Prologue
Third person's
A cry echoed from the Duke's mansion, only to be swallowed by the thunder. Outside, raindrops lashed against the extravagant stone walls of Duke Rubbet's mansion. The thunder echoed all around, and the torrential rain was so loud that it was deafening. Darkness consumed the whole sky, and every flash of lightning briefly revealed the mansion before plunging it back into darkness.
It was a full moon night, but the storm clouds were enough to block the moonlight from touching the ground, making it disappear on its own journey.
All the workers, maids, and servants stood in the corners of the room with their gazes lowered. There was the Duchess, crying hysterically, unable to control her tears. She had always been the embodiment of elegance, standing tall through every misfortune, even the ravages of war, with unwavering confidence reflected in her every movement. To witness such a woman break into uncontrollable sobs was enough to tell that a tragedy beyond words had unfolded once again.
At the doorstep of the room, the two young lords of the duchy, Zelric and Augustus, stood with their hands tightly entwined. Confusion, unspoken questions, and worry for their mother lingered on their innocent faces. The two brothers were too young to grasp the situation. Zelric could sense that something was terribly wrong. As for Augustus, he was clueless, oblivious to the weight that had settled upon the mansion.
He stood holding his brother's hand while clutching a brown teddy with button eyes and a torn ear. Then, with his other hand, he grabbed the apron of the nearest maid and asked,
"Elise... why is Mama crying?"
"Is she hurt?"
The child spoke with pure concern and innocence. He looked up at her with his blue eyes while his lilac hair was completely messed up.
The maid replied as sweetly as she could.
"No, Young Master..." she forced a smile. "She is fine. Now you have to return to your room. It's late, and you should be sleeping."
Even so, sorrow lingered in her voice.
"No! I will stay here with Rico, Mama, and—"
Before he could say anything further, Zelric tightened his grip on Augustus's collar from behind and shot him a side glance with his midnight-blue eyes as strands of hair fell over his eyebrows.
Augustus understood the signal and lowered his gaze.
In the deserted and murky corridors, which were usually full of life even at night, everything felt gloomy and isolated today. The butler ran toward the eastern wing of the mansion, a kerosene lamp clutched tightly in his hand. His mind was flooded with thoughts of how he would inform the Duke about the tragedy.
Outside, the storm continued to rage, as though it too mourned the loss that had befallen the mansion.
The Duke sat at his desk in his vast office. Documents and papers were scattered everywhere across its surface, and he was examining them one bundle at a time. The room was quiet except for the sound of raindrops pattering against the glass window, the rustling of turning pages, and the scratching of his pen across the paper.
Unaware of the tragedy unfolding on the other side of the mansion, the Duke continued to work in silence. How could he have known? The sound of rain and thunder drowned out every cry, preventing it from reaching his ears.
There was a time when he spent most of his days with the Duchess and their family. But as his responsibilities grew heavier, so did his workload. He spent his days and nights in his office, buried beneath reports and official documents that seemed endless and continued to pile up with each passing day.
He turned his blue gaze toward the rain-streaked window. Beyond the glass, everything seemed to disappear behind the curtain of rain. Somehow, the restless storm seemed to whisper of a reality he had yet to discover. Yet he dismissed the uneasy feeling and returned his attention to the cluttered desk before him.
While he was focused on the documents, the office door suddenly burst open.
The butler entered the room, drenched in sweat, clutching a kerosene lamp whose flame flickered weakly in his trembling hands. Seeing the usually composed butler in such a state, the Duke immediately rose from his chair.
"What's the matter, Jonathan? Why are you in such a rush?"
"Y-Your Grace..." the butler gasped, unable to steady his breathing.
The Duke walked over to him, placed a hand on his shoulder, and said,
"Calm yourself first, John. Then tell me what has happened."
The Duke turned to fetch a chair for him.
"Your Grace... it's... it's about the young lady," the butler said in a trembling voice.
The Duke froze.
His voice was no more than a whisper.
"What about my daughter?"
The butler lowered his gaze.
"Sh-She... Your Grace... she is..."
He swallowed hard.
"...dead."
For a single heartbeat, time seemed to stop.
The world stood still.
The Duke turned and ran.
Without a second thought, he rushed toward the Duchess's chamber.
As he ran, the thunder roared and the rain crashed down in rhythm with every step he took. The mansion was swallowed by darkness, and each flash of lightning became his only guide, illuminating the path for a fleeting moment before the night consumed it once again.
With every step that brought him closer to the Duchess's chamber, the cries that had once been drowned out by the storm grew clearer. Soon, they pierced through the relentless thunder, filling the silent corridors with grief.
When he reached the chamber, he found his sons standing at the doorway, their small hands tightly clasped together.
Hearing their father's hurried footsteps, they turned toward him. Their eyes searched his face, silently pleading for answers.
Why is Mother crying?
What happened?
Please... tell us.
The Duke met their gaze, but no words came. The sorrow in his eyes was answer enough.
Please... don't ask me.
I cannot explain.
Without a word, he walked past them and stepped into the chamber.
The room was filled with silence, broken only by the Duchess's sobs. Every maid and servant stood with their heads bowed, not daring to lift their gaze.
The Duke's eyes found his wife.
She was kneeling beside the cradle, both hands resting on its edge as though she could not bear to let go.
Slowly, she looked up at him.
Her once-radiant sky-blue eyes were swollen and red from endless tears. Strands of her lilac hair clung to her tear-stained face, and her dry, chapped lips trembled as she struggled to breathe between sobs.
Without a word, the Duke walked to her. He gently took her hand and pulled her into his embrace. He searched for something—anything—to comfort her, but no words came.
She wept against his chest, and soon his own tears began to fall.
After a long moment, his gaze drifted toward the cradle.
There lay his daughter.
Her tiny body was pale and motionless, the warmth of life long gone.
Outside, the storm raged more fiercely than before. Thunder rolled endlessly across the heavens, as though the sky itself mourned the tragedy that had befallen the Rubbet family.
The Duke closed his eyes.
"When one path is closed... another opens."
His voice was barely above a whisper.
"So don't lose hope."
He had meant the words for himself, yet they reached the Duchess's ears.
"It... was the... third time..."
Her voice cracked beneath the weight of grief.
"And now... every hope I had... is gone."
The Duke tightened his embrace.
"Have you forgotten?" he asked softly. "When all hope seems lost, God is still capable of creating miracles."
For a long moment, she remained silent.
Then she remembered.
Time and time again, whenever she had found herself trapped within life's endless maze, God had always shown her another path. Whenever she had wandered astray, He had guided her back.
How, then, could she doubt the One who created the world... and every life within it?
Who knows when a candle will lose its flame, when the light of hope will begin to fade, when silence will consume the world, or when darkness will turn even the last remaining flame into nothing but smoke.
Yet not every darkness is a sign of the end. Sometimes, light does not die—it simply hides. And every extinguished flame needs only a single spark to burn once more, while the light concealed beneath the darkness waits for nothing more than someone willing to call it back into the world.
