It was late at night, with Everie all alone in her room, that she heard her parents speak.

Everie had never known her biological parents in her first life. She would never claim to be an expert on marital affairs. But she was certain nevertheless that Briar and Haswalth’s relationship wasn’t one that exactly exemplified a… healthy state of wedlock.

Across these past few years there had been a tension roiling all across the manor. Every single inhabitant of the ancient household could feel it, from servant to butler to guardsman to Everie herself. Most, though, bowed their heads and ignored the conflict that was playing out before their very eyes.

For after all, what import were the whimsies of an ancient bloodline to their humble, mortal servants?

Haswalth and Briar hardly ever spoke to each other. The attack had brought them into close proximity for the first time since… Everie couldn’t even remember when, actually. It was clear something had happened between them during the Purge, but she still knew little of what could possibly have occurred.

It was obvious her mother’s family had perished during the conflict, but Everie couldn’t figure out how Haswalth was culpable in that gruesome affair.

The Azer-Luceran Purge was a touchy subject in the manor anyhow. Many had been victimized by the civil war. That had ruled out Daphne - who as of currently served rather informally as Everie’s tutor - from speaking on the matter. The manor library obviously didn’t have very many volumes on that particular subject stocked, either, for obvious reasons.

Thus, having stumbled across the rare occasion of her parents actually speaking to each other, Everie dropped everything and listened.

“A disaster of a response,” Haswalth mumbled. “The King, silent. The Aristocracy would be calling for war if they had a scapegoat to blame this on. The people are up in arms, but what can they do?”

A click, and a whistle; outside, the gale seemed to intensify. Everie let out a breath, huddling hands on knees next to the wall. With Briar refusing to sleep in the master bedroom, her bedroom was right next to Everie’s.

It made for easy eavesdropping. Everie only felt a little guilty.

Briar sighed. “Are you certain your Lord Vernas- your cousin will be able to fulfill your duties elsewhere while you remain present in the Dukedom? If your work seeks your leave, then you should leave.”

Everie could almost hear the bitter as you always are.

“No,” Haswalth responded, a surprisingly decisive tint to his voice. “I’ve left Medea’s domestic affairs unattended for far too long. I’ll take Vernas’ role while he’s out leading the expeditionary force.”

Her father drew a sharp breath. “It’s time the Guardsmen and the Dukedom see their leader lead,, especially in a time like this. I’ve neglected my duties. It’s time I rectify that.”

For a few moments, there was silence. Then Briar spoke.

“Is there anything else you want to tell me, husband?”

She blinked. Briar’s voice sounded as cold as ever, but there was a strangely soft tint to her voice - a rarity.

At least, in the context of Haswalth’s presence, softness did not correlate with Briar’s usual demeanor. The contrast almost threatened to jar Everie physically.

“What is there to tell?” Haswalth said, muted.

A clunk. Everie twitched, tripped over the hem of her nightgown, and had to steady herself against her bedroom wall to prevent herself from falling over.

“I’ve been talking to Cherry,” Briar said, quietly. “And... she’s been telling me to give you another chance.”

Everie could almost hear Haswalth swallowing.

“At first, I wanted to dismiss her. After... what you did to me- to my family,” Briar said. There was a small choke in her voice. “I wanted to die. If-if it meant Rosalba would live, then I wanted to die. And that was what you promised me. But you lied to me.”

From her hiding-spot in the shadows, Everie widened her eyes.

“But...” Briar drew shuddered breath. “Now I’m thinking there must’ve been some other reason. I know you would never want to kill someone close to you. But you are a man of honor, Haswalth. Of integrity. You’ve always followed your duties. If not to your oaths… to the crown-” Briar spat “-then at least to Medea. At least to your homeland. That was why I married you, after all.”

She sighed. “You would never break a promise, husband - even if that promise meant killing your own wife. I’m almost insulted that you seek to hide the truth from me.”

Everie could feel the intensity of Briar’s gaze.

“So,” she said, softly, “what changed?”

The air seemed to vibrate with tension. Then after a long silence, Haswalth spoke.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, hoarsely. “I can’t tell you.”

“Even to your wife?”

Briar’s voice was cold and blunt. Everie almost winced on her new-father’s behalf.

“After that day,” Haswalth said. There was a slow, laborious edge to his voice - yet he held himself with uncanny steel. “I told myself I would never break another promise again. Not to the Dukedom - to my duties - and certainly not to you.”

“I’ll never hurt you again, Briar. And… that’s why I can’t tell you anything. Even if it makes you hate me.”

Everie heard the rustling of clothing - someone standing. Then, Briar’s voice, laced with the silk of bitterness, resounded through the hall.

“Then so be it, Haswalth,” she spat. “Keep your secrets to yourself.”

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

The door to the master bedroom swung open. Everie, eyes widening, scrambled to her bed. After quite literally dive-bombing her bed, she slid under her covers, ruffled the sheets to make it seem as if she had used them, and pretended to sleep.

After a few seconds of utter stillness, Everie cracked open one of her eyes.

...Why did I do that? She wondered. It’s not like I’m going to get in trouble for listening to them. I’m their…

Child. Daughter. Heir. Everie almost scoffed. The notion still felt strange.

Wait, she thought. Briar said Haswalth did something to her family. Does that mean-

She almost recoiled in revulsion - and gnawing discomfort. That brought up memories of her own past that she was not so willing to entertain at the current moment.

Think of it logically, Everie scolded herself. There had to have been some sort of extenuating circumstance leading up to that moment. Realpolitik was a fickle beast - she’d heard just how vile court dynamics could become. Haswalth was Duke, and that meant he had duties. Scion of Medea or not, he still obeyed the King, if only to a lesser extent because of the historical and magical significance of his bloodline.

And yet, Everie found herself viewing her new-father in a darker light.

What is with all this complexity? she felt her inner-voice complain. Why can’t this new life just be simple, for once?

She almost chuckled at her own facile complaints.

Since when has life ever been simple?

Then her bedroom door creaked open, and Everie’s blood immediately ran cold.

Every nerve in her body froze; her chest rose and fell in the facsimile of a heartbeat, exactly like she’d been taught. But otherwise, Everie was dead to the world.

It should have been enough to fool anyone... from her old world. But no matter the norms she held herself against in her past life, Everie knew she couldn’t possibly compare to the Greats of now.

So, cautiously, Everie opened her Inner Eye. Vernas had told her, once she revealed that she could sense ether, that her sight was one of the strongest he’d ever seen. The world revealed itself to her like an open book; unlike optic vision, the Inner Eye showed her every nook and crevice of what could possibly be seen - at least, in a very, very limited span. But her range was still enough to cover most of her room.

Someone that felt like a roiling mass of ether had stepped into her room. And that was all she saw: the Inner Eye, though vastly encompassing and incredibly precise, did not offer to its wielder the luxury of seeing things such as color or finite differences in expression. Only ether.

At least, Everie thought, not at the level mine is at.

Still, she could ‘see’ well enough to guess who had just entered her room. There were only a few people nearly so powerful in the Manor, after all, and it would be uncouth of a guardsman to enter the room of their little mistress, unannounced, at night. Even for her Uncle.

Try as she might, there was no way an amateur like Everie would be able to hide anything from the sensory capabilities of an Eighth-Layer mage. Or Eighth-Ceiling Breaker, at that.

“I know you’re awake, Everie,” Haswalth said, softly.

Everie stilled, then squeaked out a wary sigh. She drew her covers back - peeking her head out of her sheets - to be greeted by the sight of Haswalth standing over her bedside.

He looked... tired. Forlorn. Everie would have felt bad for him had her deeply ingrained suspicions of him not caused her to be perpetually wary around him.

Briar had been the one that raised her these past three years; not Haswalth. Her father seemed deadlocked in a state of constant flux; seldom had there been a time wherein he had stayed in the Manor for long.

Part of Everie felt he was trying to get out of the house on purpose. That was what Briar seemed to think, at least - and it was obvious that had hurt her.

She wanted to ask.

She had the capability to ask.

She should have asked.

Haswalth was her father, after all. Everie may not have quite understood what that term exactly entailed at first. She had been cold-hearted back then, and she still doubted her heart had entirely thawed.

But it seemed four years of new life had changed Everie after all, despite her earlier resistance to that very notion.

She opened her mouth - to ask why. To ask for the story behind Haswalth and Briar’s constant skirmishing. There was a context here that Everie had not yet discovered.

Did you really know Selena that well?

Everie twitched.

She met Haswalth’s gaze. She saw how he stared at her ever-so expectantly. As if he was waiting for her to ask - to take the burden of his secret off of his shoulders.

For a moment, she was tempted to accept his embrace.

But a side of her nevertheless niggled at the back of her mind. It was as if a demon was whispering to her - whispering to her that you don’t really know this person. That she could not possibly trust him.

And then, there, too, was the obvious truth.

If you didn’t even know your Sister well enough to respect her teachings- to save her- then who are you to involve yourself in the affairs of a complete stranger?

She jerked. Everie appraised her father one last time. His expression was inscrutable, and she hastily schooled her own to match his.

This man fears me, she realized. He waits for me to answer.

What I do next will change his life.

Her chest rose, then fell. The air in the room seemed to be charged with anticipation.

Everie made her decision.

She felt Haswalth tangibly deflate. Having turned back into her covers, Everie had chosen to forgo her visual perception. That left her inner-eye to flex, to which end Everie watched her father turn and stalk out of the room.

Something clenched her gut - was this guilt? she thought, incredulously.

It was almost pathetic how dependent he’d been for her approval - her, a girl of less than five years! Haswalth would be a skyscraping edifice if she was but an ant; in a world dictated by such a timeless thing as personal power, there should have been no reason for a man of his stature to be affected by her whimsies.

It was weak. It was disgraceful.

But... that wasn’t the case, was it? Despite being so powerful - and possessing the capacity to be so ruthless - Haswalth was still human. He wasn’t like the Sereph, driven by their lust for whatever the Crying Demon had sequestered in her soul. He was no demon or monster. He was as Daphne had been.

Haswalth was a broken soul, just like she.

And with that realization - that final flicker of a dying ember - Everie made her decision.

“Father,” she said. In the darkness of her bedroom, Everie’s intonations seemed to bear more weight than she’d originally fashioned it with, her words resounding, and amplifying, through empty space.

Haswalth stilled. Everie took one last look at him; his back was to her, all she could see was his uniform and light armor, which he’d been yet to remove for the past few weeks.

It was like the weight of the world was on his shoulders. With what she’d observed thus far of his strength, that may as well have even been the case.

“Later,” she said. The words felt choked, but they were honest.

“Not now,” Everie whispered. “Do it for her, not me.”

She heard his fists clench.

“I trust you… father.”

Much like before, there was but silence - at least, at first. But something felt different. The surrounding magic almost seemed to distort. An illusion, she instinctively thought to herself.

It was as if the great walls of fate and time themselves had fractured with the intersticements of change.

Neither father nor daughter said a word to one another after that night, or the night after that.

But that weight on Haswalth’s shoulders, Everie thought to herself, seems just a little lighter than before.