Eldrin's scream tore through the chamber like a physical force, silencing all political maneuvering in an instant. It reverberated against the vaulted ceiling, a raw expression of trauma that transcended mere grief. This was the cry of a soul shattered a child forced to witness horrors that would break even the strongest adult mind.
For a full minute, the scream continued unabated, the boy's small body arching off the bed as if possessed. The nobles and servants backed away, their faces registering shock and discomfort at this unfiltered display of emotion that breached all protocols of noble composure. Even Sir Dorian, hardened by decades of battle, found himself struggling to maintain his stoic demeanor as the young master's agony filled the room.
The priest moved quickly to Eldrin's side, his hands reaching toward the boy's forehead in an attempt to channel calming divine energies, but before he could make contact, the heavy oak door of the chamber burst open with such force that it slammed against the adjacent wall.
A woman stormed into the room, her simple maid's uniform disheveled as if she had run a great distance. Ignoring protocol entirely, she brushed past lords and ladies without a glance, shoving aside a startled guard who attempted to block her path. Her eyes, red-rimmed from days of weeping, fixed solely on the screaming child.
"Young master!" she cried, her voice cutting through Eldrin's screams.
This was Sera Tiller, longtime caretaker to the Valtross children and particularly devoted to Eldrin, the youngest, whom she had tended since his birth twelve years ago. Though technically a servant, her relationship with the ducal family particularly with Duchess Lynnette had always transcended the usual boundaries between noble and commoner. To Eldrin, she had been a second mother in many ways, present for his first steps, first words, and countless skinned knees and childhood nightmares.
The assembled nobility watched in stunned silence as Sera rushed to the bed and gathered the screaming boy into her arms without hesitation. Protocol dictated that servants never touch the noble-born without permission, but such rules seemed trivial in the face of the boy's distress.
"I'm here now, my little lord," Sera whispered fiercely, cradling Eldrin against her chest. Her calloused hands stroked his back in familiar, comforting circles. "You're not alone. You'll never be alone as long as I draw breath."
Something in her voice perhaps its familiarity or the unwavering certainty of her words seemed to penetrate the fog of terror that had enveloped the boy. Eldrin's screams gradually subsided into broken sobs, his thin fingers clutching the sleeves of Sera's dress with such desperate strength that the fabric began to tear. Each breath he took came as a shuddering gasp, but the blind panic in his eyes slowly receded, replaced by a fragile awareness of his surroundings.
"That's it, my brave boy," Sera continued, rocking him gently as she had done when he was much younger. Tears streamed down her weathered face, but her voice remained steady, an anchor for the child adrift in a sea of horror. "I've got you. I'm here now."
The priest of Vaelis observed the scene with a mixture of professional interest and genuine compassion. After a moment of consideration, he turned to address the room at large, his tone leaving no room for argument.
"The young lord requires peace and familiar comfort," he declared, making the sacred circle gesture over his chest. "I must insist that all visitors depart until tomorrow. The goddess's healing work requires tranquility, not an audience."
Lord Kaelion, a stout man with a perpetually dissatisfied expression, stepped forward with an immediate objection. "This is preposterous! There are urgent matters of succession and stewardship that cannot wait another day. The boy is awake now, and while regrettable, his emotional state cannot take precedence over the stability of the duchy."
Several other vassals nodded in agreement, murmuring among themselves about 'practical necessities' and 'responsible governance.' Their concern for the duchy's stability might have appeared noble to outsiders, but to those who knew the complex web of debts and favors binding these lesser houses to the Valtross name, their eagerness was transparently self-serving.
Sir Dorian, who had been maintaining rigid control over his anger throughout the preceding discussions, finally reached the limit of his patience. The knight commander stepped directly into Lord Kaelion's personal space, towering over the stout noble with barely contained fury.
"Lord Kaelion," he growled, each word precisely articulated as if extracted through gritted teeth, "if you do not remove yourself from this chamber immediately, I will personally ensure your departure—beginning with my boot forcefully applied to your posterior."
Kaelion's face flushed crimson with indignation. "How dare you threaten me! I am a peer of the realm, not some common—"
"You are a vulture circling a wounded child," Dorian interrupted, his hand moving deliberately to rest on his sword hilt. "And I have dispatched vultures with far greater claim to nobility than yours."
The room fell silent at this naked threat. Even Magister Thorne, usually the voice of diplomatic reason, made no attempt to intervene. The tension stretched for several heartbeats before Lord Kaelion, evidently calculating his odds against the battle-hardened knight, abruptly turned on his heel.
"This insult will not be forgotten," he hissed, but the effect of his parting shot was somewhat diminished by the haste with which he scurried toward the exit, becoming the first of the noble contingent to depart.
The elderly Lord Valerian, watching the exchange with a measured expression, subtly positioned himself between the remaining vassals and the confrontation. With practiced diplomacy, he addressed the assembly.
"My lords and ladies, I believe we would all benefit from reflection before further discussions. Let us withdraw for now and reconvene tomorrow when emotions are less... immediate." His cultured voice carried the gentle but unmistakable authority of one accustomed to being obeyed. Without waiting for consensus, he began ushering the remaining nobility toward the door, murmuring individual reassurances to each as they departed.
Within moments, the crowded chamber had emptied considerably, leaving only those most intimately connected to House Valtross: Sir Dorian, Thorne, the priest of the Vaelis order, Sera, and the traumatized heir himself.
Eldrin remained clutched in Sera's embrace, his sobs now quieted to occasional hiccups and shuddering breaths. His amber eyes, red-rimmed and haunted, darted around the familiar room as if seeing it for the first time—or perhaps searching for threats hidden in every shadow.
"Sera?" he whispered, his voice hoarse from screaming. "How... when did you come? I thought—I was afraid—" His words fractured as fresh tears welled in his eyes.
The maid adjusted her position on the bed, keeping one arm firmly around the boy's shoulders while using her free hand to smooth back his tangled hair. "I came as soon as I heard, my little lord. I was visiting my sister's farm when..." She swallowed hard, unable to directly reference the tragedy. "I rode day and night to reach you. Nothing could have kept me away."
"I'm not alone?" Eldrin asked, the childlike vulnerability in his question breaking through the protocols of his noble upbringing.
"Never," Sera affirmed, pressing her lips against the top of his head. "You are not alone, and you will never be alone as long as I draw breath. This I swear by all that is sacred."
As this intimate reunion unfolded, Sir Dorian and Magister Thorne stepped away to converse quietly with the priest near the chamber's hearth. The knight's weathered face was etched with concern as he gestured toward the bed.
"What ails the young master, Your Holiness?" he asked, keeping his deep voice low. "Has he sustained injuries we cannot see?"
The priest's eyes remained on Eldrin as he responded, his expression grave. "The Goddess Vaelis grants her servants the power to mend flesh and bone, to purge poisons and infections from the body." He made a flowing gesture with his hands, mimicking the healing light his order was known for channeling. "But wounds of the mind and spirit... these are far more complex."
Magister Thorne frowned, absently adjusting the ink-stained cuffs of his formal attire. "Surely the Temple has methods for treating such afflictions? The young master cannot appear before the royal envoys in such a state. It would undermine confidence in his capacity to inherit."
The priest shook his head slowly. "Divine magic can soothe these inner wounds, provide temporary peace, but true healing comes only from within the sufferer. The Goddess teaches that some pains must be carried and transformed by the soul that bears them." His gaze softened as he watched Sera whisper comforting words to the trembling boy. "The child has witnessed horrors that would break many grown men. His path to recovery will neither be swift nor linear."
Sir Dorian's jaw tightened at this assessment. As Knight Commander, he had always approached problems with direct action—enemies could be defeated, obstacles overcome, dangers eliminated. The invisible battle now facing his young lord was one he could not fight on the boy's behalf, and this helplessness chafed against his protective instincts.
"Then what can be done?" the knight demanded, frustration evident in his tone.
The priest's reply was simple but profound. "Provide stability. Maintain familiar surroundings and trusted faces." He nodded toward Sera, whose presence had already accomplished what his divine interventions could not. "And prepare yourselves for a long journey. The boy who emerges from this trauma will not be the same child you knew before."
Unnoticed by the adults engaged in their somber discussion, something strange occurred as Eldrin nestled against Sera's protective embrace. The fingers of his right hand the hand that had absorbed the mysterious stone momentarily tensed, and beneath the skin, faint dark lines briefly traced arcane patterns before fading once more from view. But what he doesn't know was there is something in the far corner of his vision a screen perhaps. He just can't see for now as he closed his eyes tightly diving deeper to Sera's embrace. A slight tremor passed through the boy's small frame, but whether from emotional distress or something more profound, none could say.
In the shadows of the vast mansion, as evening approached and servants moved silently through corridors lighting lamps against the gathering darkness, the last heir of House Valtross clung to the only mother figure remaining to him—a simple maid whose love transcended class boundaries. Beyond the walls, the vultures of nobility circled, their patience temporarily checked but their ambitions undiminished.
And somewhere in the kingdom, the assassin with the shifting face continued his unknown purpose, leaving behind a broken child and a mysterious power whose nature had yet to be revealed.