Reborn As Papa Silva

Chapter 81: Their Story (31): The Death

A great soul serves everyone all the time. A great soul never dies. It brings us together again and again. - Maya Angelou

—

"S-Sebb—Sebastian, t-talk to me... p-please... a-are you still angry about how I treated you before?" Acier placed a hand on her chest, shaking in desperation as she looked down at her husband, seated at his desk across from her.

His calm indifference, his silence, only made her more anxious as she pleaded with him. "T-that's fair. You have every right to be furious, livid, and displeased with me. Even more than that. B-but y-you must leave Nozel and the others out of this. Y-you love Nozel, I—I know you do. So please, if you're angry, take it out on me and me only."

Sebastian continued to look at her wordlessly before sighing and nodding. "You're right, I do love Nozel."

Acier's despair swiftly turned into a shaky, relieved frown, only to falter immediately as Sebastian's next words came out.

"After all, he's my heir. He's inherited your mana and probably my common sense—what's not to love about him?"

Acier froze as he continued with a pleased smile. "He'll make a very good Lord Silva in the future, so make sure to raise him right. When he turns four, bring him to me so I can start his education."

Acier's heart cracked, hearing her husband, her lover, her best friend talk about their baby boy merely as a tool of inheritance, a commodity to succeed him.

She teared up, causing Sebastian to lean back in his chair with a light sneer before sighing once more. "I believe it's his feeding time. You shouldn't keep him waiting, should you?"

Acier stiffly turned around and walked out like a robot.

—

Alfred suppressed a tremble and wore an indifferent mask as he watched his lord, Nathaniel, make a mess of his office.

This was utterly uncharacteristic of the cold and indifferent Lord Silva, who was expected to show no reaction even if the sky fell down.

Nathaniel slammed his hands down on his desk, his face dark and red, throwing neatly stacked parchments across the room, shattering his inkpot and staining the century-old desk. He tossed his patriarch's stamp—a family heirloom—away like trash, panting in cold sweat.

Then, he jerked and snapped his gaze to the House Silva head butler, making Alfred stiffen as he growled, "What happened?"

Alfred swallowed an inaudible gulp as he slowly parted his lips. "S-Sir, you had a front-row ticket to what just transpired. You should know better than me—"

"Enough word games, Pennyworth!" Nathaniel interrupted with a sneer, yelling in fury. "I want to know what happened to my boy!"

Alfred trembled further as Nathaniel jabbed a finger forward, making him wince in pain. But Nathaniel didn't care as he spat, "Tell me what happened to turn him from what he was to who he is now, in a matter of hours!"

Alfred stood up straight before bowing deferentially. "Apologies, my Lord, I don't know."

"You don't know?" Nathaniel raised a brow. "You don't know?! THEN WHAT GOOD ARE YOU?!"

Alfred bowed even deeper as Nathaniel raged on. "Tell me what his guards were doing! What are the reports from his protective detail?! What happened during the time he was out of the castle?!"

"Did someone cast a spell on him?! A curse?! Did someone give him something suspicious to eat or drink?! Did he go anywhere different?! Tell me!!!"

Alfred clenched his fists and raised his head, locking his lord in his gaze, and spoke softly. "According to reports, The Yon-Sebastian had not gone anywhere suspicious. He went straight to his stall and came back home before curfew. He had not eaten or drunk anything besides what he took with him. He wasn't given anything suspicious by any of his patients—no charms or voodoo items. It was a nearly identical day to all his trips out of the castle. Leaving and coming right back from work."

Nathaniel plopped down in his chair with an unamused expression, fixing Alfred with a steely glare. "It obviously wasn't a regular day, based on how he just acted."

Alfred chewed his lip, his heart racing, before he swallowed his fear and whispered softly, "Perhaps how he acted before just now wasn't the norm."

Nathaniel froze as the butler carried on, clenching his fists harder. "Perhaps everything before was an act, and what happened just now was his true colors. Now that Prince Nozel has been born, he no longer needs to continue this farce—"

"Pennyworth." Nathaniel cut him off with a chilly voice, making Alfred startle and his heart sink at the undisguised disappointment in his lord's eyes.

Before Alfred could say anything, Nathaniel intoned curtly, "You of all people should know that's not true."

Alfred parted his lips, but no words came out. Remembering that note—what Sebastian had asked him to do before—he swallowed any retort. If he was after House Silva, why would he do something so self-destructive? Was he confident my Lord would bail him out?

Alfred bowed in self-loathing. "Yes, sir. I await any punishment."

Nathaniel looked down at his butler for a moment before speaking softly. "Fire all of his guards, prepare me a carriage to the Basilica, and then go to your room."

Alfred didn't ask any questions and nodded politely. "Of course, my Lord."

Just as he spun on his heel and was about to walk out, Nathaniel's voice came again. "After your suspension, start training Jeeves. I think it's almost time for you to retire."

Alfred clutched the doorknob with a tremble before turning back around and bowing again. "Yes, my Lord."

The head butler then made himself scarce from the office.

After a moment, Nathaniel leaned forward, rubbing his face and eyes tiredly. His shoulders slumped, and his back hunched as he bit his lip in desperation.

—

Pope Benedictus, kneeling before the primeval cross in prayer, opened his eyes and turned with a smile, looking upwards.

"Can I help you with something, child?"

"Don't waste either of our time, Your Holiness. What happened to my son?" Nathaniel crossed his arms and looked down indifferently, ignoring the urge to kneel before the cross.

Benedictus cocked his head in confusion, blinking his clear eyes. "I haven't the faintest idea what you mean. Has something happened to young Sebastian?"

Suppressing his impatience, Nathaniel nodded. "Yes. He's suddenly acting cold-hearted, and I want to know why."

With a creak in his legs, the Pope stood up and clasped his hands together piously. "That's no good."

Closing his eyes, he brought his right hand to his forehead. "In the name of the Creator."

"And of the creations," he continued, moving his hand to the center of his chest.

Sliding his hand diagonally to rest over his heart, he added, "And of heavenly will."

Finally, he tapped his right shoulder and concluded, "I bless and pardon him under the Lord's gaze. May he one day return to the light." He clasped his hands once more and finished, "Amen."

The Pope opened his eyes, locking gazes with Nathaniel's steely, furious glare. Gritting his teeth, Nathaniel intoned hoarsely, "Enough games, Benedictus. What happened to my boy? I know you know. Why did you give him that cross? Why have you shown him such consideration? Why did you come to Aurelia's birthday party just to check on him? Tell me!"

Benedictus looked blankly at Nathaniel for a moment before sighing. "You're more observant than I accounted for."

Nathaniel showed no reaction to the Pope's inadvertent compliment as Benedictus nodded slightly. "I can't tell you. I won't tell you. Just know that God gives His toughest battles to His strongest soldiers."

Nathaniel clenched his fists. "You expect me to be satisfied with such an answer?!"

Benedictus shook his head and whispered, "No. But at the same time, God grants those same soldiers the greatest salvation. One day, he will be back."

"I don't care!" Nathaniel spat, disrespectfully, in the Pope's face. "I just want my son back. Now!"

Benedictus showed no dissatisfaction, only understanding and pity, which made Nathaniel feel worse. Before the Silva Patriarch could snap further, Benedictus spoke again.

"Nathaniel, there are forces at play that you can neither understand nor contend with. I am equally helpless. If I could aid you, I would. The two of us must simply follow the script, act like pawns, know our place—and then things won't get worse."

Nathaniel's eyes reddened, watering. "W-what did Sebastian do to deserve this?! What sin did he commit?!"

Benedictus sighed. "Nothing. His sole misfortune was being born in the same era as someone furious with the world. He was targeted by a misguided soul hellbent on subverting heaven and earth, despite the inevitable loss, chaos, and suffering."

"Who is it?!" Nathaniel hissed.

Benedictus shook his head. "I can't tell you that."

"Then what can you tell me?!" Nathaniel demanded.

The Pope looked at him calmly. "That you must never tell anyone the truth—not even the rest of your family."

Nathaniel froze before hissing incredulously, "You expect me to keep my mouth shut?! It's not only Sebastian suffering—it's Acier! My grandson will too! Not to mention Aurelia, Amara, and whoever else joins my family in the future! They deserve to know, yet you expect me to keep quiet and let them suffer?!"

Benedictus nodded curtly. "Yes. Because at least then, they will still be themselves."

Nathaniel's breath hitched. He trembled slightly, coughing weakly into his sleeve, blood spitting from his mouth as the Pope looked at him apologetically.

Benedictus stretched out his arm and placed a hand on Nathaniel's head, a white light glowing as instant relief washed over him. The Pope sighed again.

"I know it's hard. I know it's cruel. But we must do what we must. Sebastian is still in there, in that vessel—watching, resisting, fighting. It would break his last shred of spirit if he witnessed his same fate befall his loved ones."

Tears fell from Nathaniel's eyes. "W-why us...? Why my family? Why my son?"

Benedictus sighed and wrapped the Silva Patriarch in a consoling hug.

"The Silvamillion line—the Silvamillion descendants—are the blessed of this world, but also the most tested and pitiful. A price is always exacted for what fate bestows. I'm sorry."

Nathaniel trembled harder. "What about the Vermillions? I don't see them suffering remotely as much as us Silvas."

Benedictus bit his lip and stayed silent.

He had no response.

—

Pope Benedictus saw Nathaniel off outside the Basilica. As Nathaniel stepped into the horse-drawn carriage, he paused, turned back to look at the Pope, and whispered softly,

"What am I supposed to do now? With Sebastian? With Acier? With my family?"

The Pope clasped his hands. "Follow your heart. The two of them are strong. As long as the final thread tying them together is not undone, they will always find their way back to one another."

Nathaniel weakly nodded and entered the cabin, the driver closing the door behind him.

A minute later, the carriage, pulled by a stunning silver steed, headed back in the direction of Castle Silva.

As it disappeared from view, the Pope sighed, tired and weary, stiffly turning around and climbing the stairs back into the Basilica of Saint Luminous.

—

From then on, life was different for the Silvas.

Nathaniel didn't kick Sebastian out of the house, but he didn't allow him to meet with Acier alone—nor her with him.

Instead, he kept Sebastian at his side under the pretense of training him as his successor. Sebastian had simply smiled in pleased agreement.

At the dining table—once full of life, five people eating together in joy—there was no longer a chance to welcome Nozel to the scene.

Now, it was just Sebastian and Nathaniel, eating in silence.

Aurelia and Amara would join Acier in her room.

Yes, Acier's room was once again just Acier's room—well, hers and Nozel's.

Sebastian was moved to a faraway wing, his office as well.

Nathaniel and Alfred ensured a complete shutdown of rumors within the castle and estate, but it was only a matter of time before word spread across the aristocracy.

It couldn't be hidden from the Kiras for long. The Vermillions, due to their close ties with the Silvas, found out almost immediately.

—

In Castle Vermillion, Aurelia wept in a chair, with Florian seated beside her, gently rubbing her shoulder in consolation.

Across the room, Ignatius and Amber sat beside one another. Mereoleona was oddly quiet in her father's lap, while Fuegoleon slept soundly in his mother's arms.

Watching Aurelia—his likely future sister-in-law—trembling and sobbing, Ignatius gritted his teeth and spat in a fiery sneer, "I never thought I was so blind."

Amber was silent, lost in thought, recalling her moments with Acier, their moments with her and Sebastian. Her brows furrowed slightly as she whispered, "Maybe we weren't."

Ignatius paused, looking at his wife. "What was that, Amber?"

Amber tensed and forced a smile, shaking her head. "Nothing, just mumbling."

Ignatius raised a brow but said nothing as he lightly stroked Mereoleona's hair.

Amber did the same with Fuegoleon, her heart aching.

—

Time passed.

Sebastian focused on his lordship studies. Acier focused on raising Nozel, practically a single mother. They were married in name only.

Neither saw much of one another.

It was better that way.

For the real Sebastian, locked in that mindscape and sinking into that black ocean, the distance was a small mercy. Still, when he crossed paths with Amara, Aurelia, and the many House Silva servants and retainers—receiving nothing but hateful, dirty stares—it hurt.

But he also felt relieved.

As long as there was distance, he couldn't hurt Acier and Nozel too badly. He yearned for them, but this... this was acceptable.

That's what he told himself.

But then Nozel's first birthday came—his introduction to the aristocracy.

His body, beyond his control, naturally showed up. Reputation was important, after all. The real Sebastian understood—the boy wanted power, wanted his position as Lord Silva. He wouldn't let Sebastian's reputation crumble too much if it meant interfering with his own ascension.

His body didn't misbehave. It gave a curt, standard speech, thanking everyone for coming. It didn't directly hurt Acier or Nozel.

But it hurt the real Sebastian.

Seeing his son in his mother's arms, staring at him like a stranger—uneasy with his presence—made his soul sink deeper into that black ocean.

But still, he endured. If he was the only one suffering, he could tolerate it.

Then Acier made a mistake.

She wanted an afterparty. A private one. Just her, Nozel, and him.

The real Sebastian screamed in that mindscape, begging her not to do it. But she couldn't hear him.

His body accepted.

The two of them somehow managed to sneak behind Nathaniel's back.

Alone in her room, she carefully sliced a piece of vanilla cake. Her hands trembled slightly as she turned to him, voice polite, almost servile.

"Would you like to feed Nozel?"

His body took the fork.

The real Sebastian pleaded for it to stop.

He lifted the cake to Nozel's mouth.

Acier's eyes shone with hope.

Nozel, curious, leaned forward, about to take a bite—

Then his body smiled. Perversely.

The fork retracted. The cake disappeared into his own mouth instead.

Acier froze.

Nozel blinked, confused. n/ô/vel/b//jn dot c//om

Sebastian's body chewed. Swallowed.

Then spat, "Disgusting."

The plate hit the ground with a clatter.

Then his foot came down.

The rest of Nozel's birthday cake—smashed beneath his heel.

Acier's eyes dulled all over again.

Nozel shivered, trembled—then wailed, clinging to his mother.

The real Sebastian sank further into that abyss as his doppelgänger relished the moment, forcing him to watch, replaying it over and over.

When his body had its fill, it turned on its heel, stepping toward the door.

But before leaving, it spared Acier one last remark.

"Shut that thing up. His crying is getting on my nerves."

—

Time passed again.

Sebastian joined Nathaniel on trips to the royal courts, further entrenching himself within noble society.

Strangely, his cruelty didn't upset them.

It made them welcome him.

Before, they had feared Sebastian was a "traitor" like the Vermillions—another self-hating noble who would waste his efforts propping up useless commoners and peasants. But his body made it clear: he was as cold-hearted as they came, ruthless to anything and anyone not of noble blood—and even then, cruel all the same.

The royalists and elitists embraced him with open arms, pride swelling in their chests.

"One of us," they said. "Cut from the same cloth."

The real Sebastian despaired all over again.

One day, Acier confronted him.

She begged him to see reason, to remember who he was. She asked about all the commoners and peasants he had once helped.

"What about Jack and Jonas?" she pleaded. "The street rats we loved? The ones we cried for?"

Sebastian's body smiled at his wife.

"Stop living in the past," he said.

Acier froze.

His body continued, unfazed.

"Give up your guilt. We tried to help them. They wouldn't accept it."

His voice was light, almost amused.

"Jack and Jonas have no one to blame but themselves. They were weak. Too proud to accept a helping hand. Not worthy of our tears. Just like all the others."

Acier's lips parted, but no words came.

"The weak should know their place," he said. "At least then, they can live."

He stepped closer, his tone turning almost instructive, as if teaching a lesson.

"The strong among commoners and peasants become nobles. The weak stay where they belong."

A pause.

"It's as simple as that."

His smile widened.

"Equality is a fool's errand. There must be a clear hierarchy in society, or people start getting funny ideas."

Acier's shoulders trembled.

Sebastian continued.

"All those commoners and peasants who died in the civil war? They had only themselves to blame. If they hadn't been so quick to believe rumors—if they had simply used a little common sense and not revolted—there would have been no war."

His voice didn't waver, didn't falter.

"Then the Crimson Lions and Silver Eagles could have joined the Purple Orcas and Blue Rose in pushing back Diamond. Instead, thanks to the people of Kiten and those thankless peasants, noble blood was spilled."

Acier fell to her knees, her scream raw and broken.

"What about Goldstein?" she sobbed. "What about Alden's decision? To sacrifice the few to save the many?"

Sebastian's smile only brightened.

"Magic is everything," he said simply. "Alden was the strongest. He had every right."

His words were like a blade, each syllable cutting deep.

"If those pathetic peasants and commoners had strength, had use, they wouldn't have been sacrificial pawns. Even without Alden, they should have found a way to repel Goldstein and Diamond."

Acier wept.

Sebastian reached out, patting her head like she was nothing more than a pet.

Then he turned and walked away.

—

Time passed again.

Sebastian only ever saw Nozel to instruct him—and even then, Nathaniel was always at his side, overseeing his every move.

Sebastian's body didn't care.

It knew the final line.

If he ever raised a hand against Nozel, Acier and Nathaniel would be done with him. He would be cast out.

So his body didn't even bother. It didn't insult Nozel, didn't hurt him in any way—other than by being absent from his life.

Sebastian's body wasn't a father.

It was a boss. A superior.

The real Sebastian tried to swim up for air, tried to beg Nozel—stop looking at me like that.

Stop looking at him with hope.

There was none here.

He should stay with his mother, grow up, get strong, and be done with him.

But none of Sebastian's words escaped that mindscape. They sank into the abyss, unheard, as his doppelgänger looked down at him with a gleeful, mocking smirk.

Then, something happened.

On January 3rd, 1608, Nathaniel Silva suddenly collapsed.

He was rushed to the hospital. And then, House Silva learned.

The kingdom learned.

Lord Silva didn't have much longer.

Perhaps he wouldn't even make it to the end of the year before kicking the bucket.

Nathaniel Silva was dying.

No doctor, no healer, no hired expert could do anything.

House Silva despaired all over again.

Because those who understood what this meant—truly understood—felt terror creep into their bones.

Sebastian would take over soon.

With Nathaniel gone, with no one to keep him in check... their suffering, their hell, would only accelerate.

Acier sat at her father's bedside, watching his once-strong body lie weak and frail against the sheets.

She gritted her teeth.

She needed to bring love and joy back into this household.

She looked at Nozel, devastated, weeping at his grandfather's side, clutching his hand, pleading for him to stay.

Her resolve hardened.

Even if it hurt, even if it was painful—Nozel needed more love in his life.

On January 17th, in the dead of night...

Acier went to her husband's bedroom.

—

"Say that again."

Sebastian's body turned around, lips curling into a perverse smile just as he was about to head to sleep.

Acier clenched her fists, then bowed her head.

"I want another baby," she said, voice steady but trembling at the edges. "I want another child. Please cooperate."

Sebastian's body grinned wider, licking his lips.

"And what are you going to do if I don't?" he mused. "Force yourself on me all over again?"

Acier bit her lip and whispered, "If I have to."

Sebastian's body stepped closer, tilting her chin up with a gentle touch.

He smiled broadly.

"Are you a masochist?" he asked. "This time, you'll be going through the pregnancy alone. You understand that, right?"

Tears pricked at Acier's eyes, but she nodded weakly.

Still, he wasn't done.

"You really are terrible," he continued. "Nozel's suffering wasn't enough? You're going to put another child through that all over again?"

Acier locked eyes with him and stammered hoarsely, "I'm here. Nozel's here. My sister, my mother—we're all here. That child, our child, will be loved."

"But not by me."

Sebastian's body beamed.

Acier fell silent, tears spilling down her cheeks.

He let go of her chin and stepped back.

"Very well."

She choked up and exhaled in relief.

That relief didn't last long.

Sebastian's body sneered.

"If you want something, take it for yourself. This is about making children, not making love. Don't expect me to do any moving."

Her tears started anew.

Sebastian's body didn't care as it stripped and lay down on the bed.

—

Within the mindscape, the real Sebastian despaired all over again—only to suddenly be yanked above the black water, gasping for air.

He looked around, disoriented, and froze.

His pitch-black doppelgänger was smiling down at him.

With a snap of its fingers, a white screen materialized in front of Sebastian.

The image appeared—the black-haired boy with the sun-mark.

The one responsible for all of this.

The one person he hated most in the world.

Then, the memory replayed. That fateful night.

The boy's voice echoed through his mind.

"Every now and then, you'll be you again. You'll have control of your body, though what you can do and say will be restricted."

Sebastian stiffened.

The doppelgänger snapped its fingers again.

The chains binding him vanished.

Sebastian understood.

It was his body, but seeing someone else in control—seeing that thing touch his wife, his love, his everything—

That would break him.

Sebastian smiled weakly.

Then he took control.

—

He showed no outward reaction as Acier stripped and straddled him.

No joy at being reconnected with his wife.

His expression was blank, lifeless.

A dead fish.

Acier's hands trembled as she guided him inside, her tears falling onto his face.

He fought the urge to wipe them away.

Would he even be allowed to?

Would his doppelgänger take control if he tried?

He didn't risk it.

The only thing he did was steady her waist—so she could finish this as fast as possible.

He was allowed to make children with his wife.

But not make love.

He was allowed to have sex with her.

But not enjoy it.

Acier wept as she moved, clutching him, clinging to him, taking everything from him just to ensure her pregnancy—so she wouldn't have to repeat this.

Her heart cracked.

She had expected to see mocking eyes.

Insidious eyes.

Instead, she found only dead, hollow ones.

She choked on a sob.

"Why do you look sad?" she whimpered.

Sebastian didn't answer.

And so, Acier cried in silence as she continued to ride him.

—

As soon as Acier left the room, weeping and trembling, Sebastian heard a snap in his head.

Then, he was back.

Chained.

Bound.

Drowning in that mindscape once again, as his doppelgänger resumed control.

—

Nathaniel's condition deteriorated much faster than anyone had expected.

Now, it was uncertain if he would even make it through the summer.

Acier sat at her father's bedside, absently rubbing her decently sized baby bump. The room was empty except for the two of them.

Nathaniel had asked everyone to leave.

He wanted to speak to his daughter alone.

Despite Acier's protests, he weakly sat up in bed, leaning against the backboard. He waved her concerns away, coughing softly into his sleeve.

"A-Acier..." his voice rasped. "There are some things I need to say to you."

Acier's eyes reddened. She forced a smile and nodded.

"Yes? What is it, Daddy?"

Nathaniel coughed again.

"First, I owe you an apology. A huge apology."

Acier froze.

Nathaniel continued before she could stop him.

"For fourteen long years, I stood on the sidelines and ignored the suffering my father and your mother put you through." His voice cracked. "I'm unworthy to be your father. I'm sorry—"

"Daddy!"

Acier cut him off, tears streaking down her face.

"Please don't say that! Never say anything like that! I love you! You're my Daddy!"

Nathaniel choked up, sobbing.

"I—I know... but I'm still sorry. My father wasn't the only one projecting my mother onto you—I was too. If I had shut him down from day one... if I hadn't let him name you after her... maybe your childhood, your youth, would have been different.

"Maybe it would have been filled with joy. With freedom. With love, hope, and dreams."

He gritted his teeth.

"But I took that away from you. And I'm sorry."

Acier swallowed down a sob, her shoulders trembling.

She nodded, shaking as she whispered, "Apology accepted, Daddy."

Nathaniel wiped his tears with his sleeve and reached out with a frail hand, gently caressing her head.

"There's... one more thing I need to say to you," he murmured. "Something I need to ask of you."

Acier nodded swiftly.

"What is it, Daddy? I'll do anything—"

Nathaniel cut her off.

"Promise me."

Acier stiffened.

"Promise me that no matter what... no matter what Sebastian does to you or your children... as long as he doesn't cross some final, irredeemable line, you won't leave him.

"And you won't let him leave."

Acier's breath hitched.

Her pupils dilated as Nathaniel trembled.

"I know this is awful—to you, to Nozel, to this child." His gaze flickered to her belly. He clenched his jaw. "But you have to promise me."

Acier shook in place, her body betraying her.

Nathaniel carried on.

"There's something you need to understand, Acier. Everything before that day—before he changed—it couldn't have been a lie."

Acier's hands gripped the bedsheets, her throat tightening, her breath coming out shallow and uneven.

Nathaniel's frail hand stroked her hair, grounding her, anchoring her, as he whispered:

"Going to that dance for you.

"Opposing your grandfather and the nobility for you.

"Stepping onto a battlefield—a war zone, a hell on earth—just for you.

"Saving your life.

"Slandering himself.

"Tolerating the abuse and uncertainty you put him through when you were first pregnant...

"None of that would've been possible if he hadn't truly loved you.

"If he hadn't truly loved Nozel."

Acier gasped, struggling to breathe.

"His tears, his smiles, his frowns, his grins—the good and the bad—they were all real." Nathaniel's voice shook.

"This wasn't some grand manipulative scheme. Not some long, drawn-out plot to seduce you and take over the House.

"That kind of deception—if that's what this really was—it would be too terrifying.

"No one would go that far.

"No one would risk that much—everything they were—just to reach this point."

His hand trembled against her hair.

"Remember, Acier... you were the one who pursued him first."

Acier sobbed, closing her eyes.

Then, she smiled.

"Daddy," she whispered. "Never—not even for a second—have I ever doubted his love for me... from those three years."

Nathaniel froze.

Acier took his hand, pressing it against her cheek.

"Don't worry, Daddy. Your little girl is super strong. She can take anything."

She took a deep breath, steadying herself.

"As long as my children aren't targeted by the monster he is now... I'll never leave him."

She swallowed.

"I promise."

Nathaniel shook.

Then he broke down.

"G-Good... V-Very good..." He wept openly. "I'm s-sorry, Acier... If only Daddy was stronger... None of this would be happening... I'm so sorry."

His body trembled.

"I love you, Acier."

Acier gasped.

For a moment, she thought she had misheard him.

Nathaniel had always shown her love, but... never had she recalled him saying it.

She broke.

She lunged forward, wrapping her arms around him, sobbing into his sleeve.

"I love you, Daddy."

Nathaniel hugged her back, clutching her as if she were his lifeline.

They held onto each other like that for a very, very long time.

—

Acier sat on the edge of her bed, shifting uncomfortably as a sharp pain flared in her abdomen.

She reached into her drawer.

Her fingers trembled as they brushed against something.

Slowly, she pulled it out.

Her half of their lover's card.

She gritted her teeth and poured her mana into it, heart pounding, waiting—praying—for a response.

Seconds passed.

Nothing.

Her breath hitched. She clutched the card tighter, her knuckles whitening as she pushed more mana into it, willing, begging for a connection.

Nothing.

No response from afar.

Just silence.

—

Within that endless, black ocean of his mindscape, Sebastian struggled.

He screamed, pleaded—begged—his doppelgänger to let him respond.

To let him answer her.

The doppelgänger merely smiled.

A cruel, victorious grin.

Sebastian sank deeper into the abyss.

—

Back in her room, Acier sat frozen, staring at the unresponsive card in her hand.

Five minutes.

Five whole minutes of nothing.

Stiffly, she put the card back in her drawer and slammed it shut.

Her hands rose to her face.

She trembled.

And wept.

"D-Daddy... I don't doubt his love from before, b-but..." Her voice cracked. "He doesn't love me anymore..."

Tears streamed down her cheeks, falling onto her lap.

"Why didn't you tell me...?" she whispered.

A choked sob tore from her throat.

"Why didn't you tell me people can fall out of love?"

Her nails dug into her palms.

"Why won't he tell me what I did wrong?"

"I just want to know."

Her body curled in on itself, shoulders shaking.

"I j-just want to know why... What did I do?"

—

It was the 15th of August.

Sebastian turned twenty-one today.

The age of inheritance.

Nathaniel lay on his deathbed.

Amara sat beside him, weeping, Aurelia at her side. Both women clung to each other, their grief suffocating the room.

Then the door opened.

Without warning.

A figure stepped inside.

Both women turned toward him.

Then froze.

Amara shot up from her chair, her grief giving way to fury.

"What are you doing here, you unfilial bastard?!" she hissed. "Begone from here—"

She stopped abruptly.

Her gaze locked onto the folder in Sebastian's hands.

A thick folder.

Filled with paperwork.

Aurelia's grief twisted into rage.

She spat at him. "Father—your father-in-law is dying, and all you can think about is succeeding this house?! You want him to pass it down to you?!"

Her voice trembled with fury.

"I want you to die!"

With a sharp rustle of pages, Aurelia's grimoire flew open in front of her. Ice encased her hands, frost spreading across her fingers.

Sebastian's body didn't flinch.

He merely watched.

Indifferent.

Waiting for an attack that would never come.

"AURELIA!"

Nathaniel's voice cracked like a whip.

Aurelia stiffened.

Her wide, tear-filled eyes snapped to her father.

"W-Why are you angry at me?!" she cried indignantly.

Nathaniel's furious expression softened.

Apologetic.

Regretful.

"I... I'm sorry." His voice rasped.

He coughed hoarsely before turning to the door.

"Hilda. Jeeves." He took a labored breath. "Take my wife and daughter out of here."

Amara's head whipped toward him in disbelief.

"N-Nathaniel?!" she screamed.

But Nathaniel wasn't having it.

He weakly waved them off, unwilling to argue.

Against their will, Amara and Aurelia were escorted out, their glares burning into Sebastian as they passed.

Amara's eyes blazed with hatred.

Aurelia's seethed with betrayal.

Hilda and Jeeves said nothing, their gazes cold and unreadable.

The door shut behind them.

Silence.

Nathaniel exhaled slowly.

Then, without looking up, he muttered:

"Alfred."

The butler stiffened.

"Bring me my patriarch's stamp, quill, and inkpot."

Alfred hesitated.

For a moment, it looked like he wanted to argue.

But then he bit his lip, bowed stiffly, and murmured:

"Of course, my lord."

With measured steps, he walked past Sebastian—without a glance.

Indifferent.

—

It was just the two of them now in Nathaniel's and Amara's bedroom.

Nathaniel sat propped up in bed, flipping through document after document. With mechanical precision, he sighed and stamped them one by one, transferring official rights, power, and ownership to Sebastian.

The rhythmic sound of the stamp echoed in the room, a stark contrast to the heavy silence.

When the final page was done, he placed them into a folder, sighed again, and handed it over to his son-in-law. As he slowly lifted his head, Nathaniel spoke, his voice hollow:

"Congratulations on your ascension, Lord Silva—"

But his words caught in his throat.

He froze.

Sebastian sat motionless before him. He wasn't trembling. He wasn't shaking. He sat perfectly still, his eyes dull and empty, yet tears streamed down his face.

Sebastian didn't make a sound. He simply cried.

—

In the mindscape, Sebastian's doppelgänger hovered above the chained and bound Sebastian, observing with interest.

Looking underneath the black ocean, the doppelgänger clapped mockingly, as if applauding the real Sebastian's helplessness. Though bound, Sebastian's tears flowed freely in reality.

The doppelgänger snapped his fingers, and slowly, the real Sebastian was freed.

—

Nathaniel's eyes reddened, his heart heavy.

He set the folder down and reached out, his frail hand trembling as he gently gripped the back of Sebastian's head, pulling him close.

Sebastian didn't resist. His passive compliance only deepened Nathaniel's sorrow. Slowly, Nathaniel rested their foreheads together.

"One day... one day, you'll be free," Nathaniel whispered, his voice breaking. "One day, you'll be with Acier, Nozel... you'll have that peace. Don't give up. Keep fighting. Look forward to that day."

Sebastian's hands slowly moved, wrapping around Nathaniel's back, pulling him into a hug, the same way he had when they stood before Nicklaus' grave.

Sebastian wept silently against Nathaniel's chest, his sobs muffled but raw. Nathaniel patted his back, visibly shaking, his own tears threatening to fall.

"I love you, Son," Nathaniel murmured, his voice gentle but laced with sorrow.

At those words, Sebastian's tears intensified, but he quickly gathered himself. With swift composure, he distanced himself from Nathaniel, causing the older man to flinch.

Sebastian stood stiffly, mechanically picking up the folder. He bowed, his expression empty.

"Thank you, Father. Goodbye."

Nathaniel wiped his eyes, offering a shaky smile. "Goodbye, Sebastian."

Sebastian wiped his own eyes, but his face betrayed no sign of his earlier sorrow. Without a word, he turned and exited the room, his departure as cold and indifferent as ever.

—

The next day, Sebastian was officially crowned as the 19th head of House Silva.

—

Two days later, Nathaniel passed away at the age of 61.

—

The day after, his funeral ceremony and burial were held.

Sebastian made an emotionless speech, vowing to continue guiding House Silva to greatness, as if he felt no grief at Nathaniel's passing.

At the burial, after all the guests had left, Sebastian was the first to depart.

He left behind his pregnant wife, his nearly four-year-old son, his mother-in-law, and his sister-in-law—alone in their sorrow, to weep in peace.

Author's Notes:

[1] RIP Nathaniel Silva, I never thought I could feel anything for an OC

[2] Feel free to join the discord: https://discord.gg/s3MME8X8ar

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