"You shouldn't go," says one of his Brothers. The Faction was not liking the fact that a youngling was leaving their wing devoid of support. Owen said he had to go unaccompanied—and his Brothers were strongly against it.

Brother Kio stood firm to the ground. "You will not go, Owen,"

"The Faction does not want you, Brother, to risk your life at sea. It is not advisable to journey with such wild waves."

They surrounded him with their hoods hiding their faces. The Brothers weren't revealing their ident.i.ty, and so Owen couldn't make a distinction which one was talking. Their voices united in chorus, their lips matching an impossible perfect sync, all telling one thing: they do not want Owen to go.

But this was Rose. Owen had to go.

He escaped their den, an underground hideout where The Faction subsists. The den was situated just underneath the capital—Owen wasn't very sure how it happens but it changes its location from time to time. Their 'Father,' or the leader, was said to have a gargantuan supernatural apt.i.tude, and has the ability to teleport their home to different places, if ever the guards discover their refuge. Owen never met him; they said that the Father was a traveling warrior who adopts neglected children—children that are deprived of mystical education.

When The Faction found Owen, Father wasn't the one to pick him up but Owen's Brothers, fellow member of The Faction. They were nudging him even before he wasn't kicked out of the Lopez house. But he was still hopeful to get into Magierstadt with his uncle's help, so he refused The Faction's extended arms.

However, the moment he had no home to return to, they accepted him without hesitation, their arms wide open to shelter such brat. They welcomed him to their family.

Owen felt guilty, to his other family—his Brothers whom he left for a woman. He convinced himself. Perhaps they would understand; perhaps, they would think he was doing this not for himself but for the sake of his family. For the sake of Rose.

The storm hadn't subsided the moment he arrived to the large gates of an enormous manor. Its architecture was so spectacular that even in the night bombarded with hefty rains, it stood out like a beautiful castle amidst the vast fortifications. Owen swiftly climbed through the gates and jumped to the ground after. He was now at the premises of the Feuerlon manor.

He readjusted his cloak, and then he hid to the bushes and trees, until he got to one of the tall foliage and trees that had views of several rooms. The Faction had many illegal businesses and quests, which was equivalent to substantial drills; such as climbing buildings, heavy trainings, and mastering the art of concealing oneself. Owen prided himself to be exceptional to these, given the fact that he was a wingman not too long ago.

The tree had extended to a balcony, its branch chockfull of vines of flowers ascending through the gla.s.s doors—Owen silently crept through the balcony and peered through the door, which was covered in an almost-transparent curtain.

He saw a body sleeping against the pailla.s.se. Someone was lying down covered in a white, thick blanket. The figure stirred, and sat. It was a woman with an ash-grey colored hair. Owen parted his lips in fascination as he saw her short nightgown embracing the delicate curves of her body. He met her umber eyes—but soon he knew she wasn't looking at him but she was just looking vacantly on thin air.

Beautiful, Owen wanted to speak aloud, until the door surged open. Owen immediately hid himself, but peered nonetheless.

A familiar figure appeared to the woman's chambers.

The distinctive platinum-blond hair. Emerald eyes. A tall stature with an arctic aura.

The duke.

Owen whispered a silent spell, and retrieved a device inside his cloak. A hearing device. He pressed the other end of the tube to the wall, and the other end to his ear. He closed his eyes to listen.

"How is she?" Says a sweet voice.

"She's sleeping soundly now," answers the duke.

Owen firmly held the device.

"The child?"

"The child is safe," he says. "She overreacted."

"Thank goodness," says the woman. "I thought for a second that you killed the…"

"She wanted to be with me, and with her alone," answers the duke. "But I refused, Adalia. I am married to you. I am yours alone."

"But we both belong to you, right?" Adalia mutters. "I'm going back to Verteidigerin. I… I don't want to be here anymore. I'm taking Lucas and Bethrion with me."

"W-what? No! Addy, no, please." The duke stutters as he begged, "I—I'm sending Rose back."

"They will stone her to death, Alph!" Adalia exclaims, her voice trembling. Soon, Owen could hear her sobs. "People would know that you impregnated a peasant woman. Verteidigerin wouldn't want their duke to be cheating on the third princess, wouldn't they?"

"Addy…"

"I have to tell them that our relations.h.i.+p went sour, and I did not want you anymore,"

"No, Addy, please," Owen blinked. He could hear the duke—the duke was crying now. "I'm sorry. No. Stay with me, please."

Owen could no longer bear the duke's hypocrisy—he exited the balcony and went to find Rose's room. He traveled through both the trees and the ground, before he reached an opened window. He leapt inside, and whispered a drying spell to his soaked cloak. He used the rune of silence to his boot, and then he walked towards the hall—it was still a stormy night, but the wind was in a different direction. Rainwater wasn't inflowing the premises.

He examined the hall—paintings hung through them, and the light was obviously powered with magic. Owen strolled forward, and tried to open each door he could find. They were locked and they were too silent, without a proof for life.

Until he reached one, certain door.

He leaned his ear to the mahogany and listened to a soft cry. Owen's heart skipped a beat—that voice. It was definitely the voice of Rose.

Owen knew the art of lock-picking, and was excellent in doing it. Without hesitation he unlocked the door and then his eyes widened as he stood unblinking, whilst his feet froze on the spot. He couldn't move an inch as his eyes examined the entirety.

He unleased several gasps before he could mutter a word.

A woman was lying across the bed—her thighs bleeding, blood dripping to the floor.

"Rose," Owen exclaims breathlessly and ran towards her.

"I… the baby… Owen," she says weakly. "H-he-he said… he said the baby would bind me to the man I love…"

Owen blinked. "He? R-rose, I hhave to get you out of here… c-can you stand?" Owen held Rose's hand with his trembling one. He had to get her out of here. Quick. But the rain—he had to do something—he had to call the duke—

"I… I…" Rose gasped and bled all over her thighs. Owen trembled and could no longer decipher the situation, only wanting to hold her cold hand.

"I had a… I had… deal… with… h-him…" A tear fell to Rose's cheek. "to… speed the baby's…"

Owen parted his lips, seeing Rose's belly growing, whilst blood spilled nonstop across Rose's thighs down to the floor.

"Ssave me," she says, "t-t-the… b-baby is killing m-me…"

Owen trembled as Rose's stomach grew swollen and bigger, until it ruptured with a loud spurt.

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On that certain night, as far as Owen could remember, two things have occurred:

A baby's cry enveloped the silence,

…and the dead body of a damsel, innards scattered all across the polished floor, had broken a young man.