CHAPTER III: For Willow's Sake

"Do you really have to go?"

Lilith's voice trembled, barely above a whisper.

I turned to face her, my chest tightening at the sight before me.

She stood there in the dim candlelight, her auburn hair, a color same as mine, cascading over her shoulders in soft waves, the same deep shade as our mother's. Her blue eyes, filled with an unspoken plea, shimmered in the faint glow. The usual fire in them—so fierce, so determined—was now reduced to a fragile flicker of fear.

I sighed, fastening the last piece of my armor. The metal was cold against my skin, but it grounded me. "I'm going for Willow," I said, my voice steady.

Lilith's hands clenched into fists, her shoulders shaking. "But I can make another potion! I'll keep trying, Charlotte. Maybe this time it'll work—maybe this time it will heal him!"

Her desperation hung in the air like a suffocating fog.

I wanted to believe her. I needed to believe her.

But I knew the truth.

This sickness was beyond her abilities.

Lilith, my brilliant sister, should have been a wizard. She had the talent, the skill—the potential to wield magic with ease. If our family name hadn't been tarnished, she would have studied at the Grand Wizard Academy by now, an academy for Wizards. Learning from the best, creating potions that could change the course of history. This is where they get Wizards to appoint in Local places of our Kingdom. And this is where they picked the best among bests Wizards to stood alongside the King.

But fate had denied her that right.

And up until now I still contemplate it if were because of what had happened that night.

I took a slow breath, forcing back the memories clawing at my mind. Instead, I reached out, offering my arms. "Come here, Lilith."

She hesitated only for a moment before stepping into my embrace.

I held her tightly, resting my chin atop her head. She may have been twenty now, but in this moment, she felt so much younger—so much smaller. She buried her face into my shoulder, gripping the fabric of my armor as if I would vanish if she let go.

It reminded me of when we were children.

Of when our parents still walked this earth.

Of when we still had a home.

Our father—General Zephyr Carselle—had been a legend in the Yvraendre Kingdom. A warrior of unmatched skill, the right hand of King Maric himself. He had once stood where Sir Edward stands now, leading the kingdom's finest soldiers into battle.

But duty came with sacrifice.

He was called to a battle the same night our mother gave birth to Willow.

And he never returned.

Our mother, Aetheriscia, had been nothing more than a mortal woman in the eyes of the world. But to us, she was everything. She was warmth. She was safety.

And yet, she was hiding something.

Because after she gave birth to Willow, she simply… drifted into sleep and never woke up again.

We had no answers. No explanation. Just loss.

A week later, our father returned.

His body, along with those of his fallen comrades, was brought back to Yvraendre Palace. They had died as heroes, they told us. Honored warriors who had given their lives for the kingdom.

But that wasn't all.

Before our mother lost consciousness forever, she had spoken to someone. A wizard.

She had begged them for a favor.

She had told them to take us—to hide us.

Why?

Did she know our father would never return?

Did she know something we didn't?

That wizard took us far from the palace, far from the reach of the royal family. They cast a spell over the land itself, shielding it from prying eyes. Just like what our Mother did on casting spells, in language only she and the Wizard only understand. Before she gave birth she chanted unfamiliar language, casting spells on us, her children. She holds her belly that time as if the unborn baby was also being casted by a spell.

A spell that would keep the Royal Palace from ever finding us.

I had never understood it.

Even now, I still didn't.

I was back at reality when I heard Lilith's soft cries.

I pulled away from Lilith slightly, cupping her tear-streaked face in my hands. "I know your potential," I murmured. "But this time… it isn't enough. I have to find a wizard. Someone who can cure Willow before it's too late."

She shook her head, tears spilling freely now. "But what if you don't come back?"

My heart twisted painfully.

"I promised you, and I promised Willow—I will return," I said firmly.

Her hands clutched my wrist as though she could keep me here, as though sheer willpower could stop me from leaving. "Don't just promise to come back, Charlotte. Come back to us alive."

I forced a small smile and nodded. "I will. I promise."

But she didn't look convinced.

She turned back toward the bed, where Willow lay motionless beneath the blankets.

I felt my breath hitch.

Willow.

His silver hair, soft and weightless, spilled over the pillows, a striking contrast against his deathly pale skin. His silver eyes—once filled with a quiet wisdom beyond his years—remained closed, his lashes casting delicate shadows.

His lips, once rosy, had faded to a ghostly pale.

His hands…

I reached for one, cradling it between my own.

Ice.

His veins, once blue, were turning black, as though darkness itself was threading through his body, inch by inch.

The sickness was consuming him.

Lilith tucked the blankets more securely around him before crawling into bed beside him. She wrapped herself around him as though she could transfer her warmth into his frozen body.

I leaned down, pressing my lips to his cold forehead. My fingers ghosted over his cheek before I pressed my forehead against his.

"Come back to us, Willow…" I whispered.

I lingered, inhaling the faint scent of him—lavender and something fleeting—before finally pulling away.

"I'll go ahead now," I murmured.

As I turned to leave, Lilith suddenly grabbed my hand.

"Please be alive…" she whispered, her voice breaking.

I smiled. But I didn't answer.

Because if I did, I might break too.

I gently pulled away and walked toward the door.

Before stepping out, I stole one last glance at them.

Lilith lay curled up beside Willow, her fingers entwined with his. She was humming softly—a lullaby our mother used to sing to us.

A lump formed in my throat.

I shut the door behind me.

Outside, beneath the stormy and rainy cloud and the cold glow of the moon, stood a white horse.

A warhorse.

My father's horse.

It had returned home without its master years ago, wandering lost and aimless. But it had found me.

And now, it was mine.

I ran my hand along its strong neck, feeling the steady warmth of its body beneath my fingertips.

This was it.

I had no more time to waste.

With one last deep breath, I climbed into the saddle.

I would find the wizard.

I would save Willow.

And I would come back.

Because I had to.

Because I promised.