[5] Dissapearance

The Duchy of Asheville had always been an imposing place. A towering estate of white marble and silver-adorned halls, it stood as a testament to the power of the Asheville bloodline. A family of white dragon contractors, a lineage so strong that it left its mark in their very appearance.

Silver hair.

It was the mark of an Asheville heir. The birthright of the eldest child in every generation.

Yet, at this moment, within the grand halls of the duchy, a problem was brewing.

---

William Asheville, the eldest son, paced through the halls with a frown on his face.

Their father, Grand Duke Damien Asheville, had been absent for over a week. The official statement?

"The Duke is handling important matters."

William had always been a patient man, but this was too vague.

"What kind of 'matters' exactly?" he asked the butler.

The butler, an aging man who had served the duchy for decades, bowed respectfully but remained firm.

"My apologies, young master, but the Duke has not disclosed the details."

A pause.

Then, the butler added carefully, "He will return when he deems it necessary."

William's frown deepened.

That wasn't a real answer.

His father never disappeared without informing them of his whereabouts. And yet, here he was—vanished without a single word.

Something wasn't right.

Without another word, William turned and walked away. If the butler wouldn't speak, then fine. He'd figure it out himself.

---

As he walked through the estate, he ran into his younger sister, Emilia Asheville.

Unlike William, Emilia had blonde hair—a rarity in their family. But even so, as the eldest daughter, she held authority in her own right.

She narrowed her eyes as soon as she saw William's expression.

"You too?" she asked.

William nodded.

"The butler refused to answer. What about you?"

Emilia sighed. "Same."

Her arms were crossed, her expression displeased. "Father is clearly hiding something."

She wasn't the only one who thought so. Behind her stood a pair of children—her own twins, a boy and a girl, both of whom had silver hair like William.

That was the rule of the Asheville bloodline.

The firstborn always inherited silver hair—or their father's hair color, if strong enough to resist the dragon's blessing.

William's daughter had silver hair.

Emilia's twins had silver hair.

So why didn't Julianna's daughter?

William and Emilia exchanged glances.

They weren't the only ones suspicious.

---

Julianna Asheville-Hansford arrived at the estate later that day.

She didn't come alone.

By her side stood Fiona Hansford, a golden-haired girl, clinging to her mother's arm like an obedient doll.

Julianna walked with careful grace, her expression unreadable.

She had been rejected entry to their father's study.

Twice.

Even she, his eldest daughter, was turned away.

She knew what that meant.

Father was searching for her firstborn child.

Violet.

Julianna tightened her grip on Fiona's hand.

She had abandoned Violet. Long ago. She had no regrets about that choice, but… her siblings weren't stupid.

They were already whispering, already piecing things together.

And as she made her way through the halls, she saw them waiting for her.

William. Emilia. And the rest of their silver-haired siblings.

Judgmental eyes bore into her.

Julianna kept her face neutral, but Fiona fidgeted beside her, sensing the tension.

Emilia was the first to speak.

"You came with her?"

Her eyes flickered toward Fiona.

Julianna ignored the obvious disdain. "She is my daughter. My representative."

William let out a short, humorless laugh. "Representative?"

His tone was mockingly light. "I see. So you do know the rules of our family, don't you, Julianna?"

Julianna narrowed her eyes. "What are you trying to say?"

William leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "Just an observation, dear sister. It's funny how every firstborn child in our family has silver hair."

His gaze shifted toward Fiona, then back to Julianna.

"Except for her."

Fiona shrank under the weight of their stares.

Emilia stepped forward, her lips curling into something between a smirk and a sneer.

"William's daughter has silver hair. My twins have silver hair. Even the youngest in our generation—the new twins—both have silver hair."

She tilted her head.

"So, tell me, Julianna… where's your silver-haired child?"

A cold silence filled the hall.

Julianna's fingers twitched.

She knew this moment would come eventually.

She had prepared for it.

She had told herself over and over again that she didn't care.

And yet, standing here, in front of her siblings, she felt cornered.

"I see," William mused, breaking the silence. "So the rumors were true after all. You abandoned your real heir outside."

Julianna clenched her jaw.

Emilia smirked. "You know, if you were going to do that, you should've at least made sure Fiona looked the part. Blonde hair in this family? It's laughable."

Fiona flinched at the words.

Julianna stayed quiet.

The whispers grew louder.

"Fiona doesn't even look like an Asheville."

"A representative? More like a joke."

"Does the Marquis think he can just throw any child at us?"

The murmurs surrounded them, pressing against them like a suffocating force.

Julianna could feel her siblings tearing into her with every word, with every glance.

And she hated it.

She hated how they still held power over her.

Taking a deep breath, she raised her chin.

"Didn't our eldest brother also have a mistress with a commoner?"

The words cut through the tension like a blade.

The hall fell into silence.

Julianna smirked slightly.

"But unlike me, he was at least smart enough to wear protection."

A sharp gasp echoed.

William's expression darkened.

And just like that, the family fight began.

---

The argument was ruthless.

Insults were thrown like daggers, each sharper than the last.

William accused Julianna of shaming the bloodline.

Emilia mocked her for trying to pass off an imposter as an heir.

Julianna fired back, dragging up old scandals, old affairs, old mistakes.

The battle of words escalated, and in the midst of it all—

The younger generation watched.

The silver-haired children, from the oldest to the youngest, stood in silence.

Watching their parents fight.

Watching their legacies be questioned.

Watching the weight of the Asheville name crush those who weren't strong enough to carry it.

And in the middle of it all, Fiona stood alone.

The only child without silver hair.

She didn't speak.

She didn't cry.

She just clenched her fists and listened as her mother fought to justify her existence.

And as the voices grew louder, as the arguments turned sharper, a single thought solidified in Fiona's young mind.

She don't belong here.

*****

Callian was not going to the capital.

That was final.

He had told Damien that much with his usual polite indifference, and he meant it.

Violet would not grow up as an Asheville. He wouldn't let her be tangled in nobility, power struggles, or whatever nonsense the empire had waiting.

She was his daughter. His.

She would live happily in this quiet place, safe from the world.

That was his plan.

And yet—

Here he was, days later, watching Violet excitedly pack her things to leave.

Callian sighed.

He could refuse Damien. He could refuse the empire. He could refuse fate itself.

But what the hell was he supposed to do against his daughter's big, pleading doe eyes?

Or the way she clung to her "kitty"—a massive demonic wolf—saying, "Papa, we have to bring him too!"

Callian rubbed his temples. "Violet…"

She looked up, eyes wide. "Yes, Papa?"

Damn it.

Weak. He was too weak.

He let out a slow breath before waving a hand. A soft golden glow surrounded the creature as a sealing spell activated, shrinking it to the size of a house cat.

The "kitty" let out a confused huff, but Violet cheered.

Callian glanced at the sky. Just live quietly. That was all he had to do. Keep Violet safe. Make sure she never got caught up in anything.

So that… it never happened again.

Three Days Ago, Callian had thought everything would be fine.

Damien was not in his house. That was good.

The man had moved to the café, staying there instead, and Callian had assumed—naively—that he would leave soon.

That should have been the end of it.

But it wasn't.

Not when, in the dead of night, Callian woke to the sound of his daughter's scream.

The world snapped into clarity.

Violet was running toward him, her little feet pattering against the floor, her face streaked with tears.

Behind her—

A shadow moved.

Kill it.

Callian's sword was already in his hands, swinging before thought could even form.

A dull thud.

The body hit the ground.

Blood pooled.

Callian didn't even look at it. His focus was on Violet—his baby, his heart, his everything.

He caught her in his arms, holding her close, whispering soft reassurances.

"Shh… you're safe now, sweetheart. Papa's here."

Her tiny hands clutched at his shirt, sobbing into his chest.

His heart pounded. Who? Why?

His gaze snapped to the fallen assassin.

And then—to the faint glow of something tucked beneath the corpse's cloak.

An amulet.

Callian reached out, gripping it tightly.

Ancient magic pulsed beneath his fingers.

His expression darkened.

An artifact.

If this were his past life, it would be classified as L-rank.

A stealth artifact.

One that could let a killer slip through the strongest defenses unnoticed.

His grip tightened.

How long had he been blind?

How long had he been thinking this place was safe? That the forest kept them hidden?

How long had he been convincing himself that he could stop Violet from becoming a hero candidate, when in reality—

He didn't even know how.

He was weak.

Not in strength, not in power—no, he could rip apart any monster, any man, anything that threatened his daughter.

But in information?

He knew nothing.

This world—this prequel—was unfamiliar. It didn't follow the rules of the story he remembered.

And Violet—his daughter—

She could be hurt again.

It was his fault.

His fault for thinking ignorance could protect them.

His fault for not knowing enough.

His fault for—

A rustle.

His head snapped up, sword raised—

And then he saw them.

Knights.

Silver armor. Lined up outside his home.

And at the center of it all—

Damien.

His silver hair gleamed under the moonlight, his emerald eyes sharp as they met Callian's.

Ah.

They knew.

They knew Violet existed.

And not just as some child.

But as an Asheville candidate.

Callian felt his fingers twitch against his sword.

He had been so sure Damien would leave. That the old man would accept defeat and move on.

But he had underestimated him.

Damien had never planned to leave without his granddaughter.

And now—

Callian had no choice but to face reality.