I was taken to the private meeting room just before dusk.
The castle corridors were strangely silent that late afternoon. The servants had been dismissed - all of them. Even those who rarely left their posts. As I crossed the gates of the east wing, I realized that something important was about to happen. When I entered the room, only Benta accompanied me.
The place was simple, although it bore the functional elegance that my father held so dear. A modest bookcase stood in one corner, filled with books on military records and tactics. In front of the lit fireplace, two leather armchairs were positioned like sentinels in front of the flames. The flickering light from the fire cast long shadows on the walls, painting the room with an unsettling golden hue.
My father, Rillen, was sitting in one of the armchairs.
He looked up as soon as I entered. His brown hair was tied back at the nape of his neck, and his eyes - those vivid blue eyes - scrutinized me as if they were looking for something in me. For a brief moment, I saw tenderness there. Nostalgia, perhaps. As if my presence was taking him back to a distant memory that he was trying in vain to keep alive. But soon that softness was gone, replaced by his usual rigidity. The sparkle in his eyes disappeared like a reflection in the water.
- There's no one around, right? - her voice cut through the silence with restrained firmness.
- No, master," replied Benta with her polite smile. She seemed calm, but I knew well the kind of tension that lurked behind that serene façade.
- Please leave me alone with my son. Make sure no one comes near.
- As you wish, master.
She looked at me before leaving, and that brief nod said more than a thousand words. A kind of silent farewell - as if she knew that, after that conversation, something in me would change forever.
The door closed with a muffled click.
We stood there, staring at each other for a moment. I was standing in front of the man everyone revered - and feared. The Baron of the South Fortress. The ruthless strategist, the conqueror. But at that moment, he was just my father. And yet, I could feel my breath heavy in my chest. He could intimidate me with a look. And now... now he was studying me with an intensity that almost dismantled me.
His eyes captured everything. My nervousness. My fear. And, despite that, my respect.
- Are you sure about this? - he asked at last. The firmness in his voice barely concealed his concern. He tried to keep his tone neutral, but I knew his variations all too well. There was hesitation there. And anguish.
I hesitated before answering. Not because I doubted my decision, but because, for a brief second, I thought he would try to stop me.
But he didn't.
Rillen was anxious. I could see it in every restrained gesture, in the way he drummed his fingers on the arm of the armchair, in the way his eyes avoided mine for far too long. There was something deeper there. Something that went beyond the fear of seeing me suffer. It was as if... as if he was trying to confirm something.
Throughout my childhood, I was protected - sometimes suffocated - by his care. I never left the castle. My every step was watched. Every decision controlled. At the time, I thought it was because I was afraid of enemies. Now I was beginning to understand: he was watching me.
Not as a father.
As a man in doubt.
He thought I might not be his son.
And that possibility destroyed him.
Our faces didn't match. Nor our temperaments. Nor our choices. He, all calculation and silence. Me, restless and insatiable for answers. And that, on some deep and cruel level, made him question. If I wasn't his... if the blood in my veins was different... it would mean that his first love had betrayed him. That everything he believed about me was a lie.
And maybe that's why he allowed the ritual. As risky as it was, as much pain as it caused me, it was also a test. If I failed, he would have his answer - cruel and final. But if I survived...
If I survived, it would be proof.
Proof that I really was his.
Proof that that boy born in the castle, raised in silence and surrounded by veiled expectations, was indeed the rightful heir to the Southern Fortress.
And, above all, his son.
- I've made my decision. - I declared, trying to keep my voice steady, even though my heart was racing. - You have always looked after me. You've given me food, shelter, protection... you've given me a home. You never looked down on me, even though I didn't have a mother. You've never made me feel less. So I want to give something back. I want to be a real part of this family. I want to honor what I've been given.
I smiled, or at least I tried to. A tense, nervous smile that barely hid the fear behind my eyes.
He watched me in silence for long seconds, his eyes indecipherable. Then he sighed.
- Well done. Come along. Stand facing the fire. - said the baron, standing up with a certain weight on his shoulders.
I obeyed. I knelt in front of the fireplace, the heat of the flames warming my face. The crackling of the wood filled the solemn silence of the room. The baron moved the armchairs aside and came up behind me, kneeling calmly. I felt his hands rest on my back.
And then... it happened.
WENG!
A deep, metallic sound vibrated in the air - or inside me, I couldn't tell. At the same moment, something like an invisible impact went through my back. A shiver ran down my spine, and a red light began to envelop my body, merging with the golden light of the flames.
I closed my eyes. At first, what I felt was warmth. Cozy. Like being wrapped in a warm blanket on a winter's night. For a moment, I thought I could bear it easily.
But then came the pain.
First, a deep burning at the base of my stomach. Then, a feeling of pressure, as if something was being driven into me. Red light flowed through my body, as if coursing through my veins, reconfiguring everything inside.
And then all hell broke loose.
It was as if my bones were breaking one by one, with dry, merciless cracks. My flesh seemed to tear from the inside out, as if invisible claws were tearing me apart in silence. A cruel heat ran up my spine and invaded my chest, my arms, my legs. It was as if every nerve, every cell, was being forcibly rebuilt, burning, screaming.
I tried to move, to scream, to escape. But my body no longer belonged to me. I was trapped, consumed, shattered inside. I felt my teeth crack, tears spring involuntarily from my closed eyes.
It was pure agony. A pain so deep that it pierced the soul. And then the emptiness.
My body couldn't take it. I collapsed.
The last thing I heard, like a distant echo, was the baron's sigh of relief.
- You really are my son... - he murmured tenderly.
He seemed happy. As if that moment had erased years of anguish. I saw - or perhaps imagined - a sincere smile forming on his lips. For the first time, his eyes seemed clear of doubt.
In the end, that pain... was worth the price.