"The roots of courage are planted in the soil of one's heart. It is not the stories told, nor the blood spilled, that shapes them—it is the love and sacrifice of those who guide them."

  — Lirael Hawke, Scholar of Ancient Lore

  Chapter 1- Of Blood and Bond

  

  Three years had passed since the night Marth first heard the tale of the Great Hero Party, a story that had taken root in his heart and shaped his destiny. At four, he had sat, wide-eyed, as his father, Aric, recounted the feats of legendary heroes. Their adventures, their bravery, their mastery of magic—Marth had soaked it all in, an eager listener, captivated by the world of possibility that stretched out before him. By the age of seven, that world was no longer just something he dreamed of—it was something he was beginning to touch with his own hands.

  Under the careful guidance of his mother, Lysandra, Marth had started learning the basics of magic. It had come to him with surprising ease. By seven, he was able to summon small orbs of light with a wave of his hand, and water, too, had become a friend he could call on when needed. The villagers marveled at his abilities, astounded by the way the young boy could shape magic so effortlessly, as if it were a simple extension of his being. It wasn’t grand or showy magic, but for someone so young, it was nothing short of impressive.

  Lysandra, as always, was patient and nurturing, encouraging Marth to approach his magic with caution and respect. Her presence was a steady anchor in his life, and she guided him not only in magic but in understanding the importance of responsibility. She wore her magic like she wore her clothes—natural, instinctual, but tempered with wisdom. Her dark blue hair flowed down her back like a shadowed river. Her ocean-blue eyes sparkled with a warmth that belied the quiet strength within her. Her attire, too, reflected her character: a long, flowing skirt of deep forest green, rich in color and covered in intricate embroidery that told tales of distant lands—some stories from her own past, others simply imagined. Over her blouse of pale blue, she wore a sturdy leather apron, well-worn and covered with faint traces of enchantments, and small magical tools that never seemed far from her reach. A delicate gold necklace with a crimson pendant hung around her neck, a gift she had kept from her adventures before motherhood had changed the course of her life. It was a small, elegant thing, but it held power and memories, many of which Marth had yet to fully understand.

  Lysandra’s warmth was a constant in Marth's life, grounding him as he grew, yet she never shied from the quiet lessons of the world. With her by his side, the young boy’s talents continued to grow, but always tempered by humility. It was a balance that would serve him well in the years to come.

  However, as the seasons shifted, so too did the rhythm of their life. Not only did Marth grow in strength and magic, but his mother, Lysandra, carried with her a new life. She was heavy with child, her belly round with the promise of a sibling for Marth. The baby was due any day now, a new beginning for their family. Despite the excitement of a growing family, there was a heaviness in the air—an anticipation that lingered in the days leading up to the baby's arrival.

  The seasons shifted, and with them, change arrived. Two figures appeared at their doorstep, the edge of their peaceful existence, heralding a new chapter in Marth’s life. Aric’s old childhood friend, Ida hart, and her daughter, Elysia, came into their lives like the sudden storm, swift and unannounced. Ida had been a knight in her youth, serving under a lordship before stepping away from that life, seeking peace and quieter times. The wind outside howled like a furious beast, the sound of the storm rising as it pounded the walls of the cottage. The light from the lanterns inside flickered, casting long shadows on the walls. Marth sat at the dining table, his small hands clutching the edges of an old book, his eyes scanning the illustrations. The storm outside seemed to pulse with the intensity of the conversation that was about to unfold. He could feel it, a strange tension in the air that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

  Ida stood at the doorway, drenched from the downpour, her face pale and gaunt, her eyes red from the weariness of the journey. She looked like a ghost, but one whose presence could not be ignored. In her arms, Elysia, her daughter, slept peacefully, oblivious to the storm that raged around them.

  Lysandra was the first to speak. Her eyes softened slightly as she looked at Ida, though the suspicion in her gaze was clear. “Ida,” she greeted, her voice calm but tinged with something else. Something sharp. “It’s been so long. And... this must be your daughter?”

  Ida nodded weakly, her voice barely above a whisper. “Yes, Lysandra. Elysia.”

  The name hung in the air, heavy with the weight of the past. Marth could feel it—he didn’t understand the full extent of the tension, but it felt like something ancient and unresolved was about to surface. Lysandra stepped aside, opening the door wider. "Please, come in."

  But Ida hesitated at the threshold. She knew she wasn’t just walking into a home. She was walking back into a life she’d abandoned, a life that held the memories of what she’d done. A life she could never truly escape. She took a deep breath before stepping inside, the door closing softly behind her, as though shutting out the storm and locking her into her fate.

  Aric descended from the stairs, his face frozen in disbelief as soon as he laid eyes on her. He staggered slightly, his breath catching in his throat. It was as if the ground beneath him had suddenly given way. His face went pale, his hands stiffening as though they were made of stone.

  “Ida...” His voice was hoarse, weak, like a man waking from a long nightmare. "What... What are you doing here?"

  Ida’s heart twisted painfully as she looked at him. The man she had once known so intimately, the man who had left her behind. She had tried to bury him, tried to bury everything that had happened between them, but now he stood before her, just as real as the pain that clung to her.

  “I didn’t expect to see you again,” she whispered, holding Elysia closer to her chest. “Not like this.”

  The room fell into an awkward silence, the only sound the faint crackle of the fire in the hearth. Marth shifted uncomfortably in his seat, feeling the weight of the adults’ emotions pressing down on him, though he couldn’t understand why.

  Lysandra stood to the side, her arms crossed as she studied Ida carefully, her expression unreadable. There was something cold in her eyes, something fierce. “Is there something you want, Ida?” Her tone was steady, but it held an undercurrent of something deeper—suspicion, perhaps. Or something more.

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  Ida opened her mouth to speak, but the words felt like they were trapped in her throat. Finally, she took a deep breath and whispered, “I need to explain everything. Please, let me speak without interruption.” Her eyes flickered between Lysandra and Aric, her desperation visible in the way her hands trembled.

  Lysandra exchanged a look with Aric, and after a long moment, she nodded. “Go ahead,” she said, her voice soft but firm. “Speak.”

  Ida swallowed hard and took another step into the room, feeling the weight of her own guilt pressing on her chest. She hesitated, glancing down at Elysia for a brief moment, and then began her story.

  “I ran from it all, Aric,” she said, her voice trembling slightly. “I ran from you, from her,” she nodded toward Lysandra, her eyes brimming with shame. “I thought I could start over. I thought if I could just leave, disappear into the world, maybe the guilt would go away. Maybe I could be free.” She paused, her face turning pale. “But it wasn’t that easy.”

  She took a steadying breath, as though gathering the courage to continue. “I traveled east... to a small city, about a week’s journey. The road was hard, but I was determined. I thought I could live a simple life, something far from the pain I had caused. But I wasn’t prepared for what awaited me.”

  Aric remained silent, his face pale, his brow furrowed in confusion and disbelief.

  “The journey was... hard,” Ida continued. “There were monsters in the woods, and the weather—it was bitter and relentless. I got sick—really sick. The journey was taking more from me than I thought. But it was the last part that broke me.”

  She took a long, shaky breath. “I... I didn’t realize at first. The sickness, the nausea, it kept getting worse. And then... an old woman in the village—an elder—she examined me. She said...” Ida’s voice faltered. “She said I was pregnant.”

  Aric’s breath caught in his throat. The weight of the revelation struck him like a physical blow, though the full impact didn’t settle on him yet. He stood frozen, unable to speak. He stared at Ida, his mind scrambling to piece everything together. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t understand why, why now?

  “I didn’t know what to do,” Ida continued. Her voice was fragile, but steady. “I couldn’t keep it. Not after everything. And I didn’t know what to do... how to face you, Lysandra. How could I?” She wiped at her eyes. “So I kept going. I kept moving.”

  Her words hung in the air for a moment. The silence between them was suffocating.

  “The king sent for me,” Ida added, breaking the silence. “He knew I had abandoned my post. I was supposed to be serving in the lordship’s domain. When I left, I was marked as a deserter. The king sent his knights after me, to bring me back to answer for my crimes. I couldn’t let them find me. I couldn’t—”

  Lysandra’s voice interrupted her, sharp as a knife. “What happened, Ida? Why are you here?”

  Ida lowered her eyes to the floor. “I had to run again. The knights were too close. I escaped, but only just. I traveled town to town, always on the move, never stopping. It was the only way I could survive. And I kept moving, trying to outrun the past.”

  The fire crackled again in the background, the sound filling the silence between them. The tension in the room was palpable, each word, each admission, only tightening the invisible grip around their hearts.

  “And then, after months of traveling... I found myself in another town. A little inn. I stayed there... for a while. And that’s where I gave birth to Elysia. I didn’t know what to do. I had nothing left, no family, no purpose. And I was scared. I was so scared. But she... she gave me something to live for.”

  Lysandra’s voice softened, though the hurt remained. “And now you’ve come back. After everything.”

  Ida’s voice broke. “I never wanted to hurt anyone. I never meant to take him from you. I don’t know what happened, Lysandra. I don’t. I wasn’t myself. But I can’t live with this lie anymore. I need you to know everything. Please... forgive me.”

  The storm outside raged on, but it felt as though the world had stilled within the cottage. The fire crackled, the lanterns flickering as if in response to the storm within the room. Aric, still reeling, finally found his voice, though it trembled with confusion and guilt.

  “Lysandra...” He said her name as if it were a plea, as though calling out to her would somehow undo the years of pain. But his voice was weak, frail. It broke off as he tried to explain, to justify. “I swear, I didn’t mean for it to happen this way. I didn’t—”

  Before he could finish, Lysandra’s hand shot out and slapped him hard across the face. The sound of it echoed through the room, leaving a ring in the air that was louder than the storm. Marth flinched, watching his mother’s expression harden like stone. She slapped him again, this time with less force, but the anger and pain were still there. Each hit seemed to take something from her.

  “I gave it all up... for you!” Lysandra’s voice broke as the tears welled up in her eyes. She continued to hit him, weaker each time. “And this is how you repay me?”

  Aric could only stand there, frozen in place. His hands fell to his sides as his heart shattered, his body stiff with guilt and regret.

  "I don't know... I don’t know how," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. “I couldn't have been that drunk. I couldn't..."

  Before he could continue, Lysandra slapped him again, her eyes filled with fury. "You're a coward, Aric!" she shouted. "You don’t take responsibility for anything, and you always find an excuse. You’ve always been weak.”

  Ida, her face pale, stepped forward. She placed her hands on Lysandra's arm gently, her voice trembling. “If you must take your anger out on someone, take it out on me. I deserve it... I will take anything. I will do anything to make this right.” She looked up at Lysandra, her eyes filled with raw sincerity.

  Lysandra’s gaze softened, just slightly, but her expression remained firm. Beneath her anger, Ida could see the faintest trace of sadness, a deep sadness that only hinted at years of unspoken pain. She had come here, standing before Lysandra in all her guilt, hoping for some kind of forgiveness, but unsure of what she truly deserved.

  "You will stay here," Lysandra said, her voice low but resolute. “ I will own no slave.” she continued, "You will work for us. But you will stay here. You will not leave."

  Ida blinked, taken aback by the decision. "But… I—"

  Lysandra’s eyes sharpened, not in anger, but in resolve. "A child should have their father in their life. You’ll stay, and you’ll make amends. Do not think you are welcome forever."

  Ida felt a wave of confusion and sorrow crash over her. She hadn’t expected this—an offer to stay, to make up for everything. It felt both like a gift and a punishment.

  Lysandra’s eyes turned to Aric. "Marth will sleep with me. You will give her his room."

  Aric didn’t respond immediately. His gaze lingered between Lysandra and Ida, disbelief still written across his face. "But—"

  Lysandra cut him off. "You’re sleeping below, in the basement," she said sharply. "Go get a candle. You’re not to be in the way."

  Aric, stunned into silence, nodded slowly and walked away without another word, his shoulders heavy with the weight of the night’s revelations.

  Ida looked back at Lysandra, unsure what to say. The storm outside battered the windows, a fitting backdrop to the whirlwind of emotions swirling in the room. Lysandra stared at the door where Aric had exited, her jaw clenched. When she finally spoke, her voice softened, yet her words carried a weight.

  “You will stay here until you’ve earned your place,” she said, the finality of her tone leaving no room for argument. "But you will work for it. I won't make excuses for you. You’re not family."

  Ida swallowed the lump in her throat, unsure whether to feel grateful or condemned. The storm outside continued to rage, its winds howling through the cracks in the walls as if the world outside reflected the chaos in her heart.

  Marth, still not fully grasping the complexities of the situation, could sense the tension in the room. He didn’t understand all the words or emotions at play, but there was something in the air, something heavy and unsettling. His eyes shifted between his parents—his father’s pale face, his mother’s composed demeanor.

  Though he couldn’t fully comprehend why Ida Hart was so upset, he could see that his mother, Lysandra, remained calm, her voice steady, even in the face of such a storm. To Marth, it felt like his mother was holding everything together, her quiet strength reassuring him, even if he didn’t have the words to understand it yet.

  His young heart couldn’t explain it, but he felt something in the way his mother managed the moment, a lesson he would carry with him as he grew. It was a calm strength, one that made him feel everything would somehow be okay, as long as she was there.