Father's dying wish - II
1609 Words
The heavy doors of the master's chamber closed behind Blairre with a deep, hollow thud.
Silence.
Not the peaceful kind.
The kind that came after something irreversible.
She stood motionless in the corridor, staring at the intricate carvings decorating the wooden doors. Dragons intertwined with flowering vines, the proud crest of House Orthox engraved at the center.
For sixteen years, those doors had always opened whenever she wished to see her father.
Today...
They had closed on her.
Forever.
"...Lady Blairre?"
A timid maid approached, bowing nervously.
"My Lady... are you alright?"
Blairre looked at her.
The young maid had served the Orthox household since she was ten. She was one of the few servants who had watched Blairre grow up.
She offered a faint smile.
"I'm alright."
It was a lie.
The maid wanted to say something else but stopped herself.
Everyone in the manor had heard the announcement.
No one dared comfort the daughter who had just lost everything.
Blairre continued walking.
Her footsteps echoed through the endless halls of the estate she had once called home.
Portraits of the Orthox ancestors lined the walls.
Every generation had protected the Astral Mines.
Every generation had served the kingdom.
Every generation...
Until now.
As she rounded the corner toward her room, muffled voices drifted from an open balcony.
"...Did you hear?"
"The young lady inherited magic."
"I knew it."
"They say she awakened at thirteen."
"House Orthox hid it well."
Another servant glanced around before lowering his voice.
"It explains why Lord Creed sent her to the Academy."
"The Academy isn't a school."
"It's a cage."
The others immediately shushed him.
"Quiet!"
"If the Hunters hear you..."
The man swallowed.
"I'm only saying what everyone knows."
"Mages don't belong among ordinary people anymore."
Blairre slowed her pace.
Not because she was offended.
Because she had heard these conversations all her life.
Once...
Mages had been celebrated.
They built cities.
Protected kingdoms.
Discovered Astral Engineering.
Without magic, humanity would never have harnessed the power of Astral Stones.
Then came the Calamities.
Cities vanished overnight.
Forests turned into crystal.
Entire mountain ranges collapsed beneath uncontrolled mana.
No one remembered the names of the mages responsible.
History only remembered one lesson.
Magic...
Was dangerous.
As generations passed, fewer children awakened mana.
Some called it evolution.
Others called it punishment.
Now only a fraction of humanity possessed magic.
Instead of becoming treasures...
They became risks.
Officially, the Allochrony Academy existed to educate young mages.
In reality...
It kept every known mage within walls guarded by kingdoms.
Safe.
Contained.
Watched.
Even Blairre understood that truth.
She had simply accepted it.
"...Poor Lady Blairre."
"She'll spend the rest of her life there."
"At least she'll never endanger anyone."
Blairre resumed walking before they noticed her.
She neither defended herself nor argued.
People feared what they did not understand.
There was little use changing minds that had already chosen fear.
---
By sunset...
The bells of House Orthox rang.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Every servant immediately lowered their heads.
Creed Otakar...
Had passed away.
The news spread through the capital before nightfall.
Merchants closed their shops.
Miners lit candles outside the estate.
Even nobles from rival houses arrived to pay their respects.
House Orthox had supplied Astral Stones for nearly half a century.
The kingdom owed much of its prosperity to Creed.
The funeral lasted two days.
Blairre stood quietly beside the casket dressed in black.
Her expression never changed.
Nobles approached one after another.
"My deepest condolences."
"Your father was a remarkable man."
"Stay strong."
She bowed politely to each.
Nothing more.
Across the hall...
Lady Rorie collapsed dramatically into the arms of waiting noblewomen.
"Oh, my husband..."
"What shall become of me..."
Rosetta gently wiped her mother's tears.
"Mother..."
"You mustn't overwork yourself."
Several guests dabbed their own eyes.
"What devotion."
"What a loving family."
Blairre simply rolled her eyes.
Every sob.
Every embrace.
Every carefully timed tear.
It all felt...
Rehearsed.
During the burial ceremony, priests lowered the magnificent black coffin into the marble mausoleum of House Orthox.
One by one...
Family members tossed white lilies onto the casket.
Blairre stepped forward last.
She stared at the polished wood.
An odd feeling settled inside her chest.
Heavy.
Uncomfortable.
As though something wasn't right.
She placed a single white flower upon the coffin.
"...Rest well."
The words left her lips.
Yet somehow...
They felt false.
She turned away before the mausoleum doors closed.
She never saw Lady Rorie smiling the instant everyone else looked away.
Nor the brief exchange of glances between two unfamiliar men standing beyond the cemetery gates.
Men dressed in plain traveling cloaks.
Watching.
Waiting.
And then...
Leaving without saying a word.
Blairre remembered their faces.
She remembered every face.
She simply didn't know yet...
Why they were there.
‐------------------
The manor had never been this quiet.
For two days, House Orthox was drowned in condolences, prayers, and endless footsteps echoing through its halls. Nobles arrived from every corner of the kingdom. Merchants brought flowers. Even miners—men who had spent decades beneath the earth with Creed Otakar—stood silently outside the gates, heads lowered in respect.
By the third night...
The mansion finally breathed again.
Or perhaps...
It simply mourned in silence.
Moonlight spilled across Blairre's bedroom floor as she sat at the edge of her bed, still dressed in black mourning clothes.
She hadn't slept.
Not because grief refused to let her.
Because her mind refused to stop asking questions.
Three years.
Three years of pretending not to notice.
Three years of convincing herself that people changed.
Then today...
The man calling himself her father had confirmed every fear she had buried.
"...You're not him."
The words escaped her lips so quietly that even she barely heard them.
A cold breeze slipped through the open window.
Almost instinctively, Blairre stood.
Instead of walking toward the bed...
She crossed the room and stopped before an old bookshelf.
Anyone else would have seen an ordinary collection of historical records and mining ledgers.
Her father had once smiled while placing a dusty book back onto the highest shelf.
"Every house has secrets, Little Seer."
"The clever heir isn't the one who inherits wealth."
"It's the one who finds what others never notice."
Blairre reached toward the third shelf.
Her fingers pressed against a carving hidden beneath the wood.
Click.
The bookshelf trembled.
Slowly...
It slid sideways.
A narrow staircase descended into darkness.
She stared at it.
"...So you never told Lady Rorie."
A faint smile appeared on her face.
That...
Sounded like her father.
Taking a lantern from the wall, she descended.
Each step echoed against cold stone.
The air smelled different here.
Not like perfume.
Not like polished marble.
Earth.
Ink.
Metal.
The scents she associated with the man who had raised her.
At the bottom waited a hidden study.
It wasn't luxurious.
It was practical.
Bookshelves filled every wall.
Maps of the kingdom covered enormous tables.
Mining blueprints lay scattered beside strange mechanical diagrams.
The room looked less like a nobleman's office...
And more like a command center.
Blairre slowly walked through it.
Dust covered most of the furniture.
Which meant...
No one had entered this room in a long time.
She lit several oil lamps.
Warm light revealed stacks of reports bundled together with faded ribbons.
Each bundle carried the same title.
Astral Mine Production Reports.
She untied the newest one.
The date caught her attention.
Last month.
Her father had continued his investigation even while bedridden.
Her expression gradually became serious.
The reports contained numbers.
Mining yields.
Mana density.
Crystal quality.
Extraction success rates.
At first glance...
Everything appeared ordinary.
Then she noticed the margins.
Tiny notes.
Written in Creed's handwriting.
"Decline exceeds projections."
"Northern vein exhausted."
"Eastern reserve unstable."
"Impossible..."
Blairre frowned.
She opened another report.
Then another.
And another.
Soon papers covered the entire table.
She arranged them by year.
Five years ago.
Production had fallen by two percent.
Four years ago.
Five percent.
Three years ago.
Eleven percent.
Two years ago.
Twenty-three percent.
Last year...
Forty-eight percent.
Her breathing slowed.
"No..."
She searched the maps.
The mining locations hadn't changed.
Neither had the number of workers.
There were no disasters.
No cave-ins.
No floods.
Nothing explained it.
Only one conclusion remained.
The Astral Stones...
Were disappearing.
Not because miners couldn't find them.
Because they...
Simply weren't there anymore.
She whispered the words written across the final page.
"...Astral Drought..."
Below it, another note.
"If this reaches the Crown before I understand why..."
"...war is inevitable."
Blairre froze.
War?
Why would an Astral shortage lead to war?
Unless...
The neighboring kingdoms were suffering the same fate.
She immediately gathered every document.
If Lady Rorie inherited House Orthox tomorrow morning...
She would inherit these reports.
No.
Worse.
She would probably sell them.
Blairre folded each paper carefully before placing them inside a leather satchel.
"...I'll protect them."
Not because House Orthox deserved it.
Because her father had hidden them.
Which meant they were important.
Very important.
She extinguished every lamp except one.
As she prepared to leave, something caught her eye.
An unfinished map.
Drawn by hand.
Instead of marking mines...
It marked people.
Names.
Noble houses.
Royal officials.
Military commanders.
Some names were crossed out.
Others circled in red ink.
At the center...
Only two words.
"Do not trust."
There were no explanations.
Only those words.
A chill ran down Blairre's spine.
"What exactly were you investigating... Father?"
The question disappeared into the darkness.
No one answered.
Outside...
The wind howled through the estate.
Somewhere beyond the manor walls...
Unseen eyes watched House Orthox.
Waiting.
For Blairre to make her next move.
- Writer
