Chapter 3
1160 Words
“Lucian, are you certain?”
Lucian Blackthorn held the information in his hand.
“I am certain.”
“You have searched for Mara Everwyn for nine hundred years.”
“I know.”
“And now you believe you have found her?”
“I don't believe it.”
He looked down at the name.
“I know it.”
Anger burned beneath his steady voice.
After nine hundred years, Mara Everwyn was no longer only a childhood memory.
She had a name.
A place.
A life.
And she had chosen to live it while he carried the ruins of the past alone.
“She changed her name.”
“Yes.”
“She hid herself.”
“Yes.”
“She stayed away from everyone.”
“That is what we found.”
Lucian's fingers tightened around the paper.
“She knew I would look for her.”
“You don't know that.”
“I do.”
“How?”
“If she believed I had forgotten, she wouldn't have hidden her identity.”
His jaw tightened.
“She knew exactly what she was doing.”
“You were very young when it happened.”
“I was young.”
“You lost your family.”
“I did.”
“And you have carried that memory ever since.”
Lucian said nothing.
He remembered the blood.
The fire.
The silence.
Mara standing near the gates before disappearing from his life.
“Do you still remember her there?”
“Yes.”
“Clearly?”
“Every detail.”
“What do you remember?”
“I saw her near the gates.”
“And then?”
“She disappeared.”
“You never saw her again?”
“Not until now.”
His voice turned cold.
“For nine hundred years, I wondered whether she betrayed us, abandoned us, or decided my family's destruction wasn't her concern.”
Silence stretched between them.
“And now you know where she is.”
“Yes.”
He looked at the name again.
“Mara Everwyn.”
The name seemed strange after so much time.
He had spoken it in his thoughts countless times ,sometimes with grief, sometimes with longing, but most often with hatred.
“You're going to her?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Lucian looked up.
“I promised myself I would find her.”
“And what happens when you see her?”
“She will answer me.”
His expression hardened.
“And if she lies, I will know.”
Lucian remained in the war room after the others left.
Maps, reports, old records, and forgotten intelligence covered the table.
Nine hundred years of searching had led him here.
Nine hundred years of dead ends.
Nine hundred years of hearing she was gone, that she had perished, that no one could have survived.
All the while, she had been alive.
Hiding.
Breathing.
Building a life beyond his reach.
His hand swept across the table, sending papers to the floor.
“She was alive,” he said bitterly.
He had mourned her, blamed himself, and hunted through kingdoms, ruins, and bloodlines for a trace of her existence.
She had let him suffer in ignorance.
Lucian stared at the map.
“She knew I would come.”
His anger sharpened.
“She knew, and she still ran.”
He reached for the report.
The territory was remote, isolated, and dangerous, controlled by rival supernatural factions.
None of that mattered.
He had crossed worse places for less certain reasons.
This time, he had a destination.
“Prepare the horses,” he ordered when his lieutenant returned.
“You're leaving tonight?”
“Yes.”
“You should take a larger guard.”
“No.”
“Lucian ”
“I said no.”
The lieutenant hesitated.
“You don't know what awaits you.”
Lucian's eyes lifted.
“I know exactly what awaits me.”
“Mara?”
“Her.”
“And what do you intend to do when you find her?”
“I intend to ask why she left.”
His voice lowered.
“And then make her understand what her silence cost me.”
Lucian moved through the castle with controlled purpose.
Every step brought him closer to the stables, but his thoughts remained fixed on the past.
He remembered Mara before the gates.
The way she had looked at him.
The way he had believed she would return.
Then the years passed.
His family vanished into history.
His grief hardened into rage.
Mara became the one unanswered question he could never bury.
He stopped before the weapons room and picked up a sword.
He did not know whether Mara would welcome him, deny everything, or regret leaving.
But he knew what he felt.
Hatred.
Not the wild, careless kind.
His had survived nine hundred years, fed by every unanswered question.
Why had she disappeared?
Why had she never returned?
Why had she let him believe she was dead?
He strapped the sword to his side.
“If you wanted peace,” he murmured, “you should never have left me with the past.”
“Lucian.”
He looked up.
“What?”
“Are you ready?”
Lucian stood.
“I have been ready for nine hundred years.”
“You don't have to do this tonight.”
“Yes.”
His answer came without hesitation.
“I do.”
“You've waited so long.”
“That is exactly why.”
He looked down at Mara's name one final time.
“Mara Everwyn.”
The name carried memories he had never escaped and the anger he had spent centuries controlling.
“I finally know where you are.”
He folded the report into his coat.
“You found her?”
“Yes.”
“And you're certain?”
Lucian stopped.
“Yes.”
“For nine hundred years, I searched for one person.”
His voice was low.
“Now I know where she is.”
“And if she refuses to come back?”
Lucian's expression turned cold.
“She will not decide that until she faces me.”
The horses waited beneath the dark sky.
Lucian mounted without looking back at the castle.
He had spent centuries imagining this moment: Mara apologizing, begging forgiveness, or looking at him without regret.
That last possibility enraged him most.
That she had lived all these years without remorse.
Forgotten the gates.
Forgotten his family.
Forgotten him.
Lucian tightened his grip on the reins.
“She will remember,” he said.
The horse shifted beneath him.
“She will remember everything.”
He turned toward the road.
For nine hundred years, Mara Everwyn had hidden from the world.
Now Lucian Blackthorn was coming for her.
Not with forgiveness.
With every wound she had left behind.
With anger.
With hatred.
And he would not leave until she answered for the past.
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