Lament for My First Life

The Gentle Promise of Peace

Later that night, Zephyros dropped Xylenne off at the winter estate and left without a word. The autumn wind chased him down the long road until his carriage disappeared beyond the gate. The sound of the wheels faded, leaving only the whisper of dry leaves scraping the cobblestones.

Inside, the halls were warm and dimly lit. The scent of oak smoke and candle wax filled the air. The family doctor sat waiting by the fire, his medical kit open on the table beside him. Maids gathered around, some with handkerchiefs pressed to their faces, others holding trembling candles that made their shadows waver against the walls.

Xylenne sat quietly in the high-backed chair, small legs dangling. Her hair was matted with dried blood. She didn't cry, though she winced when the doctor touched the wound. The thread pulled through her skin with each stitch, and she could feel every one.

"Almost done, little miss," the doctor murmured. His voice was calm, gentle, as if to distract her from the pain. "You'll have this mark for a while. It'll heal fine if you rest."

He reached for a clean roll of bandages and began wrapping it carefully around her head. The linen brushed her cheek, soft and warm from the fire. "And that's done," he said, tying the last knot.

"T-thank you..." Xylenne whispered, her voice weak but polite.

The maids wept quietly. Some turned away, unable to watch. Others whispered prayers beneath their breath. The fire crackled in the hearth, throwing shadows across the walls. Her grandfather stood nearby, silent until the doctor stepped away. His hands were clasped behind his back, his eyes cold and dark beneath heavy brows. When he finally spoke, his tone was bitter. "Zephyros didn't tell me anything," he said. "That stubborn boy only dropped you off and left without saying a word." He crouched down beside Xylenne, his voice softening. "What happened to your head, my dear? Don't be afraid to tell me."

Xylenne hesitated. Her small fingers twisted in her lap. The flicker of the fire caught in her bandages, making the white cloth glow faintly.

"I was dragged to a cemetery," she said quietly. "They threw me in a hole... and shouted at me. They threw things too, heavy things. I only went because Zephyros said he'd consider adopting me." The words hung in the air like cold mist. The doctor froze. One of the maids dropped her candle, and it hissed out on the rug. Her grandfather's eyes darkened. "If I knew my eldest son was of this nature, I would have never considered them," he said slowly. "And Zephyros said that to you?"

"Yes," Xylenne whispered.

Her grandfather sighed, and his face softened with sorrow. He reached out and lifted her gently into his arms. She was light as a feather, fragile as glass. Her cheek rested against his shoulder, and she could hear his heart beating through the layers of his coat.

"Well, my child," he said, his voice heavy, "I must tell you the truth. Zephyros has no intentions of adopting you. He lost his wife and daughter to illness four years ago. Since then, he's not been the same. He doesn't eat, doesn't speak much, and never leaves his estate. He's a man lost in his grief."

Xylenne blinked hard, tears forming in her eyes. "B-but he can still adopt me," she said, her voice cracking. "He can still—"

"My little dove," her grandfather said, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "He's not capable of caring for anyone right now. It was I who told him to take you to the Varras. I thought they would provide structure, discipline. I thought it would be safe..." His voice broke. "It's my fault. I am so sorry, Xylenne." He pressed his forehead to hers, and she felt a tear fall into her hair. The fire popped softly in the grate, and for a long moment, neither of them spoke.

"What will happen now?" Xylenne finally asked. "In court... is there no one else?"

"The Orthis family has expressed interest in your adoption," her grandfather said, his voice steadying. "They will likely fight for your custody. Their influence outweighs the Varras by a mile."

Xylenne's eyes widened. "S-so I'll be adopted into a family of Dukes!?"

"Most likely," her grandfather said. "You'll have a good life there, and two new brothers. One is ten, the other twenty."

Xylenne's face lit up just a little through the pain. "S-so Slyvareaen will really become my brother soon?"

Her grandfather smiled faintly. "Yes, my little dove. Just being with them secures your future. You will be safe, and cherished, and free of all this madness."

Xylenne leaned into his chest. "M-my head throbs, Grandfather," she said softly. "Don't touch it," he said. "It'll heal on its own. The Varras will face justice soon enough. You don't need to worry." He wrapped his arms tighter around her, and she closed her eyes. The weight of the day began to fade, replaced by the rhythm of his heartbeat and the warmth of the fire. The maids moved quietly about the room. One brought a cup of warm milk with honey. Another spread a wool blanket over her legs. The doctor packed his instruments away, nodded to the lord of the house, and left.

Outside, the wind carried the scent of fallen leaves through the open chimney. Somewhere in the distance, an owl called. The estate creaked with the soft music of autumn, branches scratching glass, the slow sigh of the season turning. Xylenne stared into the fire. The shapes there twisted and flickered, red and gold and orange like the leaves outside. The memory of the cemetery clung to her, the dark pit, the shouting, the way Zephyros's face had looked right before he struck Lord Varra.

She could still feel the dirt under her fingernails. The weight of the world pressing down while she crawled out of that grave. The echo of her own voice shouting, I'll see you in court!

"Grandfather," she whispered, "will they really listen to me? In court?"

"They will hear you," he said. "And I'll make sure they understand every word."

Xylenne nodded slowly. "I don't want anyone else to fall in that hole," she said.

Her grandfather's eyes softened. "No one will, my dear."

He leaned back in his chair, still holding her. The fire burned lower, and the golden light turned soft and dim. A maid closed the curtains, muting the glow from the moon outside. In the silence that followed, Xylenne drifted half into sleep. The pain throbbed like a heartbeat under her bandages, but it didn't hurt as sharply anymore. She felt safe here, at least for tonight. Her grandfather's voice came faintly through the fog of sleep. "Rest now, little dove. Tomorrow begins the fight, but tonight you dream. The Orthis will come soon. Everything will change."

The words blurred into warmth and dark. The last thing she felt before sleep took her was his hand smoothing her hair, and the sound of the autumn wind whispering through the halls. Outside, the trees swayed and dropped their leaves, one by one, covering the paths of the winter estate in soft gold.

And somewhere far away, in another manor where the fire had long gone out, Zephyros sat alone by the window, his knuckles still bruised, his mind still full of ghosts.