I'm Sorry

Lira Thalor stood before what could only be described as a mansion, at least by the standards of this era.

The grand structure loomed before her, exuding a beastly majesty far surpassing any other building within the Thalor Clan's domain.

Its intricate carvings of fangs, claws, and winged forms were not mere decorations but a testament to the clan's ruthless legacy.

This was the seat of the Thalor Clan's main family.

Lira's gaze lingered briefly on the towering gates, reinforced with beast bone and iron, before settling back into calm indifference.

She was no stranger to this place.

Its cold grandeur was all too familiar.

Because of him.

Her husband.

A faint chill crept down her spine, but she pushed the thought aside.

Moments later, two towering guards in tight, dark robes approached.

They were different from the guards at the entrance of the Thalor clan.

Muscles strained beneath the fabric as they moved with practiced precision, their hands resting casually on the hilts of their weapons.

Without a word, they gestured for her to follow.

Lira complied, her footsteps steady.

Passing through the massive gates, she felt it, the subtle shift in the air.

The very ground here seemed heavier, as though the weight of countless years of dominance pressed down upon everything.

Compared to the branch family quarters, this place was a different world altogether.

Yet Lira remained composed.

She was used to it.

The patriarch's court was a vast hall adorned with banners woven from beast fur, and the skulls of fallen titans hung like grim trophies.

At its center stood a raised platform with six seats arranged in a crescent.

Only five were occupied.

The sixth seat, covered in a thick layer of dust, stood as a silent reminder of absence, intentional or otherwise.

Seated in judgment were the clan elders.

To her left sat Elder Varos, the Wolf, with cold eyes that glimmered with restrained fury.

Beside him lounged another elder, his skin faintly marked with dark stripes, a sign of his beastly lineage.

To her right, a hulking man with a broad frame sat unnervingly still, exuding quiet menace.

Next to him, a leaner, younger elder leaned forward, eyes sharp with curiosity.

The last elder sat apart from the rest, his posture lazy, hair wild and unkempt, as if he couldn't care less about the proceedings.

A thin, invisible pressure brushed against Lira's skin, a Qi probe.

She didn't react.

Let them measure her strength.

She wouldn't break.

A low, commanding voice echoed through the hall, though its source remained unseen.

"Lira Thalor, daughter of the late Silver Thalor line. Wife of..." The patriarch's voice trailed off, the implication heavy.

"You know why you're here."

"I do," Lira replied evenly.

"Out of respect for your former standing, we grant you this hearing. Some urged harsher action, but we chose otherwise. Do you have anything to say in your defense?"

Lira's eyes hardened.

"Respect is earned and returned in kind."

A tense silence followed.

Elder Varos's lips curled into a cold sneer.

"No, girl. Respect is not mutual. Power demands it. You lost power and with it, respect."

Another elder chuckled darkly.

"Your fall from grace is proof enough. The main clan does not coddle the weak."

"What you did was a public insult to an elder of this clan," another elder added.

"Your punishment is inevitable."

"You cannot protect without strength. That is the way of the beast clans." The hulking elder shook his head, as if disappointed.

Then, unexpectedly, the lazy elder spoke.

"I admired your husband."

The hall froze.

All eyes snapped toward him.

Not because he broke decorum, but because of what his words implied.

Lira's expression remained still, but a flicker of something crossed her gaze.

Admired?

The silence stretched.

No one dared ask what exactly he admired.

The elder, unconcerned, leaned back and closed his eyes, offering no further explanation.

The tension thickened.

Yet Lira spoke only once.

"I accept any punishment the patriarch deems fit."

A pause.

Then, the patriarch's voice rang out once more, colder this time.

"Public punishment."

The words dropped like a hammer.

The patriarch's presence faded, his voice having come from behind the veiled screen.

Without another word, the elders relaxed in their seats.

The guards stepped forward.

Cold iron cuffs clamped around Lira's wrists.

As they began to lead her away, Elder Varos rose and approached.

His shadow loomed over her, eyes burning with disdain.

"He was like a brother to me," Varos murmured, voice laced with venom.

"I do this so your son doesn't follow in his father's footsteps."

Lira met his gaze, unblinking.

"Who are you trying to deceive, Varos?"

The elder's expression darkened.

"Raen is not his father. Your attempts to suppress him failed without interference. You can't accept defeat, but I can. You'll be nothing more than a stepping stone."

The words struck like a whip.

Varos's hand shot forward, striking her across the face.

Blood bloomed at the corner of her mouth, but she didn't flinch.

Silence.

Varos's breath trembled, realizing his loss of control.

But instead of apologizing, he turned sharply.

"The investigation into Raen continues. Take her away."

The guards dragged Lira toward the exit.

Varos stormed from the hall, his footsteps heavy with barely restrained fury.

But Lira remained silent.

And though blood stained her lips, her eyes burned brighter than ever.

"The men should never throw words with the ladies. Our strength lies in power," the lean elder remarked lazily, sinking deeper into his seat.

His tone was indifferent, as if the entire confrontation were a trivial matter beneath him.

The other elders paid no mind to the exchange.

With the patriarch gone, they dispersed without a second glance.

Lira was dragged away in cold silence.

Later that afternoon, the trial grounds were no longer a place of ceremony but of punishment.

The same platform where Lira had defied Elder Varos now awaited her judgment.

The arena was a strange place.

Sometimes a battlefield, other times a festival ground.

Today, it was neither and both at the same time.

But now, It was something far crueler.

A stage for suffering.

Lira knelt on the cold stone, her arms stretched high by chains hooked to iron poles.

Shackles bit into her wrists, drawing thin lines of blood.

The weight of the metal was nothing compared to the eyes watching.

Elder Varos stood tall on the platform, his hands behind his back.

He would not dirty his hands today.

That task belonged to the executioner.

No announcements were made.

None were needed.

Everyone present knew the rules.

If someone knelt bound upon the platform, punishment was coming.

Justice in the Thalor Clan was swift and merciless.

Among the scattered onlookers, Silas and his younger brother watched in silence from the shadows, hidden among nobles in disguise.

Raen and Selene were nowhere to be seen.

Raen knew this was a punishment he couldn't stop.

If he appeared, it would only worsen things.

The executioner approached, holding a cruel whip forged with embedded bone spikes.

Its edges shimmered faintly, a venomous glint.

This was no ordinary weapon.

The whip was laced with a toxin designed not to kill but to amplify pain and slow healing.

Beasts were known for their regenerative abilities, but this weapon made even that gift useless.

The whip cracked.

The first strike tore into Lira's back.

Then the second.

And the third.

The sound of flesh breaking echoed across the silent arena.

Yet not a sound escaped Lira's lips.

Not a scream.

Not a groan.

Only the dull thud of each lash and the slow, steady drip of blood pooling beneath her.

Ten lashes.

Twenty...

Thirty...

Her breath was ragged, but her back remained straight.

Forty...

Fifty...

The crowd shifted uneasily, some turning away.

Sixty...

Seventy...

The whip bit deeper, peeling flesh from bone.

Eighty...

Ninety...

Still, she did not fall.

One final lash.

A hundred.

And it was done.

Elder Varos stepped forward, his voice cutting through the heavy air.

"Respect is reciprocal," he said coldly, surveying the silent crowd.

"And so is disrespect. I only returned what was given."

No one spoke.

No one dared.

The crowd slowly dispersed, leaving nothing but the fading echo of Varos's words.

Lira remained kneeling, her chains gone but her back torn and bleeding.

She did not move.

No soul lingered in the arena.

Only her.

Alone.

Before she could react, someone quietly approached from behind and gently draped a warm cloth over her back.

Lira slowly opened her eyes, instantly recognizing the presence of her son without needing to look.

Yet, she lacked the strength to move.

To Raen, not offering this small comfort would make him feel unworthy as her son.

He couldn't heal her wounds or take away her pain, but he could do what little he could provide comfort.

Though the cloth covered her injuries, it quickly became soaked.

Thankfully, he had brought more.

Carefully, he wrapped layer after layer over her, each one tighter than the last, and in a quiet, broken voice, he whispered,

"I'm sorry."