CHAPTER 36: PLEASE

In the Crimson Estate.

"If I had to answer... yes, it was very—very important." Lady Crimson said.

She turned her gaze upward, to the dim chandelier above. "That forest... that danger. It was the only way she could meet him." She paused, nobody in the house know who was him.

"Also if she stayed here, watching me wither day after day... her heart would be consumed by hate. That fragile heart of hers would be always shackled by her resentment toward demons. I couldn’t let that happen. I want her to be free—from hatred, from bitterness. Even if I won’t be there to guide her anymore."

Drake lowered his head, grief pressing hard on his chest. "I see. But don’t you think her hope will break? Her heart will shatter when she sees you like this..."

"I know she’ll be devastated," Lyria admitted, her eyes closing slowly. "She’ll cry. She’ll be angry. She’ll feel helpless... but that’s why you must be strong. You, all of you—our family—you have to guide her through that despair. Let her fall, but catch her before she sinks."

Drake exhaled a long, tired sigh—his heart heavy with regret. "You know... even after all these years of marriage, I still can’t understand your logic sometimes."

That made her smile. A quiet, almost broken chuckle left her lips—painful, yet warm.

"I know, right?" she whispered. "Fate is such an illogical thing. It tangles us so tightly... we can’t even begin to make sense of it."

Bam!

The door to the grand chamber slammed open, crashing against the wall as Arianne rushed in, her breaths ragged, chest heaving. She had run the whole way, pushing herself without pause, without a single moment of rest.

She halted at the threshold, eyes wide, taking in the heavy air that cloaked the room. The soft light of mana lamps flickered dimly overhead, and the atmosphere was suffocating—thick with silence and sorrow.

Her crimson eyes scanned every face—drawn, grim, weighed down by despair. But she didn’t let it reach her. She couldn’t afford to.

She had the cure. She had the answer.

A glimmer of relief bloomed in her chest as she stepped forward, her lips forming the faintest smile. She crossed the room quickly, barely noticing those around her, and came to a stop beside the bed.

Her mother lay there, pale as snow, skin like porcelain, her body thin and still. Arianne reached out and took her hand.

Cold.

Too cold.

Her breath hitched. The warmth she remembered so clearly—was gone.

"Mother," she said, louder than intended, her voice breaking the silence. "We found it. The medicine."

Hope surged as she fumbled into her space ring and pulled out a glowing vial. Liquid gold and white shimmered inside, swirling gently like a miniature star.

"Serica made the medicine, just like I found in the book," Arianne whispered, her voice trembling as she clutched the glowing vial between shaking fingers. "Here, just drink this. You’ll be fine. Everything’s going to be okay."

She reached forward, gently bringing the vial to her mother’s lips.

Lady Crimson’s eyes fluttered open—dim, unfocused, like the fading light of a dying flame. Her frail fingers rose slowly... and softly, she pushed the vial away. A faint smile curved her pale lips.

"Ria..." she murmured.

That single word—and that gentle rejection—shattered something deep within Arianne.

Her smile broke. Her breath caught in her throat. The strength she had held onto so desperately began to crumble.

"Mo-mother, w-what are you d-doing...?" she stammered, tears welling in her crimson eyes.

"It won’t work, my daughter," her mother whispered again, quieter now, as if even speech had become a burden.

Those words cleaved into her like a sword. Her thoughts scattered, her vision blurred—everything blanked in that one unbearable instant.

"No... No, m-mom, what are you saying?" Her voice cracked. "Just drink it. Please." She turned toward her father, desperate. "Father—say something! Please, tell her to take it!"

But the Duke sat silent, his eyes hollow, fixed on the floor, his hands clenched tightly at his sides. His grief was a barely restrained storm.

Arianne turned, her gaze darting to the others in the room. "Grandma! Grandfather! Aunt! Anyone—please!"

Still, no one moved. No one answered.

"Why are you all just standing there?!"

Only silence.

"WHY ARE YOU ALL IGNORING ME?!"

Then it happened.

A wave of raw power exploded from her body. It came without form, without warning—wild, unshaped magic fueled by anguish and desperation.

The air rippled as if space itself recoiled. A deafening silence followed—then the palace trembled.

A faint golden thorned crowned appeared on her head only visible to the Duchess.

The chandeliers overhead swayed violently, lightstones burst into shards, the marble cracked beneath her feet. Windows shattered. Paintings crashed to the ground.

Blood trickled from ears, from noses. Lower rank soldier across the estate groaned, dropped to their knees under the crushing weight. Servants screamed. Children fainted.

But before the worst could happen, the former patriarch raised his hand. With a single movement, barriers of mana flared to life around the estate. A great shield blanketed the entire palace, shielding the weak and young from the storm of power.

Had he been late for even a second, the entire estate would have turned to ruin.

And yet... the space around the bed remained untouched. Calm. Still. Almost sacred.

The crushing silence that followed the storm of magic, every breath in the room held still—like the world itself dared not move.

The walls stood cracked, the air heavy with the scent of scorched mana and sorrow.

Arianne stood in the center of the chaos, unmoving. Her shoulders trembled. Tears streamed freely down her cheeks—hot, silent, endless.

The truth had finally reached her. Cold and merciless.

Her hands trembled.

Her knees buckled, as she collapsed beside the bed, clinging to her mother’s cold hand.

"No... please, no..."

Tears slid down her cheeks, falling onto the cold hand she still held tightly in her own.

"Don’t go... please..."

She cried, her emotions raw—not as the noble daughter of a great house, but as a child grieving for her mother.

Then—softly, gently—a sound broke through.

"Ria..."

It was barely above a whisper, fragile as glass, yet it rang louder in Arianne’s ears than thunder.