Echoes Of Ossian
From the moment I opened my eyes in that cold, secluded space I had only for myself, the first thing I heard was the distant murmur of the maids and servants, their voices tinged with annoyance as they bustled about their morning tasks. Beyond the thin wooden walls that barely separated me from the rest of the servants' quarters, footsteps hurried across the stone corridors, the rustling of fabric and clinking of dishes signaling the start of another day of relentless labor.
We all had to wake up early to ensure that everything in the domain was immaculate before the main family of the clan even stirred from their slumber. It was a routine as rigid as the walls that confined me—a cycle I had no choice but to follow.
I sighed, the warmth of my breath vanishing into the frigid air, and slowly pushed myself upright. A shiver ran down my spine as the morning chill wrapped around me, seeping through the thin, threadbare blanket that had done little to keep me warm. The stone floor was like ice beneath my bare feet, a sharp contrast that jolted me fully awake. The small, dimly lit space around me was sparse—just a straw mat for sleeping, a rickety wooden chest with a few worn-out garments, and a cracked ceramic bowl from last night's meager meal. No luxuries, no comfort, only the bare minimum to sustain my existence in this place.
Yet, in this solitude, in this tiny, forgotten corner of the estate, I found a strange kind of ownership. It was mine—this cold, secluded space. No one else wanted it, and perhaps that was the only freedom I had.
The morning air bit at my skin as I rushed through the narrow back alley leading to the main house, my breath coming in hurried puffs of mist. The cold had been unbearable last night—so bitter that, each time I closed my eyes, a terrifying thought gnawed at me: What if I never wake up again? I had curled into myself in my tiny storage room near the forest, trying to preserve what little warmth I had. But warmth was a luxury I couldn't afford.
By the time I reached the courtyard where the other servants were already assembled, I could feel their stares burning into me. Some muttered under their breaths; others simply looked through me as if I were a ghost haunting the estate. I wasn't one of them, not really. I never had been.
The Head Maid's sharp voice cut through the cold morning air."You're late."
I lowered my gaze, bowing my head slightly. "I'm sorry."
She scoffed, the sound laced with disdain. Her dark eyes bore into me, filled with something close to hatred. She doesn't need to say it. She despises me.
"Cleaning," she barked, as she always did. "Sweep, mop, dust. The master's chambers, the reception halls, the corridors. The artifacts and tapestries require special care. Do not damage them, or you'll regret it."
"Yes, Head Maid," I murmured, already moving before she could berate me further.
The other servants dispersed to their assigned tasks, chatting in hushed voices. I caught bits of their conversation as I worked.
"—the bastard of the main family—""—pitiful thing, really—""—shouldn't even be here—"
I had heard it all before. Their words should have stung, but they didn't. Not anymore. I knew my own story as well as they did—perhaps even better. I had been abandoned, left like an unwanted piece of furniture, a blemish on the family's name. I didn't need their whispers to remind me of my place.
I swept the hallways in silence, the rhythmic motion of the broom grounding me. Cleaning was a servant's duty—one that had been drilled into me since childhood. I had no choice but to obey, to survive. Do as you're told, keep your head down, and live to see another day.
But there was one task I actually looked forward to.
Polishing the swords and armor of the clan's guards and soldiers.
As I ran a cloth over the gleaming blade of a katana, I stole glances at the training ground just beyond the courtyard. The soldiers moved with precision, their strikes powerful, their footwork calculated. I was mesmerized. Unlike me, they had strength, purpose. Freedom.
One of the younger guards, noticing my gaze, smirked. "What? Dreaming of being one of us?"
I looked away quickly, my hands tightening around the cloth. "No."
He chuckled. "Good. Because someone like you wouldn't last a day."
I kept silent, swallowing down the retort that threatened to rise. Someone like me? He meant a bastard. A servant. A nobody.
But still, I watched. And I dreamed.
Because even if I was nothing now, that didn't mean I had to stay that way forever.
Right ?
I wanted to join them. To become stronger. So that fear wouldn't haunt me my entire life.
But it was a foolish dream.
I would have never imagined that one day, I wouldn't have a choice but to join them—to survive.
For now, I pushed the thought aside and focused on my tasks. The domain needed to be spotless. My mind couldn't wander. It wasn't safe to let it.
The master of the house—the man who was supposed to be my father—ruled over this place like a monarch. His name commanded fear and respect beyond the estate's walls. To me, however, he was just a stranger with the same blood running through his veins.
I had seen him before, of course. We had crossed paths in the long corridors, in the vast gardens, in the main halls. But his eyes never acknowledged me. Never once did he stop. He despised me. The maids whispered that he had never wanted me in the first place, that I was a mistake he had been forced to endure.
Getting rid of a child in the womb was against family law. So instead, he threw me here.
His wife—his proper wife—was a noblewoman from a prestigious family. A political pawn in an arranged marriage. She wasn't my mother. That much was clear from the way her icy gaze cut through me like I was nothing but filth.
My real mother was a concubine, a woman sold to him to pay off her family's debts. She was never loved, never wanted. Just another possession. A toy in his hands. He made sure she knew it, every single day.
She died a few years after I was born.
Coincidentally, it happened soon after his wife gave birth to a proper heir.
Since then, I had been cast aside, shoved into the shadows like a discarded object. I was only a child, but I still remembered her—faint flashes of warmth, a soft voice humming in the dark. I didn't know if those memories were real or just illusions my mind created to comfort me. But after all I had heard, after all the things whispered when they thought I wasn't listening, I was sure that at least part of it had to be true.
The day passed in monotonous labor, the same as all the others before it. Sweeping, scrubbing, dusting—until my body moved on its own, numb to the exhaustion. But something gnawed at me today, a whisper of curiosity I could no longer ignore.
The golden doors.
I had seen them before, of course. Everyone had. And yet, no one ever spoke of them.
The maids avoided them like a curse, their steps quickening whenever they passed, their heads bowed low. Their fear was tangible, as if the doors could see them—judge them—pull them into whatever lay beyond.
I stopped before them, my heart hammering in my chest.
What was behind them?
And why did it feel like I wasn't meant to know?
I decided to open them.
Maybe I shouldn't have.
But my curiosity was stronger than my reason.
The Head Maid would punish me if she found out. She always scolded me for my childlike behavior, snapping at me with that sharp, rasping voice of hers. It was strange, though—the way she said it. The way she looked at me.
In her eyes, I wasn't a child. Not really.
She glared at me differently than she did the other maids. Her disdain for them was fleeting, a passing annoyance. But with me… it was something deeper. Like I wasn't just a nuisance—I was a mistake. A stain that should have never existed.
It didn't matter. None of it did.
Not when the golden doors stood before me, their smooth surface glowing under the dim candlelight.
My breath hitched as I reached out, tracing the delicate engravings of golden flowers along the handle. The metal was cool beneath my fingertips. For a moment, I hesitated.
Just a quick look. No one will know.
I pushed lightly, and the doors creaked open.
Inside, the room was silent.
I had expected something grand—perhaps lavish decorations, towering bookshelves filled with knowledge meant only for the powerful. Instead, the space was almost barren, dominated by a massive black desk at its center. Papers and books were strewn everywhere, scattered across the floor as if someone had ransacked the place in a fit of rage. Some pages were torn, ink smeared across them in hurried strokes.
I bent down, hesitating before picking up one of the papers. Strange symbols covered it—jagged lines and twisting marks that made no sense to me. I traced them with my fingers, intrigued. What do they mean? What secrets do they hold?
I was so absorbed in my thoughts that I almost didn't notice it.
The shift in the air.
The cold breath against my nape.
A chill ran down my spine, and my body locked in place.
Someone's behind me.
Slowly, I straightened, my heart pounding in my chest. I opened my mouth, trying to force out an excuse, an apology—anything.
But before I could turn around, a hand shot out and wrapped around my throat.
A crushing grip, lifting me clean off the ground.
I choked, my hands scrambling at the iron-like fingers digging into my skin. My legs kicked uselessly beneath me as I struggled to breathe.
Furious eyes bore into mine.
Not the usual contempt I was used to.
No—this was something far worse.
It was raw, unfiltered rage.
And in that moment, for the first time in my life, I realized—
I might not make it out of this room alive.
Time lost all meaning.
The man before me—his grip still burning on my throat—stared at me with something close to disbelief. For a moment, I thought the worst had passed. But then his expression twisted, his eyes widening into something insane.
Fury. Hatred. Terror.
And then came the screaming.
His voice roared through the room, raw and frenzied, spittle flying as he shook me violently.
"How is this possible?! Those eyes… again—!"
His fingers tightened around my arms, his breath ragged, unhinged.
"I ALREADY GOT RID OF YOU! WHY ARE YOU HAUNTING ME?!"
I froze.
Who… was he talking to?
It couldn't be me. It couldn't be me.
I didn't have time to think. The next moment, he threw me to the ground. Cold stone met my body with a brutal impact, knocking the air from my lungs. My mind barely registered the pain before the blows came—fists crashing into me, one after another, each more violent than the last.
I curled into myself, making myself as small as possible. If I could disappear, if I could just vanish, maybe—
Maybe he would stop.
Was I screaming? I didn't know. His voice drowned out everything, his shouts endless, filled with something beyond rage.
"WHY ARE YOU STILL HERE?! WHY ARE YOU STILL ALIVE?!"
Footsteps. A voice, aged but firm.
"Master! Master! Please, you must stop—!"
An old man had entered the room. His voice was urgent, yet it barely seemed to reach the master, who only howled in response, his breathing ragged, his body shaking.
I didn't understand.
I didn't understand any of it.
Curled in the corner of the room, my body wracked with silent sobs, I barely noticed when she arrived.
The Head Maid.
I had never seen her like this before.
She ran—she, who always moved with cold precision—rushing into the room with sheer panic in her eyes. For the first time, she looked afraid.
And then she saw me.
Her eyes widened in disbelief before she quickly dropped into a deep bow. "Forgive him, Master. Please forgive him!" Her voice wavered, desperate.
I didn't have time to react before she grabbed my arm, her fingers digging in painfully as she hauled me to my feet. "Bow," she hissed under her breath, yanking me forward. "Bow and ask for forgiveness."
My legs barely held me up as I dropped my head.
The master didn't respond.
He stood there, chest rising and falling erratically, eyes still wild—like he had seen a ghost.
The Head Maid didn't wait.
She pulled me away, dragging me out of the room, out of that nightmare, down the empty corridors until we reached the servants' quarters.
Only then did she release me, her breathing uneven. She looked at me once, lips pressing into a thin line.
Then, without another word, she turned and left.
I collapsed onto the floor, my body trembling.
I still didn't understand what had just happened.
But one thing was clear.
I had seen something I was never meant to see.
I couldn't even lift an arm, let alone walk. My body was a mess of pain, every breath sending sharp stings through my ribs.
So, despite everything, I was grateful.
Grateful that she had dragged me out of there.
Grateful that, for once, she hadn't left me behind.
Maybe—just maybe—she wasn't so bad after all.
When she finally let go of me, I collapsed onto the floor, barely registering my surroundings. It was the first time I had ever seen the maids' quarters. It was warmer than my storage room—cozier, with blankets that actually looked soft, a dim lantern casting a faint glow across the walls.
I almost thought I could rest for a moment.
Then she started screaming.
"What were you thinking? Have you lost your mind? Do you have a death wish? Do you even know who that was?!"
Her voice was sharp, filled with something between fury and panic.
I could only stare at her in disbelief.
I had always heard the rumors about him. That he was a ruthless man, that he was more beast than human. But now, I knew.
They weren't rumors.
He was truly a monster.
-----
The man paced back and forth, hands trembling at his sides. His nails dug into his palms, deep enough to draw blood, but he barely noticed.
His rage hadn't subsided.
Not even close.
The moment he had locked eyes with that child, the past had crashed down on him like a tidal wave.
Those eyes.
Her eyes.
Dark orbs filled with terror, with an endless, suffocating grudge. The same look she had given him in her final moments—right before her soul had faded into emptiness.
She was gone.
And yet, she was still there.
Staring at him through his eyes. Accusing him. Reminding him.
He was a murderer.
And no matter how much he tried to drown the thought, no matter how many years passed, that truth clung to him like a curse.
The boy was nothing to him.
Not a child. Not even a person.
Just a wretched mistake. A sin.
And he needed to disappear.
But he couldn't. Not yet.
Even as a bastard, the boy was still the first-born son. The elders made sure of that. They tolerated his existence only because of the frail state of his true heir.
His wife's condition had always been delicate. They feared she would pass her weakness to their son.
And if that happened… if the second heir were to die before coming of age…
They would need a replacement.
That was the only reason the bastard was still alive.
For now.
----
A few days had passed, yet I was still left alone in my storage room.
The pain never faded. It gnawed at me from the inside, a dull, unrelenting agony that made every breath feel like a struggle. My ribs ached, my stomach churned—I felt like throwing up.
But worst of all was my mind.
I couldn't stop thinking.
I couldn't stop reliving it.
The weight of his grip on my throat. The madness in his eyes. The rage in his screams.
I curled up on the thin, tattered blanket that barely provided any warmth, my arms wrapped around my knees. The cold seeped into my bones, but it didn't matter. Nothing did.
Because every time I closed my eyes, I saw him.
What if he comes back for me?
I barely noticed when night turned to dawn.
I had spent the whole night awake, trapped in my own thoughts, my heart racing at every sound outside.
But morning had come.
And I had work to do.
Forcing my aching body to move, I slowly sat up, biting back a grimace. I couldn't afford to be weak. If I showed the slightest sign of uselessness, they would throw me away.
Not after what happened.
Not when I had already barely survived.
There had been times when I thought about rebellion—about escaping.
The thought crossed my mind often, lingering like a forbidden dream. If only I could run away. If only I could fight back.
But it was impossible.
I had nowhere to go. No allies. No resources.
I was alone.
And even if I tried to defy them, to resist in any way… they would lock me away.
Or worse.
And I wasn't sure I would survive worse.