Chapter 9 - Grandmother

  Lyzelle sat in her usual chair by the fireplace, staring at the flame listlessly. It spoke to her sometimes, that spirit in the fire, but recently the sound had become muted and dull.

  She sighed, feeling the years take their toll once more.

  “What do you think, Thomas?”

  The old butler bowed, like always—a motion that had remained unchanged for over thirty years of service. “I am not in a position to judge your actions, My Lady.”

  “You know I value your judgment. Tell me honestly.”

  Thomas shifted almost imperceptibly. A silence stretched between them, filled only by the crackling of burning logs, before he spoke again.

  “If I were head of the family, I’d send Felicia away. But as her grandmother, I would find it difficult. Franz has a point when he says the other children are in the wrong.”

  Lyzelle's jaw tightened. She'd hoped for a different answer, though she'd known better than to expect one. “That’s what I feared you would say. But then, what if the pillar that supported this family was in the verge of breaking? Before the next tree can take its place?”

  Before I die, and Franz proves too weak to hold them all together.

  Thomas didn’t get a chance to reply as the familiar pling from the elevator sounded from the hallway. They weren't expecting visitors, so this was rather unusual. And unexpected visitors rarely brought good news.

  “Excuse me, My Lady. I will go see who it is.”

  "If Felicia or Franz returned, tell them to wait till morning." She waved a dismissive hand, not bothering to hide her exhaustion. The last thing she needed was another tearful confrontation tonight.

  Thomas bowed again before stepping out into the hallway.

  The things I do to keep this family afloat…

  Thomas’ urgent voice could be heard vaguely from the corridor. “Sir, you can’t just…”

  Lyzelle's head snapped up. Thomas never lost his composure.

  Then the doors flew open with a crash, slamming into the walls hard enough to rattle the wine glasses on the side table. A young man stepped through, staring right at her with fury in his eyes.

  The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees. Lyzelle's mana channels flared to life instinctively, heat blooming in her chest as her body prepared for combat.

  Who dares?

  "What is the meaning of this?!" she yelled, carrying the authority of decades ruling this family.

  “I’m here on behalf of Felicia. My apprentice.”

  “Apprentice?”

  Felicia barely left the family grounds, let alone long enough to find herself a teacher.

  This makes no sense, but neither does it really matter.

  “I don’t care who you are. Leave, before I change my mind.” She waved her hand at him, not in the mood for bloodshed.

  “I will leave, and I’ll take her with me.”

  A laugh burst from her lips. "Hah! Did you bring the royal army with you, young man? A few dragons?" The sheer audacity of him was almost amusing.

  "But before I do," the young man continued, completely ignoring her sarcasm. "I have some questions for you. Questions it will be in your best interest to answer honestly."

  The casual dismissal of her words sent a flicker of genuine anger through her chest. Lyzelle slowly rose from her chair, letting mana pool in her limbs. “...You’re the man from the Artorias Mountain yesterday, aren’t you?”

  “I am.”

  Is that why she was sneaking out there in the past? To meet this man in secret?

  Her mind raced through the implications. “And how does that give you the right to decide where Felicia goes?”

  “Let’s just say the Grifantes family finally took notice of your treatment of her. Way overdue, by the looks of things.”

  Lyzelle's composure cracked for just an instant. The Grifantes family. That was a name she couldn't ignore. No one could.

  But she had never heard of anyone in that family by this young man’s description. She knew the patriarch, and the names of all his descendants. This man was not among them.

  "I'm sure you can prove your allegiance, then. Otherwise, I'm afraid you have no power here." She let ice creep into her voice, even as her mana continued to churn beneath her skin.

  "I don’t need any backing to face you.” He looked so casual, even when facing the archmage that she was. Despite her age, she was confident of being the most powerful mage in the city.

  “So tell me,” he continued, raising his chin almost imperceptibly. “Which of you was it that blinded Felicia?"

  The air seemed to freeze. Lyzelle felt the blood drain from her face before fury rushed in to replace it. "What kind of accusation—"

  “I saw her eyes. Straight vertical wounds, perfectly symmetrical. No accident would cause injuries like that. And with the way she is treated here, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out the truth.”

  He's seen her eyes. Damn that girl, I told her not to show them to anyone!

  “She was studied by the doctors thoroughly before we could visit her. The diagnosis was already made at that point. You’re wrong.”

  This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

  Every word was true. Whatever had happened back then, Lyzelle had no part in it. She would never go that far.

  “And who brought her to the hospital?”

  “I don’t know, emergency personnel?”

  “From your ship? Not your soldiers, or personal guards in your hire?”

  The questions came like hammer blows. Lyzelle felt her composure slipping as memories she'd tried to bury clawed their way to the surface. "All soldiers in the city are our soldiers. So yes, they were likely the ones who brought her in."

  “Then that is opportunity enough. Surely you have seen her eyes and had the same suspicions? Unless you were personally responsible.”

  Heat exploded through her clenched fists, responding to her emotional turmoil. The temperature in the room spiked as her fire magic leaked from her control. But the man looked unbothered.

  He was right: she had the same suspicions shortly after the accident. But as long as nothing could be proven, there was nothing she could do but stay her tongue.

  Whoever it was that blinded her, they could have at least made it look like part of the accident…

  "I admit, I had suspicions. But with no evidence…" The words felt like ash in her mouth. What was I supposed to do? Tear the family apart on suspicion alone?

  “That’s your excuse?”

  The casual dismissal in his tone made something snap inside her chest. "I beg your pardon?!"

  “The wife of your son was killed by your own family, his daughter was blinded, and you do nothing?! You brush it under the rug to save face?!”

  How dare you judge me?!

  She'd held this family together through wars, assassinations, political upheavals, and countless smaller crises. She'd made the hard choices, the necessary sacrifices, the compromises that kept them all alive and in power.

  And now this stranger thinks he can waltz in here and call me weak?

  “Fine, we can fight!”

  This had gone on for long enough. She was done pretending this conversation was anything other than what it was—a challenge to her authority.

  Grifantes be damned! Even they wouldn’t be this brazen!

  Her mana burst out of her chest and down to her arms and legs, infusing them with white heat and power. Fists collided in front of her chest, creating a burst of power that pushed all the furniture in the room away from her.

  Let's see how much power you really have, boy.

  The mana that had choked Felicia to silence earlier that night drenched the room, far denser than before. Lyzelle poured everything she had into the display, calling upon decades of accumulated power. It was like gravity had intensified, pushing down on everything at once.

  But the man looked unbothered, even by the full force of her mana. He stood there casually, as if her overwhelming display was nothing more than a gentle breeze.

  …Harrox, I might need your help this time!

  She reached out with her consciousness, calling to the ancient spirit that had guided her family for generations. But the familiar warmth of his presence remained frustratingly absent, just as it had been for months now.

  She launched herself forward, crushing the floorboards beneath her feet to cinders, flying through the air with her fist raised.

  She was just about to connect with the man’s shoulder, singing the fabric of his coat. But then he vanished without a trace.

  What?!

  She landed where he had stood, sliding on her feet and leaving a burning trail in her wake. Her heart hammered against her ribs as she spun around, searching for any sign of movement.

  “You should have stayed humble smiths, I think.” His voice came from behind her, calm and almost conversational. “Because that magic is hardly suited for combat.”

  He evaded me like it was nothing, my fastest move! Spatial magic?!

  “Harrox! Please aid me this time!”

  She called again, more desperately now. But again, there was no response. This one time, when she needed it most, the family spirit was nowhere to be found.

  She had to consider activating the old formations spread throughout the city, the defensive enchantments laid down by generations of Harrowbloom ancestors. Ancient magic woven into the very foundations, designed to protect against threats far beyond what any individual could face.

  Because she would not win this fight without her spirit.

  "Tell me, grandmother… Do you know what level difference is needed to suppress someone through pure mana?"

  A thousand levels. The gap between an adept mage and an archmage. Between a child taking their first steps in magic and a master who'd spent decades honing their craft.

  The question sent ice down her spine.

  Surely he isn't implying—

  Her fingers twitched toward the hidden control sigil carved into the amulet around her neck, the one that would wake the sleeping defenses of their ancestral home.

  But in the very next moment, all hope vanished.

  The flames all died in an instant, drowned in mana. It was unending, infinite, and pressing into her from every angle. Her lungs refused to move, along with every other muscle she tried. Even her heartbeat seemed to halt.

  Lyzelle hung there, suspended in invisible chains, and for the first time in forty years she felt what her enemies had felt. What Felicia must have felt every day under her roof.

  Helpless. Small. Utterly at another's mercy.

  It was unthinkable. Her, an archmage, being completely suppressed by pure mana alone. The humiliation was almost worse than the terror. To be reduced to helplessness so easily, so completely, shattered every assumption she'd held about her own power.

  No human should have such power, at least not that she knew of. And he was so young.

  He’s not human.

  “Damn, at this level it takes a lot of effort not to destroy everything around me. But I’m sure you’ve gotten the message now.”

  As quickly as it appeared, the mana vanished. Lyzelle fell to the floor in shock, hitting the scorched wood with bruising force as her legs gave out completely.

  For a moment, she could only gasp and tremble. Decades of confidence, of certainty in her own power, lay in ruins around her.

  “If you find the one responsible and punish them adequately, I will consider this matter over. Felicia might even return here at some point, though that will be up to her.”

  “...You swear to take care of her?”

  She asked as if she had a say in the matter. But the instincts to protect her family deafened reason, just for a moment.

  “Better than this family ever did, yes. I’ll speak to Franz before bringing her with me, then we might stay in the city for a few more days.”

  Whatever else this being was, whatever threat he represented, he seemed genuinely concerned for Felicia's welfare.

  Lyzelle lowered her head, though it already hung low. “Then I have nothing more to say. Thank you for sparing my life.”

  The words tasted like ash, but they were true. She was alive because he had chosen mercy.

  He scoffed as he walked past her, heading for what remained of the hallway. “I don’t like killing people. Besides, Felicia might be sad if I did.”

  Those words were hard to hear. Suddenly, images of the little girl sitting on her lap flashed through her mind, before all the politics and drama had any chance to reach her. Just a young girl with bright eyes and endless questions, with the whole world spread out in front of her.

  Then everything was taken away.

  Her mother dead, her eyes destroyed, her siblings turned against her, her future sold for political convenience. And through it all, Lyzelle had stood by and let it happen, telling herself it was for the good of the family.

  The bitter taste of regret.

  “...I will find the ones responsible. I swear it.”

  She would root out whoever had dared to blind Felicia, would make them pay for their cruelty, would finally do what she should have done years ago.

  “Good,” he replied, standing by the door. A thought seemed to strike him, then he turned to her. “I really meant what I said about smithing, by the way. Harrox loves smithing.”

  Then he was gone.

  What? Smithing?

  Harrox—their family spirit, their guardian and guide—loved smithing? But they had abandoned their smithing heritage centuries ago, had turned to politics and conquest instead.

  Was that why she had lost her connection to him? Such a damned simple thing?