Liv's very existence was a quiet defiance of tradition. Where her mother, her half sister, and even her aunt bore the family's silver hair with whispered pride, Liv stood apart.
Born with hair dark as midnight, she was the first of her line to carry such a mark. Among all the children of her house, she was also the tallest, her presence impossible to ignore.
Though only two and a half years old, Liv already measured an astonishing 135 centimeters. Yet with the stature of her parents and the noble nephilim blood shaping her, her size seemed less a mystery and more a promise of what was to come.
The adorable little lass seemed destined to stir many hearts.
What truly shocked those around her was that Liv possessed the strength of a knight—something thought impossible for one so young.
Elah sighed softly and long. There was no escaping his cousin's unshakable grip. Liv's fingers were small, but her will was not, so he let her lead.
"Wait for me!" Alma called out.
Her footsteps barely disturbed the ground, and her gaze stayed lowered, her presence quiet and gentle.
Yet to overlook Alma would have been a grave mistake. Like the revered Patriarch Oga, she was a prodigy. Her magical aptitude, immense in scope, had already been ranked at Grade Five.
Alma had not been born ordinary. She was the child of two ancient and formidable lines: Nephilim and Draconian. Her mother, Berta, was a true Earth Dragon, yet Alma herself was something entirely new.
Unlike her nephilim cousins, whose fire lay across their backs like smoldering wings, Alma's flame rose in defiance. When called upon, it crowned her head in a circle of flickering light, burning like a divine halo.
Alma hurried forward, her voice bright as she called after them. "I want vanilla, guys!"
Behind them, a deep and commanding voice called out, "Lady Berta!"
Berta turned. "Eh—Sir Gregor? Is that you?"
She hadn't sensed anyone nearby, yet there he stood, closer than she would have expected.
"You need not be afraid," Gregor said as he stepped from the shadows, as though summoned by the sound of his name. His figure became clear before her, and then, with solemn reverence, he lowered himself to one knee.
"Milord has instructed me to deliver this message," he said, offering a rolled parchment sealed in dark crimson wax.
Even in Thornbrick territory, known for its dangers, Gregor's sudden arrival did not go unnoticed. His lone black wing folded neatly against his back, and beside him, an emerald flame burned quietly, impossible to ignore.
Just above his shoulder, faint markings hinted at things better left unspoken. A few wary glances flickered his way, yet no one dared to approach.
Thornbrick was a house that ruled with a cold, steady cruelty, and Zamira's daily procession of criminals—chained and marched through the streets—stood as a grim reminder that meddling here had its price.
Still, it wasn't fear alone that held their gaze.
Gregor had always drawn attention. His features were striking, yet now the trace of newly acquired Nephelim bloodline made him even harder to look away from.
Berta's fingers tightened around the parchment. "Do you know when they'll return?"
"Once Sir Yanis joins Lord Nuu, he should be back within two months. And as for Lord Oga, from what I've heard, his meeting with the Queen Dowager has ended, so he should return next month."
"Why would Yanis be needed?" she asked.
Gregor looked away and kept silent.
She understood, of course. It had to be something dangerous. Berta sighed, and the delay with Oga could only mean one thing: it was tied to his consort in Belvin.
When she stayed quiet, asking nothing more, Gregor inclined his head slightly. "I must share his lordship's message with the others as well. If you'll excuse me, Lady Berta."
She gave a small nod. "So… you'll remain here, and he'll be leaving?"
Gregor lowered his head once in silent confirmation. Then, with a single fluid motion, he stepped back and vanished without a sound, as though he had never been there at all.
Zamira wasn't surprised when Gregor appeared. He had already spoken with her this morning upon arrival.
She knew what was written.
"Sir Luca," Berta called, her voice barely above a whisper.
From the mouth of the narrow cobblestone street, a figure emerged as quietly as a shadow slipping through lamplight and fog. No footsteps echoed, yet every eye turned toward him. Gasps cut through the air, and a hush settled over those too stunned to speak.
Some blinked; others narrowed their eyes, silently reconsidering plans they hadn't even shared aloud.
A man had appeared from nowhere, taking form like smoke curling into shape. And if that were not unsettling enough, another presence seemed to move beneath the ground, unseen by all.
What kind of place was Thronbrick, truly? What secrets lay hidden in its bones?
Luca did not appear to care about the curious stares or what anyone might think. Yet those bold enough to probe his cultivation found themselves startled once again. His posture stood tall and calm, each step carrying quiet strength.
His pointed ears hinted at elven blood, but the dark, ridged horns curling back from his head made it clear he was something far rarer.
His was the face of a scholar, built upon the body of a soldier, and wrapped in a silence that held the weight of tempered steel.
This was Luca, firstborn of House Maverick. Among a few, he was whispered about as The One-Eyed Cuckold, though none dared utter it where he might hear.
He had earned his station with blood and resolve, rising to Grand Knight after claiming nine sacred droplets. And when he lost his left eye, he chose not to heal it as a sign of loyalty to Lord Nuu.
His loyalty ran deeper still, for Luca had pledged himself not only to Lord Nuu but to Berta, the woman who had given life to his bloodline.
"I've received word from the House Master, Oga," Berta said.
Luca lowered himself to one knee, the movement smooth and disciplined. "This lowly servant is ready to receive his lord's word."
"You are to return to House Maverick and return with his bastards for formal training," she said, her voice cool and measured, smooth as polished marble.
Before Luca could speak, Berta went on.
"There's no need for concern. Permission has already been granted by the House Master. And one more thing—inform Caterina that whatever arrangement she has with Lord Oga must end. This comes as a direct order from Madame Zamira."
A brief flicker crossed Luca's brow, as faint as a breeze over still water, yet it was there: a flash of confusion, quickly subdued.
He didn't look toward Zamira as she passed. Even Berta did not fully grasp the meaning behind Zamira's command. She met Luca's gaze and gave a small shrug, as if to say that they didn't need to understand, only to obey.
"Your mother would know," she added softly.
Raising his head, his resolve clear in his eyes, Luca replied, "I shall depart at once and inform Mother."
"Milady, if there is nothing else you require?" Luca asked.
Berta's eyes drifted from him to a child nearby—a little girl whose small hands clutched an ice cream cone, laughter spilling from her lips and leaving a sweet smudge across her cheek.
"Are the rumors true," Berta asked while still watching the child, "that my husband has visited your wife and daughter on multiple occasions?"
She did not turn to look at him.
For a moment, silence lay heavy between them.
"It is true," Luca answered calmly at last. "But it is an honor for my wife and daughter to serve his lordship. You needn't trouble yourself with idle gossip, Milady. And they know their place. I shall guide them as my own."
"If it troubles you so little, then I have nothing further to add." With a quiet motion of her hand, she tossed a small pouch of coins toward him.
Berta paused, words caught at the edge of her tongue. She found no answer to what she saw in Luca—not pride, nor shame, but a calm acceptance that neither broke him nor hardened him.
There was no bitterness in his eyes, no anger at being made lesser in the shadow of his lord. That kind of quiet surrender was rare, almost unheard of.
Yet she could not bring herself to judge him. Luca was not alone in living this way. He was not the only man in Thronbrick to yield without complaint.
Even the gentle Phi had yet to see the truth, still wearing the bright green hat placed on his head by his beloved Consort. Kindness alone offered no protection here.
Berta never forgot that moment. Her jaw dropped as she witnessed the humiliating sight of Consort Hilda being taken not only by her husband and his brother, but even by Yanis. Berta could only sigh.
Of course, Berta knew exactly what Yanis truly was. So did the Queen Dowager, and so did Madame Zamira. There were no illusions left in this place. They all quietly chose to look the other way, and it wouldn't be the last time Berta witnessed something even more outrageous.
Once, she had seen five men tangled up with that one Mertaru mother who had nearly lost her children to Jocelyn's group. Although Berta had no idea what her husband and Oga were planning behind closed doors, she couldn't help but wonder.
Surely, they couldn't be that desperate, could they?
Berta pulled herself out of her thoughts and dismissed Luca.
Zamira's voice transmission caught her off guard, though in a way, Berta understood it. Once you've tasted the nectar of House Thornbrick, you're marked forever. It becomes a kind of madness, and you can't breathe without them.
After Zamira had gone, Berta stood quietly for a moment. A breath escaped her, part laughter, part weary sigh.
"She is one possessive bitch," she murmured to herself. Then she exhaled softly, almost like a confession. "Or maybe I've just been through too much…"
Though her words carried a hint of complaint, her expression told another story. A small smile touched her lips, not wide but deep, warm and private, rich with unspoken feeling. Beneath it lay pride and something gentler still.
It wasn't only the birth that moved her; it was something larger than herself. Her daughter had become a quiet light in her life, a light she hadn't realized she had been longing for.
And the most unbelievable part?
She had broken through.
Just a month ago, she became a Divine Knight. It was a title she had never dared dream of claiming. Yet it belonged to her now.
For years, even decades, she had remained a Squire. She had been stuck in place, overlooked and dismissed by the men around her as though she were invisible.
But in just two and a half years under her husband's roof, everything had changed. Achievements, peace, and a sense of purpose filled her days. It all felt so vivid, like a dream she feared might slip away if she blinked.
Perhaps that was why she could never become like Zamira. She couldn't bring herself to walk away, nor could she curse the man who had given her this life.
To Berta, Nuu was everything. If he said he wanted to father children with every woman in the world, she would be the first to cheer him on, supporting him without a moment's doubt. That was how deep her devotion ran.
"When he comes back," she whispered, a soft giggle slipping out as her fingers brushed against her lower belly, "I'll make sure he gives me another child."
The happiness of that thought stung her eyes. Tears threatened to fall, carried by the ache of wishing she could have seen the children she'd lost live carefree days like this. For now, though, she had this moment, and for her, it meant everything.
"Berta!"
The voice rang out, warm and familiar. Berta turned quickly, her eyes lighting up at the sight of the woman striding toward her with confident ease.
"Eeh, Priscilla," Berta called out, her voice carrying across the plaza. "You've gotten even curvier since the last time I saw you."
Heads turned. A few passersby lingered with quiet curiosity, their glances revealing thoughts they didn't speak aloud.
Berta's booming greeting startled little Liv, who lost her grip on the ice cream cone she'd been enjoying.
The treat fell onto the cobblestones with a soft splat, but Liv hardly noticed. She rushed forward the next moment, her face bright with excitement.
"Mama is back!"
Priscilla bent at just the right moment, catching Liv in her arms. Her laughter came light and sweet as she brushed a smear of chocolate from the girl's cheek.
"Hehe, has my little Liv been a good girl?" she asked, her voice gentle. Liv nodded eagerly, pressing her face against her mother's chest.
"You've been away for a month," Berta said, folding her arms though her smile softened the words. "How are your parents?"
"They're doing very well," Priscilla replied, her pride quietly shining through. "And good news: I finally convinced the whole tribe to move into Bervin City with aunty Dahlia. They'll all be settling in before the month ends."
"That's wonderful," Berta said, her eyes brightening. "It will be good to have them close again."
Then, a pair of quiet footsteps approached. Priscilla turned to see Elah lingering a few paces back, his posture stiff with shyness. Alma peeked from behind him, holding tightly to the hem of his shirt.
"Oh, if it isn't our handsome Elah," Priscilla teased, stretching out one arm. "Come here, sweetheart. You too, Alma."
Elah shuffled forward, his cheeks tinged pink. Priscilla knelt down, gathering Liv in one arm and wrapping the other gently around Elah as Alma followed, drawn by the warmth of the embrace.