Claim Your Love

Chapter Seventeen

"You're truly leaving?" I inquired, my voice tinged with a mix of sadness and curiosity.

"I must," he responded, his tone resolute. "Good luck in your search for the missing children."

"Go on, then, defeat the next monster," I retorted with a hint of scorn.

"I'll be waiting for your downfall," he said, his words filled with a touch of bitterness.

"And I'll be waiting for your throne to be stained with crimson blood," I countered as he rode away on his horse.

With his departure, I made up my mind to procure some food and gather my loyal knights who had remained behind, as I held the rank of their General.

The road stretched before me, a winding path bathed in golden sunlight. It meandered through fields of emerald green, embraced by wildflowers that danced along its edges. A gentle breeze whispered through the trees, adding a soft melody to the symphony of nature. The road beckoned with an air of mystery, promising tales yet untold.

And there, nestled upon the roadside, stood a puppeteer with a weathered box. Time had etched deep lines upon his face, marking the passage of countless stories told. His eyes sparkled with wisdom and a touch of mischief, as if he held secrets of the world within his soul. The puppeteer's attire, adorned with patches and threads, mirrored the patchwork of tales he wove together.

“Master Lucian,” One of the Knights called out for me.

“You shall continue our task while i stay here and listen to a tale like a child,” A smile curved from my lips. My Knight then continued of task.b

The box, worn and aged, held a sense of enchantment. Its wood, weathered and polished by countless hands, bore the weight of stories yet to be shared. It sat there, a humble stage awaiting its performance, inviting passersby to pause and listen. Its presence carried a sense of anticipation, like a treasure chest brimming with wonders waiting to unfold.

"Do you wish to learn why trust surpasses lies?" the man asked.

"But lies offer an escape," a child replied, his black hair and deep blue eyes reflecting a sorrowful understanding far beyond his tender age.

"But trust fosters companionship," another boy, with brown hair and hazel eyes, murmured.

"Both of you have valid points," the elderly man inside the box interjected. As the puppeteer's nimble fingers danced upon the strings, the wooden puppets came to life. Their painted faces bore expressions both joyful and sorrowful, capturing the spectrum of human emotions. Each thread that connected them resonated with the delicate balance of laughter and tears, love and loss. The puppets moved with grace and purpose, their gestures imbued with the puppeteer's artistry.

"Allow me to share a tale. Once, there was a dandelion. It lacked parents due to its unique method of seed dispersal, whisked away by the gentlest breath of wind. As the dandelion matured, its vibrant yellow petals transformed into fluffy, spherical structures known as 'pappus,' forming a delicate parachute-like apparatus." As the puppeteer's tale unfolded, the box became a portal to another realm. It held the power to transport the listener to distant lands, to ancient kingdoms and mystical realms. Imagination took flight,

"So they're like virgins," the black-haired child mused, and the puppeteer brought the dandelion to life, as did I.

"Yes, my dear. Dandelions were pure, but they also had adversaries."

"Why?" the brown-haired child inquired.

"Because of trust and lies!" the puppeteer exclaimed passionately. "Dandelions, beings of trust, would transform into monsters if betrayed by their friends. They would prey upon children, for children trust others most deeply," he shouted, captivating my attention.

"Once they were deceived, their yellow petals, akin to the radiant sun, would darken due to a single lie” The puppeteer himself was a maestro, a conductor of emotions. With every pull and twist of the strings, he breathed life into the once-inanimate figures. Their movements were a delicate ballet, guided by the puppeteer's skillful hands, evoking a symphony of emotions within the hearts of those who watched. “They became known as 'Diedelons,' their souls dying from the weight of falsehoods, driving them to steal the trust of others!" The puppeteer was about to continue his tale when a woman, holding her child, abruptly threw a bucket of water at him, revealing a different figure altogether. The puppeteer was not an old man, but a teenager with yellow eyes and black hair.

"What is this?" he asked, bewildered.

"Cease your nonsensical stories for these orphans!" the woman exclaimed. "Leave! Your misleading behavior must not taint these children."

So they were orphans.

"But it's true!" he protested. "I witnessed the Diedelons taking the children's trust."

"Diedelons! Diedelons! They are mere figments, illusions born from the aftermath of the Soraia war! Sairaias, small winged beings of unparalleled beauty, were the truth!" she shouted. "Children must work, not idle away."

At that moment, I stepped forward. "Do not disturb the peace," I interjected. "Children should remain as children."

"And who might you be?" she retorted.

I sneered. "That's a secret."

In response, she hurled a bucket at me. "You two must be swindlers!" she shouted. I sighed and walked toward the puppeteer.

"What is your name?" I inquired.

"I have none," he replied, confusion evident in his tone.

"I am intrigued by your tale. Can you share more? I am willing to pay you five veliar," I proposed, and we made our way to a nearby tavern.

"I would be delighted to divulge everything!" he exclaimed, his gaze fixed upon the five veliar.

"Where and what did you witness?" I asked, my curiosity piqued.

"I saw it near the Soraia lake! There, I witnessed the existence of beings known as Diedelons, who seized the trust of children with their very souls. Wait, why are you so interested? No one has ever shown interest in my stories," he remarked, surprised. A fabricated smile curled upon my lips.

"I am merely a detective," I lied, concealing my true identity as one of the Four Swords. The burden would be too great to bear. "I shall offer you three veliar to share the entirety of your knowledge. If I succeed in locating the missing children, I shall bestow upon you seven veliar."

His smile widened. "You must be a noble with such wealth! I would be most pleased to recount all I know," he exclaimed as he told me everything.

One starlit evening, within the intimate confines of Hestia's room, a tranquil sanctuary where flickering candlelight danced upon the walls, I found myself in the company of the woman I held dear and her precious child. Hestia had chosen to remain by my side, a testament to the unbreakable bond we shared, forged through trials and tribulations.

Having recently returned from the bathhouse, I stood there, damp and disheveled, as Hestia lovingly admonished me for remaining wet, her eyes ablaze with a heartfelt promise to exact vengeance upon the woman responsible for my suffering. Her fierce protectiveness both comforted and emboldened me, for I knew that her love burned as fiercely as the flames of a vengeful pyre.

Meanwhile, my loyal Knights, stalwart guardians of the Pyro Dukedom, sat in a huddled circle, their armor gleaming in the soft glow of the room. They regaled one another with tales, their voices carrying the weight of camaraderie and shared experiences. Yet, as they caught sight of me, their leader, their voices rose to a joyful crescendo, proclaiming my presence with exuberant shouts.

"Master Lucian!" they called out, their words punctuated by laughter and mirth. "Join us in revelry!"

Hestia, ever the vigilant caretaker, swiftly drew the curtains closed, her disapproval evident as she scoffed at their revelry. "Those drunken fools," she murmured, her tone tinged with amusement. "You should rest and recover. “They should know better-,”

“I don't agree with your words. Duke Calci- My father, the esteemed Duke, used to impart upon me the wisdom that effective communication lay at the heart of successful warfare.”

I contemplated her words, realizing that I had seldom allowed my Knights the opportunity to bond and communicate freely. A wistful sigh escaped Hestia's lips as she added, "But suit yourself."

Driven by a desire to foster camaraderie within my loyal band, I made my way towards the circle of Knights, their laughter and animated gestures filling the air. As I approached, curiosity sparked within the Bald Man, known for his indomitable strength and unwavering loyalty to the Pyro Dukedom.

"Why did you choose the path of war?" he inquired, his gaze fixed upon me.

A weathered old man, his long beard and curly hair adding an air of wisdom to his rugged appearance, extended a small stuffed toy towards me. It depicted a girl with two braided tresses, eyes of brown hue, and a stitched smile. The toy wore a delicate pink dress, and its tiny feet were adorned with red heels.

With a touch of vulnerability in his voice, the old man began to share his sorrowful tale. "It was the loss of my own child," he confessed. "A disease unleashed by the nefarious Isoldes stole her away from me." His words quivered with the weight of his grief, threatening to spill forth tears that could never fully wash away the pain.

"A disease?" Hestia interjected, her confusion palpable.

"Yes," the old man affirmed. "The Isoldes, with their tainted blood, manipulated the very essence of life, poisoning the red berries that sealed my child's fate. They controlled her destiny until she withered away, a mere pawn in their wicked game." Overwhelmed by his emotions, he found solace in the comforting hand of the Bald Man, who offered a silent gesture of support. My heart ached with empathy, a bittersweet cocktail of pity and understanding.

Then, a young boy, seemingly on the cusp of adolescence, spoke up, his voice tinged with sorrow. "My own mother perished at the hands of the dreaded Bleveria disease," he confessed. "It was this tragic fate that led me to the cold embrace of an orphanage."

As each Knight shared their harrowing stories of loss and grief, tales woven with threads of betrayal and tragedy, my mind spun with unanswerable questions.

How could they possibly know?

And when the truth unraveled like an intricate tapestry before their eyes...

How would they react?

For hidden within the depths of my soul lay a secret that threatened to shatter the fragile unity we had built.

For I, A Fabricated Lucian, their revered Master and a Knight of the esteemed Four Swords of the Pyrothorn Empire, bore the blood of the Isoldes, their sworn enemies.

What…

A pity.