Chapter:22-Liana

Edwin shifted uneasily as he walked down the pristine marble hallway. The air was cool, thick with the scent of polished wood and ink. Bartholomew, a stocky man with graying hair and a tired gaze, led him through the winding corridors of the merchant's estate.

Sir Donovan had dismissed him after their conversation, but not before mentioning that a certain merchant wanted to meet him. Edwin hadn't expected the man's desperation. The moment he entered the estate, Bartholomew had nearly dragged him along, his words tangled with urgency.

"She... she hasn't spoken to anyone. Not properly. Not since..." Bartholomew's voice cracked, his rough demeanor cracking like brittle glass. "Please. Just try to talk to her. She asked for you."

"Why me?" Edwin asked, brow furrowed.

"I don't know. But the moment she heard your name... there was a glimmer of something. I don't know what else to do.Please," the man fell on the ground.

"Please talk to my daughter,even... if you can't help her...I want to hear her voice again...!" the man begged Edwin while sobbing.

The love of a father was truly a miracle.

Edwin wished fo

Edwin nodded slowly. What could he even say to someone like her? To a child who had lived through that nightmare?

They reached a large door, guarded by two men whose eyes looked deadened by sleepless nights and constant worry. Bartholomew swallowed hard, his thick fingers trembling as he knocked gently.

"Liana?" he called, his voice barely above a whisper. "Someone's here to see you."

No response.

Bartholomew turned to Edwin, his face twisted with helplessness. "Please... just try."

Edwin pushed the door open and stepped inside. The air was stale, thick with the sharp, metallic scent of dried paint. Darkness clung to the room like a heavy shroud, the curtains drawn so tightly not a single ray of sunlight slipped through.

His eyes adjusted slowly, making out the frail outline of a girl hunched over a small chair. Her fingers clutched a paintbrush, its bristles dripping with paint that splattered onto the floorboards in uneven droplets.

The girl spoke, her voice thin and mechanical. "You're... the one who found us."

"Yeah. Edwin," he replied, his own voice feeling too loud, too alive for the oppressive silence of the room.

Liana's eyes never left the painting she was working on. But her strokes were slow, jagged. Aimless.

"They said you killed them all." Her voice trembled, the slightest hint of bitterness in it.

"No,I only killed like 10 and the big one too. Busted me up pretty bad,haha..." Edwin tried to joke but realized he misread the situation.

"They called him Gruak..." Her voice cracked slightly. "He was... cruel."

The words felt hollow. As if the act of speaking itself was a foreign, painful thing.

Edwin moved slowly, his boots barely making a sound against the creaky wooden floor. "Can I open the window?"

"No." Her reply was sharp, defensive. "The light... it hurts."

She was just a child, Edwin realized. No older than twelve. Thin. Almost skeletal. Her hair hung like dirty straw around her shoulders, tangled and unwashed. Her dress was a gaudy thing, all lace and expensive fabrics meant to display wealth. But it only seemed to highlight the ugly bruises marring her pale skin.

"What are you painting?" he asked, his voice gentler now.

"A bad place ."

He squinted through the darkness, trying to make sense of the chaotic mess of colors and shapes smeared across the canvas. It looked like a forest. A bright, beautiful forest torn apart by wild slashes of black and red.

"I... I can't remember what it looked like," she admitted, her voice a trembling whisper. "The goblins... they took it away. It's all... wrong now."

"What happened to you..." Edwin began, unsure of what he was even trying to say. "It wasn't your fault."

Her brush paused mid-stroke. And for a moment, there was only the sound of their breathing.

"No... It was mine." Liana's voice quivered, her shoulders beginning to shake. "I was supposed to be the Child of the Goddess. They all told me that. They said I was special. Blessed. And when the goblins came... everyone tried to protect me. They all... died. Because of me."

Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes, but she stubbornly blinked them away.

"Some of the guards ran away. And the ones who stayed... they were torn apart. And then... they brought us to that cave." Her voice grew colder, jagged like broken glass. "Gruak liked to keep me close. He said it was because I was 'pretty.'"

Edwin's jaw tightened. He'd seen what remained of that cave. The blood. The bones. The madness.

"They hurt you," he said, his tone firm. "They hurt everyone."

"They... broke me." Her voice was so small, the words crumbling as they left her lips. "They made us watch... the others rot. The smell... it wouldn't go away."

Her trembling hands lost their grip on the brush, letting it fall to the ground with a faint thud. "Some of them even started eating the bodies. I-I wanted to die, but they wouldn't let me. They said... they said I was the goddess's child. That I had to survive."

Edwin felt his stomach twist. This wasn't something a child should have gone through. It wasn't something anyone should have gone through.

Liana's sobs were quiet at first, broken little gasps of air like she'd forgotten how to breathe. Her frail body curled in on itself, her fingers digging into her arms hard enough to leave marks.

Without thinking, Edwin crossed the room and knelt beside her. His arms wrapped around her trembling shoulders. She flinched at first, the sudden contact shocking her into silence. But then she broke.

She buried her face against his chest and wailed. The sound was raw, agonizing. A child's soul ripped apart and laid bare. Her tears soaked into his cloak as she clung to him, her small hands clutching his shirt with desperate strength.

And Edwin held her. He didn't say anything. Didn't try to offer false comfort or empty words. He just let her cry. Let her release all the pain, the anger, the grief.

When her sobs finally quieted to weak little whimpers, Edwin spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. "You survived, Liana. That doesn't make you broken. That makes you strong."

She didn't respond. But the way her grip on his shirt tightened told him she had heard.

And for now, that was enough.