The study was quiet, the only sound was the soft crackle of firewood in the hearth. Jack sat across from Duke Greysen Aurumnhart, feeling the heavy air between them.
The Duke leaned forward, his face lined with something deeper than worry.
"There's something you need to know, Jack," he said. "Something about our family... and why Arabella's life is in danger."
Jack stayed silent, waiting.
Greysen's eyes fixed on the fire.
"Long ago, my grandfather, Magnus Aurumnhart, wasn't a nobleman yet. Back then, he was just an adventurer. A swordsman who chased after monsters and glory, always wandering far beyond Eldoria's borders."
Jack nodded slightly, listening closely.
"The Royal Family gave him a mission. They promised him a reward — land of his own — if he could slay one of the Seven Witches of Valmere. Those witches were a plague on the world back then."
The Duke's jaw tightened.
"Magnus agreed. He took two trusted companions with him: Selene Thornhart, a mage, and Lukas Frostborn, an assassin. They traveled through dangerous lands for months... fighting monsters no sane man would dare face."
Greysen's voice grew heavier.
"After seven long months, they found one of the witches — Thalara Wistborn. She was a master of curse magic. They fought her, but she was powerful... too powerful. She killed Selene and Lukas before Magnus could even land a final blow."
The fire flickered, shadows dancing across the walls.
"But Magnus managed to defeat her in the end," Greysen said, his voice low. "He killed her. Yet, before she died, she cursed him."
Jack's hands tightened into fists without thinking.
Greysen's voice almost dropped to a whisper.
"She swore that every daughter born of his bloodline would die after her sixth birthday. And if any lived beyond that, the curse would rise again when they reached their coming of age."
Jack stared at him, feeling the full weight of the curse.
"That's why Arabella is in danger," the Duke said. "That's why we fear the catastrophe."
He turned toward Jack, meeting his eyes.
"Until now, Arabella survived longer than any girl born of our house. But now... the signs are back. And we don't know if it's the same curse... or something even worse."
Jack sat back in his chair, his fingers brushing the edges of the table as he processed the Duke's words. Silence hung between them, thick and heavy, filled with unspoken thoughts. Greysen's gaze was unwavering, as if waiting for Jack to give an answer. But Jack felt a sudden coldness in his chest, a sinking feeling that gnawed at him.
"I'm not the man for this," Jack finally spoke, his voice low but resolute.
Greysen's brow furrowed as he slowly walked over to the oak cabinet and drew out the sword. The soft scrape of the sheath against the wood was almost deafening in the stillness. He placed it on the table with a quiet but firm thud, the weight of it echoing in Jack's chest.
Jack didn't immediately look at it. He couldn't. His gaze was fixed somewhere far off, his mind racing.
Greysen's voice broke the silence.
"This sword has passed through generations. It's the weapon of Magnus Aurumnhart, the man who founded this house, who battled witches, monsters, and untold horrors. It's not just steel. It's the legacy of my bloodline. The legacy of my daughter's future. And it's yours now, if you'll have it."
Jack swallowed, his throat tightening. His eyes slowly drifted to the sword, gleaming in the dim light. The craftsmanship was exquisite, every detail a testament to the warrior who wielded it. The lion etched into the guard, the wings on the hilt... it was a symbol of strength, of leadership. But all he felt was an overwhelming sense of unworthiness.
"I'm not an Aurumnhart," Jack said, his voice barely a whisper.
Greysen's gaze softened, but he didn't back down.
"You may not bear the name, but you stand as one of us now. Arabella trusts you. I trust you."
Jack's heart pounded in his chest. He wanted to feel worthy of it. He wanted to be the man who could wield such a weapon, the one who could stand with her against whatever the world threw at them. But something held him back. Fear. Doubt.
"I can't take it," Jack said, his voice shaking slightly now. He stood up, taking a step away from the table. "I'm not the right person to bear this. It should be Liam. He's the heir. He's the one who's meant to lead."
Greysen's eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening as if he wanted to argue. But instead, he placed a hand on the hilt of the sword, his fingers brushing the lion's head. He spoke softly, but each word was measured, heavy with years of pain and sacrifice.
"You think I don't understand what this means? You think I don't see your hesitation?" Greysen said, his voice tinged with a rare vulnerability. "But Jack, if you stand beside my daughter, if you fight to protect her, then you are already more worthy of this than anyone else. You've proven it. This sword is not just for a warrior of blood, but for a man who fights for something greater than himself. It's for a protector."
Jack's breath caught in his throat. Greysen's words hit him harder than any blow could. He turned away from the sword, pacing in the small space, his thoughts a storm inside his head.
"I'm not a fighter," Jack said, almost pleading. "I'm not someone who kills. I don't want to hurt anyone. I just… I just want to protect her. That's all."
Greysen stood there, silent for a moment, watching him closely. Jack could feel the weight of his gaze, the understanding in it. And yet, the Duke did not relent.
"Protect her, then." His voice was calm but unyielding. "This sword, this legacy, will help you do that. It's not about killing, Jack. It's about standing up when everything else falls apart. When the world demands more than you can give, and you still choose to fight. That is what this sword represents."
Jack looked back at the sword, the weight of his decision pressing down on him like a mountain. He felt the burden of Greysen's words settling into his bones, and it hurt. He wasn't a warrior. He wasn't a hero. He wasn't even sure if he was ready for any of this.
But then he thought of Arabella—her face, her smile, her strength. She was out there, carrying the same burden, trying to fight a curse that no one had been able to break. And he couldn't let her face that alone.
"I'm not a killer," Jack repeated, quieter this time. "But I will fight for her. I will fight to protect her, and I will fight to end that curse. I can't promise you I'll be a warrior. But I'll be the best damn protector I can be."
Greysen studied him for a long moment, and then slowly, deliberately, nodded.
"That's all I ask," he said. "But the sword is yours, if you change your mind."
Jack hesitated, then stepped closer to the sword, running his fingers along the smooth leather of the sheath. The sword was still there, its weight calling to him, but Jack remained still, unsure.
"Not yet," Jack said, almost to himself. "Maybe... maybe one day."
The Duke nodded again, understanding, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes—pride,
As Jack was about to turn the door handle, the heavy oak door swung open abruptly. He froze, and his heart skipped a beat when he saw Arabella standing there, her face softening at the sight of him. Her bright eyes, usually full of light and playfulness, searched his face for answers.
For the first time, Jack felt like she was seeing him differently. He hadn't realized how much the conversation with Greysen had shifted something inside him, but the weight of the words—the responsibility of what he couldn't escape—hung heavily on his shoulders.
Arabella's expression softened when she noticed his serious demeanor. There was something different about him now, something more somber, a change in the way he carried himself. It was like the laughter, the easy-going Jack, had been replaced by someone... else.
"Jack?" Her voice was hesitant, almost like she was afraid of the answer. "What happened?"
Jack opened his mouth to speak, but before he could find the words, Greysen's voice cut through the air with an unexpected sharpness.
"Arabella," the Duke said, his tone firm as he stepped between them. "What is it you wanted to discuss?"
Arabella blinked in surprise, her brows knitting together. "Father—" she began, but Greysen raised a hand, signaling for her to pause.
"This is not the time," he said. His voice was softer now, but there was no mistaking the authority behind it. "We have more pressing matters to attend to."
Jack stood frozen in place, his heart heavy as the tension in the room thickened. He looked from Greysen to Arabella and then back again. He wanted to tell her about the weight that had settled on his chest, the overwhelming sense that something had changed—something that might be irreversible—but the words caught in his throat.
Arabella's gaze lingered on him for a moment, her worry evident. But then, without a word, she turned toward her father, sensing that whatever Jack was dealing with was something too heavy to discuss now.
Jack's mind spun. The conversation with Greysen, the weight of the sword, the expectations placed on him—all of it felt suffocating. The silence between him and Arabella seemed like a rift forming, even though she hadn't said a word.
He couldn't stay here, not now. He had to think. He needed air. A moment to breathe, to process what was happening.
With a final glance at Arabella, Jack slowly stepped back, pushing past her with a quiet apology in his eyes. He couldn't speak. He couldn't even look her in the face.
As he walked out of the room, the door closed softly behind him, leaving the tense silence to fill the space between father and daughter.
The door clicked softly as Jack entered the room, his feet dragging with exhaustion. He barely noticed the light flickering from the lantern in the corner. His mind was too full, too heavy, to pay attention to anything else. The weight of it all was sinking in—the responsibility, the pain, the fear. And for the first time since he came to this world, everything seemed so real, so crushing.
He stood there for a moment, staring blankly at the floor. What the hell am I doing here?
The thoughts were louder than the silence around him, swirling like a storm inside his head. Arabella, her hope and trust in him, the weight of the curse that had plagued her family. And then… Elara.
His throat tightened as the image of her flashed in his mind. Elara's face, her eyes full of determination, but also fear. She had died protecting him. She had sacrificed everything for him, believing that he was worth it. But now… now she was gone. And Jack? Jack was still standing, still here, trying to make sense of it all, trying to make it right.
But how?
His heart ached as the memory of her final moments resurfaced. The desperate look in her eyes as she took the blow for him, the blood staining the ground beneath them. I couldn't save her…
Tears welled up in his eyes, but he forced them back. He couldn't break down now. Not when so much was at stake. Arabella's future. Her curse. Her life...
He squeezed his eyes shut, fighting the burning in his chest. But it wasn't enough. A sob escaped before he could stop it, raw and full of the grief he had been holding back for so long. His legs gave way, and he sank to his knees, his hands pressed against his face. I failed her...
Elara had believed in him. She had given her life so that he could continue, so that he could fight. But what had he done since then? What am I even doing?
He didn't belong here. This world wasn't his. He didn't know how to protect Arabella, or anyone. He didn't know how to fight this curse. He didn't even know if he could survive this. I can't help anyone…
The tears kept coming, unstoppable, as he let himself feel it all—the pain, the guilt, the fear. What if I fail again? His voice broke as he whispered the words to himself, barely able to get them out.
For the first time, Jack felt the full weight of everything. The responsibility. The guilt. And it was more than he could bear.
The room was bathed in shadows, the flickering light of a single lantern casting long, soft beams across the floor. Jack knelt by the bed, his face hidden in his hands, the weight of his thoughts pressing down harder than ever before. The air around him felt thick, suffocating with the grief, the fear, the uncertainty of it all. His body trembled as his tears fell freely, each drop a reminder of the overwhelming burden he now carried.
But in that moment, he wasn't sure if he could keep going. Can I really protect her? Can I save Arabella from this curse? He couldn't even save Elara.
A soft creak from the sofa broke the silence.
Jack didn't notice at first—his vision blurred from the tears, the darkness around him swallowing any awareness of his surroundings. But then, a familiar voice broke the quiet.
"Well, well. Look at you, Craneson. Never thought I'd see the day," Beatrice's voice was light, teasing, but there was something new to it. Something soft.
Jack sniffled, wiping his face quickly, trying to pretend it was nothing. "Oh, this? It's nothing, really. Just, uh… got something in my eye."
Beatrice's footsteps were light, but purposeful. She didn't say a word as she approached him, her expression unreadable. And then, before Jack could react, she stood in front of him, blocking his view of the floor.
Her face was calm—serious, even—and her usual sass was gone. For a moment, Jack just stared up at her, caught off guard by the sudden change in her demeanor.
"Sometimes it's okay to cry, you know," Beatrice said quietly, her voice steady. There was no sarcasm, no playful mockery. Just… sincerity.
Jack froze. His throat tightened again, and for a moment, the words stuck in his chest. But it wasn't about pride anymore. Not with her. Not now.
He wiped his face again, trying to pull himself together. "Yeah, well… it's just… things have been a lot, you know?"
Beatrice knelt down in front of him, her eyes searching his face with a softness that caught him off guard. "You can tell me, Jack. If you want to. No one's here to judge you."
The words hung in the air for a moment, but it was the look in her eyes that made him crack. Jack took a shaky breath, wiping his nose on his sleeve, the weight of everything threatening to pull him under again.
"I… I don't know what I'm doing," he muttered, his voice trembling. "I'm scared. I don't want to hurt anyone… I don't want to fail again. But I don't even know if I can stop the curse. If I can protect her. I couldn't even protect Elara… and she died because of me. And now…" His words faltered as another sob escaped.
He couldn't help it. He had tried to hold it in, but it was too much. The emotions came flooding back, raw and uncontrollable.
"I can't stop this… I can't stop any of it..." Jack's voice cracked as he continued, each word a breaking wave against the shore of his sanity. The tears flowed freely again, more intense now, as the sobs racked his chest.
Beatrice didn't say anything at first. She just sat there, silent and steady, as Jack continued to cry like a child—something he never let himself do in front of anyone. Not until now.
Her hand reached out, gently resting on his shoulder.
"It's okay, Jack," she said softly. "You don't have to be strong all the time. We're not made to carry everything on our own."
Jack let the words wash over him, but they didn't ease the ache. The tears didn't stop, even as his chest heaved with every breath. He let himself fall apart, for once, and didn't care about the pride, the responsibility, or the fear. For a moment, he was just Jack—the scared kid who didn't know if he could fix what was broken.
Beatrice's words cut through Jack's despair, like a hand reaching into the dark and pulling him back into the light. She leaned in closer, her voice gentle but firm, making sure he heard every word.
"Don't say that you can't protect anyone," Beatrice insisted, her eyes steady, piercing through his turmoil. "If it wasn't for you… I wouldn't be here with you now."
Jack's breath caught in his throat, and for a brief moment, he stopped crying, his face still wet but his mind starting to focus on her words. She didn't hesitate. "You saved us at the gates, Jack. You stopped the goblins. You kept the city safe. Without you, who knows what would've happened? You didn't just save a few people… you saved the whole city."
Jack blinked, trying to find the strength to speak, but the words wouldn't come. He felt his chest tighten, but Beatrice wasn't finished.
"You are a hero, Jack," she continued, her voice low and resolute. "You might not have saved Elara, or Eloira—whatever her damn name is," she spat with a hint of irritation, "but don't you dare think for a second that she wouldn't be proud of you. Wherever she is, I know she'd be looking down and smiling, knowing that you've done something worth remembering. You've saved thousands of people here, Jack. Thousands."
Her words hit him harder than he expected. He was still shaking, but the weight of his guilt started to lift, just a little.
Jack's eyes found hers, the raw vulnerability still there but now tempered with a glimmer of something else—a flicker of hope.
"You did that," Beatrice added, her voice softer now, as if she understood how heavy those words were for him. "You were the one who stood up when everyone else was hiding, when everyone else was too scared. Don't forget that."
For the first time in what felt like forever, Jack let out a shaky laugh. It wasn't much, but it was something—something between the tears, something between the weight of responsibility that had been crushing him.
He wiped his eyes again, this time with a little more determination. "Guess… maybe I did do something right."
Beatrice gave him a small, reassuring smile. "You did. And you're going to keep doing right, Jack. Not just for me, not just for Porthaven, but for yourself. You don't need to carry the world on your own."
Beatrice's gaze softened, her voice dropping to a murmur. "You have me."
Jack blinked, not quite sure he heard her right. "What?"
Beatrice's lips curled into a small, almost imperceptible smile, but her eyes avoided his for a moment. "Nothing," she said, quickly brushing it off. "Just... don't forget that you're not alone, okay?"
Jack didn't know whether to laugh or ask more, but he could sense the sincerity in her words. For once, the weight on his chest lightened, not because everything was fixed, but because in this moment, he realized he had someone who cared enough to stand by him.
"Alright," Jack said softly, his tone almost a whisper. "I won't forget."
As Jack wiped away the last of his tears, feeling the warmth of Beatrice's words settle deep inside him, the air in the room seemed to shift. A sudden chill crept in, and the faintest whisper of something... wrong hovered in the atmosphere. He stood up slowly, unsure if it was his mind playing tricks or if something outside had changed.
The sound of a distant, low rumble echoed through the mansion, a vibration that rattled the walls like thunder. But this wasn't any storm he knew.
Beatrice looked up, her expression sharpening. "What was that?"
Jack's heart raced. That uneasy feeling he'd been pushing aside all day came rushing back. His hand instinctively went to the hilt of the sword at his side—the rapier Elara had given him. It felt light but ominous, a reminder of the past he couldn't shake.
Before he could respond, the door to his room burst open. A servant stood there, breathless and frantic.
"My lord, there's something... something's happening outside! You need to come—now!"
Jack and Beatrice exchanged a quick glance. They both knew that whatever was coming wasn't just about the curse anymore. Something darker was at play.
Without a word, Jack grabbed the rapier and turned toward the door, his mind already racing with what could be waiting for them. Whatever it was, he wasn't sure he was ready for it, but he had no choice. He stopped mid-step, then glanced at Beatrice, still standing by the door.
"Hey," he said, his voice a little quieter than before, "take this."
Beatrice looked at the rapier in Jack's hand, her brow furrowing in confusion. "What for?"
Jack held it out to her. "I know how good you were with it at the gates. And I'm pretty sure you're gonna need it more than I will."
Beatrice hesitated, a flicker of discomfort crossing her face. "I... I don't know, Jack. It's not really my thing anymore."
Jack raised an eyebrow, a playful grin tugging at the corner of his lips. "Not your thing? Come on. You're the one who was slashing goblins left and right, looking all heroic and stuff. You should at least look the part."
She glanced at the rapier, then back at him, a reluctant smile forming. "You're really persistent, you know that?"
"Well, when I'm right, I'm right." Jack tilted his head, holding it out further. "Please? You're a much better shot with that thing than I am."
Beatrice sighed, her resolve finally crumbling. She stepped forward and grabbed the rapier from Jack's hand, her fingers brushing against his for a moment. "Fine, I'll take it. But don't expect me to start loving it or anything."
Jack chuckled. "Deal. Let's just make sure you don't have to love it too much. We've got enough problems already."
Without another word, they rushed down the hallway, the distant rumble growing louder by the second. The tension was palpable, but with Beatrice now armed, Jack felt a little more at ease. At least, for the moment.
The door slammed shut behind them as they hurried into the unknown.