The morning sunlight danced across the polished marble corridors of the Valtross mansion, casting long shadows that seemed to follow Eldrin as he made his way forward with careful, uncertain steps. Each movement was a victory against his own weakness a battle fought not just with his body but with the crushing weight of grief that threatened to pull him back to the sanctuary of his bed. The priest's ceremonial scepter clicked rhythmically against the floor, providing both physical support and a steady cadence to focus on.
"Your determination is really remarkable, young lord," the priest observed, matching his pace to Eldrin's laborious shuffle. His white and gold robes whispered against the floor as he walked beside the boy, close enough to catch him should he fall but maintaining enough distance to preserve the heir's dignity. "Many adults would not have the courage to seek movement so soon after such trauma."
Eldrin's fingers tightened around the silver scepter, its weight reassuring in his grip. The crystal at its peak occasionally pulsed with gentle blue light, almost as if it were responding to his emotions. "You said... I could keep this? For now?" he asked, his voice still rough from disuse.
The priest nodded, his expression serene. "Consider it on loan from the Goddess herself. A walking aid blessed with divine light often brings clarity to those who wield it even temporarily." He gestured to the corridor ahead. "Besides, I have found that sometimes the tools of healing must adapt to unexpected purposes. The Goddess Vaelis teaches flexibility in all things."
They continued in silence for several paces before the priest spoke again, his tone thoughtful. "You know, when I left you yesterday, I confess I had little hope of seeing you even sitting upright today, let alone walking these halls." His eyes, kind but perceptive, studied Eldrin's profile. "The mind can suffer injuries far more devastating than any physical wound. Sometimes trauma so great can cause the body to forget even its most basic functions walking included."
Eldrin's gaze remained fixed on the floor ahead, carefully calculating each step. "I... I didn't think I could," he admitted. The shadow icon pulsed in the corner of his vision, a reminder of the system's demands. "If not for..." he trailed off, realizing he couldn't explain the true motivation behind his efforts.
"If not for what, young lord?" the priest prompted gently.
"Nothing," Eldrin mumbled, barely audible. "If not for this damn system, I would have rather stayed in bed," he added in an even quieter tone, certain that only he could hear the words.
The priest seemed to accept this evasion, perhaps attributing the boy's reticence to his ongoing struggle with grief. "Well, whatever the source of your determination, it speaks volumes about your character. For a child of your age to possess such will..." He shook his head in admiration. "The Goddess favors those who face their trials with courage, however small the steps may seem to be."
As they turned a corner into the main hall of the mansion, Eldrin was struck by the unusual silence. The grand space, which should have been bustling with servants, guards, and various nobles seeking audience, stood eerily empty. Their footsteps echoed in the cavernous chamber, emphasizing its abandonment.
"Where is everyone?" Eldrin asked, his amber eyes scanning the vacant hall. Even during quieter times, there had always been movement in the mansion—it was the administrative heart of the duchy, after all. To see it so deserted felt wrong, as if the building itself were in mourning.
The priest sighed, gesturing toward the large windows that overlooked the estate grounds. "Most have gone to attend to urgent matters throughout the fiefdom. The... unexpected changes in leadership have created considerable upheaval. Lord Valerian has established a temporary council at the town hall, trying to maintain order and address the most pressing concerns."
He placed a comforting hand on Eldrin's shoulder. "You were brought back from the vacation mansion while still unconscious. Sir Dorian thought it best to return you to familiar surroundings, Rather than you staying where the incident occured, but the demands of the duchy could not wait. Everyone is trying their hardest to keep the fiefdom afloat in these uncertain times."
The realization hit Eldrin with unexpected force. While he had been lost in his personal darkness, the world had continued turning. The thousands of people who depended on House Valtross for leadership, protection, and livelihood were now facing an uncertain future because of what had happened to his family.
A fresh wave of guilt washed over him. If only he were stronger, older, more capable... perhaps he could help. The thought was absurd, of course—what could a twelve-year-old boy do to govern a duchy? but the sense of responsibility had been ingrained in him since birth. House Valtross had ruled these lands for generations; duty was in his blood.
"I should be there," Eldrin whispered, a tremor in his voice. "Helping somehow." Even as the words left his mouth, he recognized their futility. He could barely walk down a hallway unassisted—how could he possibly address the needs of an entire fiefdom?
The priest, perceptive as ever, noticed the shadow of shame that crossed Eldrin's face. "Young lord," he said, guiding them toward a set of doors that led to the eastern gardens, "the Goddess Vaelis places challenges before those whom she knows can overcome them but she never demands that they face all trials at once."
He pushed open the doors, allowing fresh morning air to flood the corridor. The scent of blooming flowers drifted in, a stark contrast to the staleness of Eldrin's sickroom.
"The greatest warriors know when to rest and when to fight," the priest continued. "Even the mightiest rivers begin as small streams. Your time will come, but for now, your battle is simply to heal."
Eldrin managed a bitter smile, gesturing to his trembling legs and the scepter that bore much of his weight. "Look at me now," he said, frustration evident in his voice. "I cannot even walk properly. And I wasn't even injured that night." The admission felt like surrendering something precious—the acknowledgment that his weakness was not physical but something deeper, more fundamental.
The sunlight caught in Eldrin's white-blond hair as they stepped into the garden, giving him an almost ethereal appearance despite his haggard state. The priest observed this with thoughtful eyes before responding.
"Injuries of the soul leave no visible scars, yet they can cripple more thoroughly than any physical wound," he said, his voice taking on the rhythmic cadence he used during Temple sermons. "Everyone has their place in the world, young Eldrin, just as every constellation has its position in the night sky. Like the Goddess we follow, you too will discover what you can do—soon enough."
They walked slowly along the garden path, gravel crunching beneath their feet. The carefully manicured flowerbeds and sculpted hedges seemed obscenely vibrant against the backdrop of Eldrin's grief. How could the world continue to be so beautiful when everything in his life had turned to ash?
"Then why," Eldrin whispered, his voice breaking on the words, "why did my family have to die?" The question hung in the air between them, impossible to answer yet impossible to ignore—the fundamental challenge to faith that every grieving soul must eventually voice.
The priest did not immediately respond. Instead, he stepped carefully over to a nearby flowerbed where clusters of pristine white blossoms nodded in the gentle breeze. With reverent fingers, he plucked one of the flowers—its petals the same shade as Eldrin's distinctive hair. He studied it for a moment before extending it to the boy.
"I cannot tell you why death claims some and spares others," the priest admitted, his honesty more comforting than platitudes would have been. "But I can tell you this: you are alive now. What you can do—what you must do—as the living, is to live for those who have passed."
Eldrin stared at the white flower, its delicate petals unmarked by blemish or imperfection. Something about its purity spoke to him in ways the priest's words could not reach. With trembling fingers, he reached for it—
"YOUNG MASTER!"
The desperate cry shattered the moment of contemplation. Both Eldrin and the priest turned toward the sound to see Sera running across the garden, her normally neat appearance disheveled, her face flushed with panic and exertion.
"Where have you—" she gasped, struggling to catch her breath as she approached. "I returned to your room and found you gone! I thought—" She couldn't finish the sentence, but the fear in her eyes told Eldrin exactly what she had imagined: that she had lost him too, just like the rest of the family she had served for so many years.
Guilt pierced Eldrin's heart as he realized how his disappearance must have affected her. In the corner of his vision, the shadow icon pulsed insistently, but for the first time since its appearance, Eldrin found himself focusing not on the system's demands but on the very human concern etched across Sera's face.
The white flower remained suspended between Eldrin and the priest, a symbol of something not yet fully understood a future still uncertain but suddenly, undeniably present.