❝
"The most disturbing nightmare is the harsh truth of reality, where the horrors we fear are already here."
DO YOU think there's still a chance for the family to find their youngest daughter? After three months, the Lady had not been seen - spirited away by some shadowy figure wrapped in anonymity, disappeared into the night in a carriage, as dark and silent as the grave. It was as though she had been plucked from existence itself; neither hired investigators nor division units of the Marsheries could unearth a single trace of her passing.
Lady Carmelia found herself suddenly and unreasonably disturbed and awoke in the small hours of night. She rang for her maid, but no one answered her bell. The stillness began to gnaw at her fraying nerves. Trembling ever so slightly, she seized a lit candle from the bedside table and, wrapping herself in a shawl, went forth from her sleeping chambers to pace the shadowy corridors looking for comfort in movement.
It was then that, as she rounded the corner of a lengthy hallway, she spotted a flickering light at the end-a slightly ajar door and, beyond it, soft muted voices. Curiosity got the better of her fear, and she crept toward the threshold and gazed in.
There was just her father, the Earl, and her elder brother, Callistopher, standing there talking in the flickering hearth. But there was something wrong with it, in Carmelia's opinion; there was an obvious tension in Callistopher's posture, an expression on his face not often seen to one that composed.
"Father, that cannot be!" cried Callistopher, his voice thick with emotion. "It is far too soon for you to relinquish your title!"
The Earl was sitting at the table, but his expression had become grave and composed. There were folded hands upon the table, as though he had resigned himself to his fate.
"Yes, it is necessary, Callisto," he replied, his voice firm but weary. "The Division Unit has returned empty-handed. Our hired investigators have failed. Not a single clue of Charlotte remains. I see no other course before me. I must devote myself entirely to the search-and to safeguard our estate, you must assume my place."
Callistopher's hands balled into fists at his sides.
"Please, Father!" he pleaded. "I am not prepared for such responsibility! I shall seek her myself! Let me find Charlotte!"
There was a deep, sorrowful sigh from the Earl. He rose at last from his chair and placed a steadying hand on his son's shoulder.
"You need to understand," said Callistopher, "it's not just our family, it's much larger than that- our lands, our people, our name. If we fall now, we won't just suffer alone, but all those who are dependent on us."
Callistopher bowed his head, fighting the burdensome weight of duty against the strong pull of that fraternal bond. Finally, the words spilled out in low tones filled with anguished helplessness.
"Father, how dearly was Charlotte truly valued?"
He rose as slowly from the seat as if the entire effort and action were deliberate.
The Earl had his eyes momentarily adrift with the family portrait which hung on the wall directly across him. The painted likeness of his forebears mocked him in the dim light of the room, in the ornate frames; there was much authority and quiet resignation in standing tall as his hands clasped behind his back. After taking a long breath, he directed his attention to the person who stood at the edge of the room, showing great confusion on his face.
"Have I not mentioned to you the blessings of gods before?" asked the Earl, voice measured but heavy, as though there were something deeper than mere paternal concern.
Callistopher nodded, though uncertain. "Yes, Father, I remember. But I still don't understand. These 'blessings'... aren't they just stories? Myths to make the children sleep? And I'm not a child anymore." He spread his arms wide, as though trying to convince himself that what he had heard was nothing more than fanciful nonsense.
Then the Earl deeply sighed, an old, weary sound, and, slowly, shook his head. "Those blessings are not myths, Callistopher," he said; firmly constructed tones, slightly touched with a sad understanding. "Let me tell you, beyond those blessings, the true story of it. You must know; it is the foundation of our legacy... and your sister's fate."
The silence rushed over the young man, apparent resolve betrayed as the Earl sat down again, posture still commanding but relaxed. Clearing his throat, the almost silent rasp of his voice drew his son's full attention.
"A long time ago in the land of Velmordana, where the sacred heavens touched the earth, there was a moment in which the gods bestowed their blessings on mortals."
"The gods of Velmordana were many, but there existed 'those twelve' which were given more power compared with any other gods, goddesses, or divine spirits in the national kingdom."
He paused to ensure that Callistopher was following him before going further.
"These twelve deities made up the two distinct groups-deities of peace and deities of order. Whereas the Deities of Peace preserved harmony, wealth, and shelter to the terrestrial world, which mortals lived in balance with the world around them, the Deities of Order had dominion over death, judgement, and the inevitable forces of destruction and finality."
He had leaned forward, and his voice had become intense, as though he were speaking, actually, of something very much a reality-something far more beyond myth.
"The Deities of Peace were Sovereigns of Life. They were-Abundance, she who brought forth harvest and filled the mouths of the people; Harmony, he who could calm the quarrelsome from their brawling hearts; Sanctuary, who brought safety to the weak; Memoirs, who inspired the minds of doctors and singers; Perseverance, who brought strength of will to a worker; and Conservation, who taught the skills of keeping nature's gifts as untouched as possible."
Then he stopped, his eyes narrowing with a touch of gravity.
"The Deities of Order were Sovereigns of Death. These were -Death itself, which claimed all things in their time; Judgement, who saw into the hearts of men and weighed their sins; Cataclysm, who brought storms and calamity to cleanse the world; Eradication, who made things vanish without a trace; Finality, which sealed the fates of all; and '' By what mean soever is Subjugation, which was-therestoef bestowed order and regulation.
Callistopher listened without breaking attention and engrossed in his father's narrations; hence, skepticism now turned to wonder. "So these gods... they controlled everything? Life, death, peace, and destruction?."
The Earl nodded solemnly. "Indeed. The Sovereigns of Peace and Order were the balance upon which the world rested. Without them, the world would have descended into anarchy, for the forces of nature, of life and death, are never meant to be unbalanced. But their instruments had not worked alone but had been surrounded with others, the Ascended Deities, the Divine Lords, the Noblesse, the Lesser Deities, the Heralds, and the Celestial Servants-gods with less renown but under their higher categories."
The Earl then stood up, his gaze becoming far away as though it lost itself in the faraway past. "These minor gods were not created to serve the higher gods but rather to compete with one another to gain status, to gain influence, or to have a chance to join the ranks of the Sovereigns. But what of their blessings? What connection do they have to us mortals?"
The Earl's voice became quieter, a more measured rhythm as he recounted the most important segment of the tale.
"These blessings, Callistopher... were not simple rewards dropped from the heavens for nothing. They were manifestations by which the prayers and orisons of mortals-those men who sought to guide the gods to peace and stability to have effect in their realms-were born. When a people proved their worth, their devotion and promises hence pure enough, they would win selection. The gods would behold them-not with kindness but with the cold, blinding light of their divine power."
He paused for a moment, allowing his words to settle.
"Once chosen, the gods would place the blessings upon the heart and eyes of the mortal being, deep therein. The heart would become the vessel of perseverance and compassion, while the eyes would still see the truth of the world-both its beauty and its horrors. These mortals would cry against the gods, become mere conduits for the blessings that held the balance of the world intact."
Save for the fire's faint crackling sound, the room was dead silent. Callistopher stood in astonishment, still as a statue.
"You see, my son," the Earl continued, "the blessing you seek... is not merely a myth. It is a tangible gift, accorded to those favored by the gods themselves. And Charlotte... Charlotte was meant to be one of those chosen."
The Earl's words loomed heavily, and shadows danced long along the remnant support of candlelight upon the walls. Callistopher's heart quickened with realization. His thoughts ruefully morphed toward his lost sister; was she too touched by the gods? Had she somehow been chosen for something far greater than the mere understanding of us?
The Earl's expression softened as he gazed at his son, whose words seemed to have been measured with careful consideration, as though each bore a burden he had long carried in silence. "Does that suppose that most blessings come from the deities of peace?" Callistopher asked, furthering his brow with vexation. "What about the Order?"
The Earl inhaled heavily through his nose, his fingers moving along the edge of the chair, as if searching for stability in his thoughts. "The Order deities..." His voice faded and his eyes became distant, lost in remembrance of something only he could know. "No noble has ever received their gaze. Not a single one." Heavy words laden with the weight of dark enduring secrets. "Except... for one. An unknown character whose fate was sealed under the gaze of Death itself. The gaze of Lilith."
Callistopher's heart stuttered in his chest. "Wait…isn't that the bloody night—the death of the Late Queen?"
It was a nod cloaked in somberness from the Earl, whose face was overshadowed. "Yes, that night...the night the Kingdom of Luxtonia bled under the weight of sorrow beside madness." He broke off for a moment, seemingly held hostage by this memory. "The gaze of Lilith...it is said that only one lost amidst the deepest sorrow, amidst the deepest madness, could ever receive it. It is a blessing that acts as a curse, an ending and a beginning."
"But…" Callistopher hesitated, trying to make sense. "But it can be passed on, right? What if someone else, someone in the future, gets the blessing from Lilith? What if they—"
The Earl's expression became a metal plate, lips clamped to the side. "I doubt anyone would dare to invoke that kind of fate again," he said coldly. "No one would willingly seek that darkness, that path."
A comfortable chill swept its way down Callistopher's veins. His father's words stirred a kind of pang, an uneasiness in his chest. "But...how important are these blessings, really?" he asked, a momentary tremor in his voice. "I mean, are they really everything?"
Earl Marcus turned towards Callistopher, his gaze stern but with an almost unbearable weight to it, before he slowly came to Callistopher and placed a hand on his shoulder. That touch was exactly firm as it was gentle, as though he were offering something much heavier than what his son might imagine.
"Son, it's not about importance," his voice was low, as though carrying generations of grief within it. "The Royal Highness... he too received the blessings of the Majesties. Just like you. You, Callistopher, are a Urael—one of the blessed. You have the blessings of perseverance in your blood. It is why you are who you are. It is why you have always been able to endure... even when others falter."
Callistopher swallowed hard, the great weight of his father's words pressing down on him. He had no way of knowing; his mind was all knotted up in confusion. "I don't get it ..." His voice trembled as he gazed up at his father. "Charlotte... She only wants to be herself. She does not wish for anything of this, or any of it, to happen at all. You cannot force someone to be someone they are not. Why not choose Carmelia? She is perfect for His Royal Highness. Apparently, she was willing to marry him. Since she is a lady and she is ready."
The Earl's face tightened, the lines of age and experience creasing deeper. "I cannot," he said, words heavy with a weight Callistopher could not understand. "Carmelia's already twenty... And she has not awakened her Noctis blessings-not from me, nor from your mother. She cannot lay claim to something she has not earned. It is not simply about her willingness."
He knew that Callistopher would reel at the statement and cry out, "But—" once more. His voice cracked with frustration. "She's willing! She's perfect. Why does it have to be Charlotte? Why her, when she hasn't shown any signs of Noctis' blessings?"
He turned away from his son, leaving him with the brunt of the shadow cast by centuries, his back metaphorically turned on the good thing to his life. His hand clutched at the chair, just an image of a man torn between duty and love, between what must be done and what should be. "Carmelia is not the one," he whispered. "It must be Charlotte. She has something... something deeper. You don't understand it yet, but she is destined for something greater than we can imagine."
The words of the Earl bore down, but Callistopher could hold it back no more. He bore the burgeoning tensions of frustration and disbelief in his chest, face flushed with the heat of anger as his fists clenched. "You don't get it!" He strained to shout over the heavy silence. "Charlotte was the same! She doesn't want this! She's not into this forced marriage! All day I heard her sobbing in her chamber—sobbing because of your selfish ambitions!" His words came crashing like thunder, his anger not only directed at his father but at the world that seemed to mean to break his family apart.
Earl Marcus's face hardened under a frown, and he narrowed his eyes. "Callistopher, you do not understand!" His tone was strained and defensive. "If only Charlotte had the Noctis blessings at this moment, if she could have already been the one, this whole nation would be able to sleep easy! " His clenched fists turned white as he tried to convince both himself and his son that it was the right thing to do. "This nation is under threat from the Southern Kingdom. The Albians—are you understanding the vast weight of it? They will tear us apart if we do nothing. Our royal family is weakened, no dynasty to stand behind us. We have no strong ruler. No leader to guide us. We are a ruleless nation. We need Charlotte to marry the Royal Highness and take the throne! She's the key, Callistopher!" The Earl grew more frantic, the idea already pressing unbearably on him.
Callistopher's face twisted with disgust, fists trembling with rage. "So, what? You're telling me to use Charlotte as a scapegoat?" His voice grew hoarse, bitterness now turned into rancor. "What kind of a parent are you, that you would see her merely as a pawn in your political dealings?" The thoughts burst out with enormous force from his chest, breaking all dam walls of his frustrated composure. "I will never concede to this! Never shall she be thrown by you or her family into a precarious political situation!" With that pronouncement, he turned his back dramatically, practically flying out of the room, fury seeming to accompany him in every step.
The Earl stood frozen for a moment, shocked by the outburst. He opened his mouth to call after Callistopher, but no sound came forth. Heavy with mingled anger and regret, he summoned, "Callistopher!" But his son had already disappeared, the door slamming behind him, leaving the Earl standing in the dim light of the room with his shoulders slumped in defeat.
Outside, the door swung open to reveal Carmelia standing in the hallway, very pale with shock on her face. She had been there, cunningly concealed in the hallway, listening to the whole conversation, hitched to its previous words that rang like gunfire throughout their family's turmoil.
For a moment, Callistopher's anger rekindled as he passed into the hall. He quickened his steps toward Carmelia; for the briefest of moments, his expression softened, only to harden again. Wordlessly, he sighed; the silence grew heavy with his burdens. He never glanced behind again as he continued down the hall with heavy steps, echoing in silence.
Carmelia remained frozen, heart racing as the family drama began to wash over her. Never had she heard her father speak like that, never had she seen him so seized by the sense of duty that he had ended-up sacrificing his own flesh and blood for what he thought was the greater good. But the hurtful words of Callistopher...they hurt her; they had cut right through her own doubt and fear.
"Charlotte...a scapegoat?" The words reverberated in her mind, and she felt her chest constrict. What does that make her? Why does Charlotte always have to be at the center of everything? And why is it that whatever Carmelia does, whatever she does to try to be the perfect lady, she is always seen as...second? Second to her younger sister in every single thing; the one who always has the choice in marriage, the choice in future. Yet Charlotte, under all this, was the one who actually held the keys to their family's fate.
She had always respected her father's wisdom, but in this cold aftermath of the storm, Carmelia felt a creeping doubt. Is this really what is best for her? What about Charlotte?
The cold air of the hallway brushed against her skin, her mind swirling, her heart confused. She had heard enough to know her father would not let her do what was being forced on Charlotte, but what did that mean for her? And for her sister, caught in this mess between destiny and duty?
"This is obnoxious… Was it planned all along?"