Count Valentine's Property — The Raymond Family Cabin
Elisalay seated beside the fireplace.
The flames danced before her tired eyes, casting long shadows that crawled across the old wooden walls. Her trembling hands held the needles in a mechanical rhythm; every stitch in the fabric felt like a silent prayer.
The coat she was knitting was for her eldest son, but her mind drifted far away, caught in a current of thoughts that dragged her back to the same place: fear.
A sigh escaped her lips, heavy, almost a lament.
Once again, her mind betrayed her with that image: Ryan, collapsed from exhaustion, his body motionless on the field.
The needle slipped from her hands, and a sharp pain pierced her chest.
Tears began to fall—first one, then another—dropping like melted wax onto the coat. Each one burned with the weight of helplessness.
But what tore her apart the most was not knowing anything about little Sam. Tendays without news. Ten dawns staring down the road, waiting to see a silhouette that never appeared.
Elisa:—"Sam… my little Sami…" —she murmured, her voice breaking—. "Where are you? Are you eating? Are you cold?… what if… what if something happened to you?"
Her hands clenched over her lap. The worry was an invisible fist tightening around her throat.
Elisa:—"Please, goddess…" —she whispered, burying her face in her hands—. "Do not abandon my son. He is still so young… only twelve… one month away from becoming an adult, but even so… he is still my baby."
Her voice faded.
Elisawiped her tears with the back of her hand, leaving a smear of soot across her skin.
Her swollen, reddened eyes reflected the flicker of the fire. Everything in her was worn down: her soul, her body, her hope.
She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. She left the half-finished coat on the chair, the thread hanging like an open wound, and began preparing the firewood for the stew.
The sound of the knife hitting the board, the crackling of fat in the pot… they were her only refuge against the silence.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
The sound echoed through the cabin, breaking the thick air.
Elisa lifted her head.
Her heart skipped.
Elisa:—"So soon?" —she whispered, running to the door with a smile that never had the chance to bloom.
On the other side…
was not her husband.
Nor her son.
Jeremy Valentine stood there, upright, his dark cloak covering half his face. His smile was a blade.
Elisafroze. She swallowed hard, trying to maintain composure, but the tremor in her hands betrayed her.
Jeremy tilted his head slightly, like someone savoring a cruel joke.
The air shifted.
The power of the slave Stigma awakened like an invisible serpent, tightening around her veins.
Jeremy Valentine:—"I command you" —he said, his voice soft, venomous— "to come with me to the mansion, bitch."
Elisacollapsed to her knees.
The mark burned in her chest, a white-hot pain that tore a muffled cry from her throat.
Resistancewas useless; her body moved on its own, obeying.
With a pale face and empty eyes, she lowered her head.
And so, under the weight of power and shame, Elisa Raymond followed the Valentine heir toward the mansion.
One hour later...
The carriage moved along the gravel road leading to Count Valentine's estate.
The wheels splashed through the evening mud, and the escort of guards marched in silence.
The count stepped down with practiced elegance and offered his hand to a young woman who hesitated before taking it.
Henry Valentine: —"Thank you for agreeing to return, Karen" —he said with a smile that never reached his eyes, thinking— (I will repay my sins… to earn that goddess's favor)
But she avoided his gaze.
Karen Owls: —"I only agreed on the condition that I would not serve in the mansion again, nor be near you."
Henry Valentine: —"I understand…" —he replied with a slight nod—. "You will be under the supervision of Elisa Raymond and the former overseer Richard."
Karen Owls: —"Thank you, my lord." —She bowed slightly—. (I thought I wouldn't return… but… I want to see you, Tom… no, you're not Tom… You're Sam.)
Henry watched her walk away, and a dark thought crossed his mind.
(I still haven't forgotten how pleasant you felt… back in that warehouse…)
They went separate ways: she toward the stables, he toward the mansion.
But when Henry climbed the stairs to the second floor, an unexpected noise stopped him. It came from the special room—the one that was supposed to be empty.
He frowned. Anger ignited in his chest.
He shoved the door open.
What he saw inside… left him speechless.
Thirty minutes later...
Main Office — Count Valentine's Mansion
The chandelier flames flickered in the tense air.
Count Valentine stood rigid behind his desk, his face stone-like, fingers tapping against the wood.
In front of him, Jeremy stood with disheveled clothes, his collar stained with a crimson that was not wine.
Henry: —"Do you have any idea what the hell you've done?" —the count's voice was a restrained roar.
The young man lifted his gaze shamelessly.
Jeremy: —"Father, you know very well that for a long time… I've wanted her."
Henry closed his eyes for a moment, breathing heavily.
Henry: —"I know. But… did you forget the punishment that unknown goddess placed on you?"
His son smiled, tilting his head.
Jeremy: —"I didn't forget. But ever since that little bastard disappeared from the estate…" —his eyes gleamed with something sick—. "Wait… what if he's dead?"
Silence fell instantly.
Henry looked at him carefully.
Henry: —"What if… what?"
Jeremy: —"If he's dead, the goddess's protection disappeared with him" —he said quietly—. "That would explain why I could do it without any consequences."
The count leaned forward.
Henry: —"You're right…" —he said, a shadow of greed forming in his gaze—. "But I'll confirm it another day with my contacts in the mercenary guild… or the Crescent Moon."
A dark thought bloomed in his mind:
(If that's the case… if the sins have been cleansed… Karen, you will be mine again.)
***
Road back to the Raymond cabin.
Twilight. Light rain.
Elisa ran without direction, her hair stuck to her face from sweat and drizzle. Her steps were clumsy, her skirts soaked, her hands still trembling.
She didn't remember when she had left the mansion. She only knew she needed to run.
The cold air burned her lungs, but the pain inside was worse: a formless echo that made her gasp.
The trees blurred around her, shadows that seemed to move with her.
She stumbled, fell to her knees in the mud, and kept crawling forward, as if the earth itself were trying to swallow her.
The murmur of the forest mixed with her sobs.
A broken voice slipped through the cries:
Elisa:—"Sam… my child… where are you, what happened to you?"
Her body shook with every word.
Her hands bled from the stones on the path, but she didn't stop.
And then, turning a narrow trail, she crashed into someone.
The impact knocked her down, but a pair of arms caught her before she hit the ground.
Karen: —"Careful!" —a female voice said, startled.
Elisa lifted her gaze, glassy-eyed, pale-faced.
In front of her, Karen Owls, wrapped in a gray cloak, watched her with a furrowed brow.
For a moment, the world stopped.
Karen recognized that expression: emptiness, confusion, shame. It was the same abyss she had felt nine days ago.
Karen:—"You…" —Karen whispered, lowering her voice—. "Weren't you protected by the goddess?"
Elisa opened her mouth, but no sound came out.
Tears returned without warning, falling with a different weight—deeper, more broken. She covered her face with both hands, trembling.
Karen stepped closer, hesitating, and placed a hand on her shoulder.
Elisa barely managed to whisper:
Elisa:—"My little one… if the goddess didn't protect me… it's because he… maybe… he's no longer there."
Karen froze.
She understood then that what she was seeing was not just a woman broken by cruelty… but a mother who felt she had lost her last connection to the divine.
The sound of rain filled the silence.
Neither spoke again.
Only Elisa's sobbing, blending with the murmur of water falling onto the earth.
One hour later...
The Raymond cabin. Nightfall.
The gray moonlight slipped through the cracks in the window, illuminating the dust particles suspended in the air.
Elisa sat on the floor, Ryan's coat in her hands. The fabric was stained, wrinkled, damp.
Her eyes no longer cried; they were empty, swollen, as if the tears had dried from within.
The silence was absolute, broken only by the crackling of the dying fire.
On the table beside her, the plate of stew from earlier remained untouched.
No hunger.
No sleep.
Only a heavy stillness filling the cabin.
Elisa pressed the coat against her chest so tightly her knuckles turned white.
Elisa:—"Sami…" —she whispered—. "Where are you, my love? Why can't I feel you anymore?"
Her voice barely came out.
The thread of yarn hung from the needles still stuck in the fabric, like a severed cord.
Elisa closed her eyes and let her head fall forward. The fire cast a trembling shadow across her face, and for a moment it seemed like she was asleep.
But it wasn't sleep.
It was pure exhaustion—the surrender of someone who had lost all certainty.
Outside, the sound of crickets marked the nightfall.
Karen, from the doorway, watched her in silence. She didn't dare step inside.
She knew that this was a sacred moment—the instant in which a mother understood that the goddess had not abandoned her…
But perhaps… had cried with her.