The wrath of Hestia

In night, Tristan and Giselle's room,

Tristan sat at his desk, the lamp casting long shadows over the stack of documents beside him. He was reviewing a report of grain export.

Giselle stepped out of the bath, her damp hair falling over her plain white nightgown. She walked toward him. "Dear, you can bathe now," she said gently.

"Mhm," Tristan exhaled, putting the quilt down.

"What's wrong, Tris?" Giselle asked, concern blooming in her voice.

Tristan leaned back in the chair and rubbed his temples. His voice cracked.

"Giselle… I'm really worried about Serena. It's been three weeks and she's still terrified of everything. Footsteps, light, even soft sounds. Today I asked if her wounds hurt. She just said… 'no'—because her mother and father beat her daily."

His voice trembled. "She's used to pain, Giselle. She's so numb to it that she doesn't even recognize it anymore."

His hand covered his face as quiet tears fell through his fingers.

"I'm a failure. My little girl… she's suffered so much. Even Eric wasn't this frail when I rescued him. His body was covered in bruises, but his eyes still held fire. He still wanted to survive. I earned his trust quickly. But Serena… when I look into her eyes, I see emptiness. As if she's forgotten what it means to live."

Giselle wrapped her arms around him. With Tristan still seated, his head rested against her waist. She stroked his hair gently as he clutched her like a drowning man.

Her voice was soft, comforting.

"Dear… I know how much this hurts you. And I understand the guilt you carry but it's not your fault. You're already doing everything you can. She eats in your presence. Those are small signs, yes, but they're hope, Tristan. Healing takes time."

Tristan stood and walked to the window. The silver moon bathed his face in its quiet glow. The night wind stirred the trees gently, as if the world outside was unaware of the pain within these walls.

"She can barely speak, Giselle," he whispered. "Her words are broken. She doesn't understand simple things. Hestia ran away when she was eight months pregnant. The letter she left behind… saying she'd harm the baby because she hated me… still haunts me."

His voice cracked again.

"I searched for her everywhere. Used the royal guards, combed through every possible lead. But she vanished. Not a single trace. And now… now I can only imagine what Serena suffered through all these years…"

Giselle's expression darkened.

How could a mother hurt her own child?

She, too, had once been the subject of cruel whispers. When she married the Grand Duke two years ago, many had doubted her. They said a stepmother would never treat someone else's children with kindness. But Giselle had proved them wrong. She never saw Eric or Louis as anything other than her own.

What kind of woman had Hestia been to raise a child in hatred?

"We'll do everything we can to make her happy," Giselle said firmly.

Tristan nodded. "Yes, love. Tomorrow, I'll have Grandpa Rune come to check her wounds and replace the bandages. We still can't treat her internal injuries until she starts trusting us…"

Giselle walked toward the bed and sat down, lost in thought. Tristan disappeared into the bathroom. Left alone, Giselle sighed. Her heart was occupied by little Serena.

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"IT'S BEEN THREE WEEKS!" Hestia's shriek shattered the silence of the estate like glass underfoot. Her voice echoed off the stone walls, wild with fury. She spun around and struck the trembling maid across the face.

"WHERE DID THAT LITTLE RAT GO, HUH?" she roared, her hair disheveled, eyes bloodshot with sleeplessness and wrath.

The maid fell to her knees, sobbing. "P-please, Lady Hestia… I—I don't know how she got away. I swear…"

Another slap. Harder this time. The young maid crumpled to the floor, her lip bleeding.

"You don't know? YOU DON'T KNOW?!" Hestia's voice cracked, manic. "Useless slut! She escaped because you..you fell asleep outside the cabin like some drunk whore on duty! Who the hell sleeps while walking, you pathetic waste?"

She stomped forward and kicked the girl in the ribs. The thud of the impact rang out.

Her voice lowered, seething.

"Do you even understand why she never ran before? Hm?" Her gaze burned with venom. "Because I broke her before she could even form her own thoughts. I crushed that child's spirit. I cursed the air she breathed. I laced that wretched cabin with hexes, enchantments, pain sigils to torment her. I drowned her in it."

She paced like a lioness in a blood-rage. Her lips curled. "I spent years ensuring that every step outside that cabin would burn. And you ruined it. YOU RUINED EVERYTHING!"

She turned to the guards posted at the entrance, glaring daggers.

"And where were you when she fled, hmm? Feasting on your lunch? Picking your teeth like pigs? Didn't I say, didn't I ORDER you to never leave her out of your sight?"

Hestia was shaking now, not with fear but with something far more dangerous. Obsession.

"You are ALL useless," she spat. "Filthy, brainless beasts! She was my weapon! My key to vengeance! Do you know what I sacrificed for this?!"

She hurled a goblet at the wall; it shattered like her composure.

"How will I take my revenge on Tristan Ashford now?" she hissed, her voice dropping to a fevered whisper. "How?"

A slow clap echoed through the hall as Roland entered the chamber, his footsteps sharp and cold. He strode to the crumpled maid and kicked her hard in the stomach. She choked on a sob.

"Worthless bitch," he sneered. "Do you even know what you've cost us? She wasn't just a child. She was the Divine Saintess—our only increase the powers that we have. To be the greatest mage." His eyes were wild with fury. "We were this close to power."

He turned to the guards, his voice booming. "FIND HER!"

"I don't care where she is. Tear apart every village, every forest, every cursed mountain if you have to. I want her found and brought before me."

The guards saluted and fled the chamber, the heavy doors slamming behind them.