Side Story: Missing Alper (part 4)
3rd Person POV
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House Luminari, a minor clan under the vast and powerful umbrella of House Celestium, had carved a unique niche in the intricate hierarchy of clans. Though they lacked the sheer might of their parent house, House Luminari was anything but insignificant. Their reputation was built on a foundation of wisdom, fairness, and adherence to a strict code of conduct—a rarity in the politically charged and often ruthless world of clans.
Their neutrality was their shield. House Luminari actively avoided entangling themselves in the machinations of other clans. They didn’t forge alliances with fervor, nor did they provoke unnecessary enemies. However, this passivity didn’t equate to weakness. Their measured decisions and steadfast principles earned them a respect that transcended mere power dynamics. To confront House Luminari meant challenging a community that valued their presence, even if only as a stabilizing force.
When news broke of Alper’s disappearance—the sole heir of House Luminari—the initial reaction was not panic, but concern. The general consensus was optimistic: the young lord had likely wandered off, a temporary mishap easily remedied. Search parties were organized, resources allocated, and messengers dispatched.
But as hours stretched into days, hope began to dim, and a heavy shadow of uncertainty settled over the clan.
"Could Alper have been kidnapped?"
"Has someone betrayed us from within?"
"Are unseen enemies preparing to strike at us through him?"
"Could bandits have taken him? Worse, has he been sold into slavery?"
Speculations, once hopeful, turned dark and grim, whispered among the ranks of soldiers and echoed in the halls of leadership. Alper was more than just the heir of House Luminari—he was the heart of the clan. His kind spirit and genuine desire to contribute to the welfare of his people had endeared him to all. Losing him felt like losing the very essence of what made the clan unique.
The weight of this loss fell heaviest on Alper’s family, particularly his parents.
Lord Alaric, once the epitome of charisma and chivalry, was now a man unraveling. His infectious optimism and easy smile had given way to a volatile mix of desperation and anger. Orders, once issued with patience and reason, now carried the sharp edge of frustration. His grief was a storm threatening to consume not only him but the entire clan.
Aria Stormweaver, Alper's mother, had once been the very embodiment of life and light. Her scholarly curiosity, coupled with her adventurous spirit, made her a magnet for those seeking guidance or inspiration. But now, she was a shadow of her former self, confined to her room and consumed by a grief so profound it had hollowed her out entirely. She clung to a picture of herself and Alper, her tears long spent, her will to live ebbing away with each passing day.
Her decline had been rapid and relentless. She neither ate nor slept, collapsing multiple times from sheer exhaustion. The maids tasked with her care were dismissed repeatedly, unable to breach the walls of sorrow Aria had built around herself. It was as if she had made peace with the idea of fading away.
When Lord Alaric learned from the maids of her worsening condition, his simmering frustration and anger evaporated, replaced by a bone-deep fear. Delegating the responsibilities of the ongoing search for Alper to his commanders, he raced to her side. His chest felt tight as he braced himself for what awaited him.
"Aria!" he called as he flung open the door, the urgency in his voice betraying his dread. The sight that greeted him stopped him cold.
The room, dimly lit by the weak glow of a night lamp, felt like a tomb. The cold breeze from the open window made the air heavy, almost suffocating. Scattered objects painted a picture of a space abandoned to despair. In the midst of this desolation, Aria sat on the edge of the bed, hugging her knees to her chest. Her once-vibrant platinum hair now bore streaks of gray, and her frail body seemed as though it might collapse at the slightest touch.
“Aria…” Alaric whispered, his voice trembling with emotion. His once indomitable wife, the woman who could face any challenge with a spark in her eyes, now looked like a fragile wisp, her spirit all but extinguished.
She slowly raised her head, the effort visibly taxing. Her dull, tear-rimmed eyes flickered with a faint glimmer of hope when she saw him. “Alaric…” Her voice was weak, each word a struggle. “Did you find him?”
Her question cut through Alaric like a blade. He could feel the weight of her hope pressing down on him, and the pain in her voice mirrored the anguish that had consumed his own heart. He took a hesitant step forward, his lips parting to speak, but the lump in his throat held his words captive.
There were countless words Alaric wanted to say, countless reassurances he wished to offer, but most of all, he longed to see even a flicker of the vibrant life that once sparkled in Aria’s eyes. Instead, her gaze remained distant, her spirit dim. He searched for a way to reach her, even if only momentarily.
"Have you eaten anything yet?" he asked gently, steering the conversation toward something he could manage.
"...I'm not hungry," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.
"You haven’t eaten anything in two days!" Alaric’s restraint faltered, and his voice rose despite himself, frustration mingling with concern.
"...You still haven’t found him yet, have you?" Her words were quiet but piercing, cutting straight to the heart of his anguish.
Alaric clenched his jaw tightly, unable to muster an answer. The truth weighed heavily on him. Days had passed since Alper disappeared, and with each passing hour, the uncertainty of his fate grew more unbearable. Was his son alive? Had he been taken? Or worse, had they already lost him to the unforgiving wilds?
The evidence they had thus far painted a bleak picture. If Alper was captured, there was hope—captors could be negotiated with, and a living hostage meant a chance for rescue. But if he was truly lost, wandering the wilderness with a frail body and little survival experience, the likelihood of survival dwindled with every moment. Yet even as the odds stacked against them, Alaric refused to let despair consume him. He clung to the fragile thread of hope with all his strength.
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Shaking his head, he said firmly, "We’ve mobilized every scout in the region. Everyone—every soldier, every ally—is looking for him. Whether it’s the clans, the bandits, the kingdoms… no matter who’s involved, we’ll find him. It’s just—" His voice faltered, a crack revealing the weight he carried. "It’s just taking time. But we will find him."
Aria lifted her head slightly, her frail body trembling with effort. Her expression was unreadable, but her next words struck Alaric like a thunderclap.
"...He’s gone, isn’t he?"
"No!" Alaric shot back, almost shouting, his hands gripping the edge of the bed as if bracing against the possibility. "It’s just taking longer than we expected. But we’ll find him. I know we will. I’m sure of it!"
Aria finally met her husband’s gaze, her eyes pools of despair, reflecting the torment she could no longer suppress. Her voice cracked as she spoke, tears carving trails down her face.
"...We have no enemies. Even if bandits had taken him, they would have demanded ransom. If it were an assassination, they’d ensure we saw his body. And if a clan had captured him, they’d declare it before making any move. The only explanation left is that he’s lost. No child can survive alone in the wilderness for days... much less Alper. He’s gone, isn’t he?"
Alaric felt the words pierce through him like a blade. He wanted to respond, to refute her claims, but he found himself frozen in place, his face contorted with pain. Deep down, he knew that her reasoning was sound. Every path led to the same grim conclusion, and yet his heart rebelled against it. He couldn’t accept that his son, his sweet, kind Alper, was truly gone.
“I…” The word escaped him, but he couldn’t follow it with anything meaningful. The reality clawed at his chest, suffocating him. His mind screamed for logic, but his love for Alper refused to let him surrender to despair. Any other missing child would have been declared lost by now, but when it came to his own son, Alaric couldn’t make the same judgment. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t.
His trembling hands gripped the edges of his belt as he looked back at Aria. Her sorrowful gaze was distant, her posture defeated. She no longer resembled the vibrant woman he’d married. And yet, he realized with a pang that she was likely looking at him the same way, unable to recognize the man she’d once loved in the broken figure standing before her.
The suffocating silence was broken by the sharp ring of a device. Alaric’s hand shot to his belt bag, retrieving a small black tablet etched with a 3x3 grid of buttons. He pressed one of the buttons quickly, his voice taut as he answered.
“Hello?”
“Lord Alaric?” came a familiar voice through the speaker. Alaric’s heart jolted in recognition.
It was Erza Ironshaper, a veteran of House Luminari—commander, teacher, and, more importantly, someone he trusted.
Hearing the unmistakable somberness in his wife's words, Alaric felt his heart clench with an unrelenting fear. The sheer terror of what might come next hung heavily in the air, an unbearable weight pressing down on him. It was as if he was already bracing himself for the worst, convinced that Erza’s call carried only grim tidings.
“Erza…” Alaric's voice was thick with dread, each syllable heavier than anything he’d ever carried. The next words caught in his throat, but he forced them out anyway, unable to quell his growing panic. “What do you want now?" Aria, still clutching the photograph of their son, drew closer, her face etched with the same fear. Both parents hung on to the faintest shred of hope, though it felt like holding onto air in a drowning sea.
“It’s about your son, Lord Alper.”
Time froze. The room seemed to fall silent, the world itself holding its breath. Alaric and Aria exchanged a glance, their expressions mirrors of each other’s desperate, agonizing anticipation. It felt as though their hearts had stopped beating, every second dragging out into eternity.
“…What did you find out?” Alaric managed, his voice trembling under the weight of his own fear.
"Firstly, I must commend your child's ingenuity. I owe you an apology—" Erza began, but the words offered no clarity, no answers. They only fanned the flames of Alaric's frustration. The tension reached its breaking point as his composure crumbled.
"IF YOU HAVE BAD NEWS, THEN SPIT IT OUT! STOP BEATING AROUND THE BUSH!" Alaric’s voice roared through the room, sharp and filled with anguish. The emotional outburst wasn’t just his own—it was the culmination of days spent drowning in uncertainty, fear, and guilt. Across from him, Aria began to sob, not from the outburst itself but from the torment of expecting the worst. Their conviction that they would never see Alper again was a silent shadow that had loomed over them for days.
“Our young lord Alper is alive.”
The words struck like lightning, electrifying the air. Alaric and Aria stared at each other, their faces shifting from despair to wide-eyed disbelief. The hope they thought had long withered suddenly surged back to life.
Aria, overcome with emotion, instinctively reached out to seize the tablet from her husband, her mouth already forming the question they both needed answered: Where is our son? But her frail body, weakened by days of anguish and neglect, faltered under her excitement as she fell down her bed.
“Aria!” Alaric cried as she stumbled. In one swift motion, he caught her, pulling her close as they both kneeled on the cold wooden floor. Aria’s grip on the photograph of Alper tightened as tears spilled freely down her face.
Aria, trembling with a mixture of relief and urgency, felt her voice falter as she tried to speak. Overwhelmed by the torrent of emotions coursing through her fragile body, she remained silent, her tears telling the story her lips could not. Sensing her desperation, Alaric leaned closer to the tablet, his voice trembling with restrained panic.
"Erza, are you speaking the truth?" he demanded, his tone betraying the faintest glimmer of hope amidst the sea of fear.
"That's precisely why I'm contacting you," Erza replied, his voice steady yet urgent. "While I can confirm Alper's current state as alive, I cannot ascertain for how long."
The words hit Alaric like a hammer. Alive, but for how long? The room seemed to close in on him, the implications sinking in as he shot up to his feet, from the floor. "W-What do you mean!?" he bellowed, his mind racing with a thousand dreadful possibilities.
Erza's reply came swiftly, cutting through the haze of panic. "Prepare a scout team of 20 individuals skilled in cave navigation. I’ll be sending two members of the rescue team, Eva and Olyver, back to the barracks to brief you on the situation. Someone attempted to assassinate Alper, but he outsmarted them. He's now lost in a cave. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. I’m already on my way to search for him before he becomes prey to some monster. Time is of the essence—move quickly!"
Before Alaric could respond, the call abruptly ended. The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by Aria’s shaky breath as she whispered, "Go."
Her single word was all Alaric needed. He turned to her, his gaze fierce with determination. "I swear I’ll bring back our child alive!" he vowed, his voice echoing through the room as he bolted out the door.
The sound of his footsteps faded, leaving Aria alone in the dimly lit room. A moment of stillness enveloped her, and for the first time in days, a spark of life returned to her weary eyes. Clutching the photograph of her son tightly, she whispered to herself, "He’s alive... Thank God... Thank God..." The words spilled out in a breathless chant, her gratitude boundless and raw.
The spell of the moment was broken by the familiar voice of Jillian, her loyal maid, who rushed into the room with her usual flair of motherly concern. "Madam! You can’t stay on the ground like that—you’ll catch a cold! And why is the window open? The room feels like a snowstorm!"
Feeling guilty for neglecting herself in the midst of worry, Aria replied, “Jillian, …Sorry about the mess. But could you get me something to eat? I’m famished.”
Jillian, witnessing her madam's renewed hope, felt a surge of emotions as tears appeared in her eyes. She quickly helped her up to her bed. Before running off and shouting, “Don’t worry, I’ll make the best meal you’ve ever tasted!”