micheal sighed, his expression unreadable save for a flicker of pity. Ethan's reckless behavior didn't anger him—his concern lay only with Magda, whose pain now demanded his attention.

Ethan's amnesia after drinking strong spirits was a family quirk, one they inherited from Harold the Southwestern Wall, whose infamous escapades had necessitated the Shelb family's preference for tea over liquor.

Micheal's thoughts drifted briefly to the night of Magda's debut. Ethan had danced with Flora, earning the title of her suitor, but later Micheal had found him drunk by the palace fountain, railing against how his hard-earned military medal had been sacrificed for the sake of securing a mere dance at their father's behest.

"I saved her, Micheal," Ethan had slurred, his voice raw. "Pulled her from the brink, and she doesn't even see me." His confession of love for Vivian had startled Micheal, but the next morning, a sober Ethan had forgotten entirely.

Micheal sighed again, pity mingling with resignation.

He had once been just as blind, tethered by their father's expectations, until Magda had given him clarity. Now, his world revolved around her, his family and her allies, and the rest—even his friends—felt distant, like fleeting characters in a tale he no longer wished to read.

Micheal's brows furrowed as a stray memory surfaced, piecing itself into the storm of implications swirling in his mind.

Suddenly, his thoughts turned to the repository of dreams, to the novel The Fake Rose Better Than the Real. Within its pages, he recalled a pivotal scene after Shelb's destruction.

A year later, Flora had presented a golden-haired, blue-eyed boy, claiming him to be Ethan's son. At the time, Micheal had dismissed this claim in the novel as one of Flora's cunning ploys—a calculated move to secure the Shelb legacy under her control.

Doubt crept into his heart like a shadow. Could the child have truly been the product of Ethan's drunken claim on Vivian?

Micheal summoned her character as described in the novel—a paragon of loyalty and bravery. Her death, called honorable by the narrative, was far from it. She died shielding the empire from the machinations of House Shelb's treachery. Bitterly, Micheal smiled. The truth seemed far darker. She might have been killed by their father, unwilling to tolerate an illegitimate grandson born of a woman from a royalist family.

Vivian, strong and perceptive, must have known the danger, prepared to shield her child in ways Magda never could. Yet the tragedy remained—at least Ethan's child survived in the novel.

Micheal's own wife and children had no such fortune; they were swallowed by the cruel games of power and buried before they could even live.

The timeline unraveled before him like threads woven into despair. Ethan's heroic death, saving Fredrick for Flora's sake, loomed only weeks away.

Four months later, Magda would succumb to what was called a plague. Their mother, fragile in spirit, would perish days after, broken under the weight of compounded grief. Micheal wondered—had grief killed her, or the knowledge of her husband's unspeakable acts? The deliberate extinguishing of two unborn grandchildren for political gain?

The House of Shelb, already fractured, would spiral into ruin. Lady Halvora's accusations of treason would land Adrian in the gallows, his broken body paraded as a symbol of disgrace.

And himself? A shattered relic, stripped of dignity, would find himself standing between Fredrick and his father, only to fall—whether by his frailty or a reluctant will to save the man who had stolen everything.

In the end, his father would face his final reckoning, meeting death at Fredrick's blade with defiance still in his eyes.

But one thing Micheal was certain of was that Vivian held a significance he couldn't quite grasp, which is why he couldn't view her story as merely that of a supporting character. 

So far he had diffused multiple death-flags from the original novel, such as preventing the workshop accident, changing his father's political stance, introducing a new partner for Ethan and so on. But all of it didn't seem enough.

Micheal's fingers dug into the windowsill as the weight of it all pressed against his chest. The twisted fate the novel foretold loomed ever closer, but Micheal's focus remained unwavering. He did not linger on Ethan's rashness or Flora's schemes.

His thoughts were tethered to Magda. The shattered peace of the one person he cherished above all demanded his attention, and he would not let it be ignored.

"If Ethan is unaware, there's no point in telling him," Micheal murmured, his voice low but resolute. "But his actions—intentional or not—caused Magda pain. I'll handle it myself."

Hunter inclined his head, his amber eyes gleaming with quiet understanding. To him, Micheal's resolve was unshakable, a force beyond human reach. The room darkened as night fell, but Micheal's determination burned brighter than ever.