"Are you sure you are going to wait for that person to recognize you?" the man asked, his tone laced with concern.
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"Of course... I trust that he will," the girl replied, her voice steady yet tinged with longing.
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The man sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "You better not hope too much. She’s more different than before," he warned, a hint of regret in his eyes.
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"That's why I'm finding a way to take back what's rightfully mine," the girl retorted, her resolve unwavering.
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Meanwhile, a week had passed since the incident, and Leth remained unconscious, lost in the depths of her mind. The Ashengil Castle, once reduced to smoldering ruins, had been restored by the emperor's powerful abilities. Now, Leth was transferred to La Maison des Fleurs, a serene sanctuary near the castle, where the scent of blooming flowers masked the heavy atmosphere of uncertainty.
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In the queen's garden, a delicate tea party unfolded, with sunlight filtering through the leaves, casting dappled shadows on the polished table.
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"Oh my, your garden has so many beautiful flowers, Your Majesty," Lady Cozet remarked, her eyes sparkling with admiration.
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"I admire how you take care of your flowers, Your Majesty," Lady Dami added, sipping her tea with an air of elegance.
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"But how unfortunate that the emperor never visits the queen's garden," Lady Thali said, her words slipping out before she could stop them. Panic flashed across her face as she quickly added, "I beg your forgiveness."
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The queen simply smiled, an enigmatic expression gracing her features. "It's quite all right," she replied, her voice soothing, though a shadow flickered in her eyes.
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"By the way, Your Majesty, how is the emperor doing right now? I heard the palace was attacked and Ashengil Castle was burned," Countess Vivienne inquired, her tone shifting to one of genuine concern.
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"He's safe and busy with his affairs," the queen responded, a hint of pride coloring her words.
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The mention of Ashengil Castle, however, sparked a murmur among the ladies. "The Ashengil Castle? That castle? Where the emperor and em—" their conversation was cut short as an unsettling chill crept over them, the hairs on their necks standing on end. They turned slowly, their gazes locking onto Grand Duchess Amara, who was staring at them with an intensity that made the air grow thick.
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The atmosphere shifted palpably, and the ladies exchanged anxious glances, unsure of how to navigate the sudden tension. Amara’s presence was like a dark cloud rolling in, her eyes glinting with a mix of curiosity and disapproval.
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“What an intriguing discussion you were having,” Amara said, her voice smooth yet edged with an unmistakable authority. “Perhaps you could share it with me as well?”
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The other ladies hesitated, caught off guard by her sudden interest. The queen maintained her composure, a small smile still plastered on her face, though her eyes flickered with concern.
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“Lady Amara, we were merely discussing the recent events surrounding the Ashengil Castle,” the queen replied, her voice steady. “It seems everyone is quite concerned for the emperor’s well-being.”
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Amara’s lips curled into a knowing smile. “Concerns are all well and good, but let’s not forget that in times of chaos, opportunities arise.” Her gaze narrowed slightly, and she leaned in closer, the air thickening with unspoken intentions. “Isn’t that right, my dear ladies?”
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The tension hung heavy as the ladies exchanged wary glances, unsure of how to respond. They knew that in the political games of the court, every word mattered and so did every glance from someone as formidable as Amara.
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After the tea party, the ladies departed, each going their separate ways, their chatter fading into the distance. Yet one among them, Countess Gherane Luann, took a different path. While the others had engaged in polite conversation, she had quietly observed the dynamics unfolding around her, her keen eyes catching nuances that others might have missed.
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As she settled into her carriage, Gherane commanded the coachman with a sense of purpose. “To the Sere of Hope,” she instructed, her tone brooking no argument. The Sere of Hope was an orphanage that had been supported by the Luann family for generations a sanctuary for abandoned children, a place where hope could blossom amidst despair.
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The carriage rolled smoothly through the cobblestone streets, the rhythmic clatter of hooves echoing in the quiet afternoon. Gherane leaned back against the plush upholstery, her mind racing with thoughts of the tea party. The conversations had stirred something deep within her a sense of urgency to act. While the ladies had discussed the emperor’s well-being and the beauty of the garden, Gherane thoughts had been on the children at the orphanage.
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Upon arriving at the Sere of Hope, Countess Luann stepped down from the carriage, her presence casting a shadow over the children. They gazed at her with wide, apprehensive eyes, as if sensing the gravity of what was to come. There was an unspoken understanding among them, a collective awareness that change was imminent, and it filled the air with an electric tension.
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The manager, Kila, greeted Luann with a warm smile, but her eyes betrayed a hint of concern. “Welcome, Countess. It’s good to see you again,” she said, leading her inside the orphanage. Yet instead of the usual welcoming chatter, they bypassed the common areas, heading straight into a concealed passageway that led to the underground room.
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Outside, whispers rippled among the children, their voices hushed and anxious.
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“I guess it’s that time of the month,” one child remarked, his gaze flickering toward the entrance.
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“He’s been down there longer than I can remember... Never seen the sun, not even once,” another child added, a shiver of fear creeping into his voice.
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“I wonder if he’s still breathing,” the first child replied, the weight of their words hanging heavily in the air.
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Meanwhile, Countess Luann and Kila reached the end of the dimly lit hall, stopping before a solitary door that loomed ominously.
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“Don’t be surprised by what you see, Lady Luann,” Kila warned, her tone serious. “He’s been... difficult to manage. We had no choice but to bind him up.”
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With a slow, deliberate motion, Kila opened the heavy door, revealing an underground arena hidden beneath the orphanage. The stench of sweat and fear hung thick in the air, mingling with the sound of masked spectators shouting and cheering as children were forced into brutal battles for their lives. Torches lined the walls, casting flickering shadows over the bloodstained ground, where young fighters, battered and terrified, stood against monstrous foes.
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“That’s the child,” Kila said, her voice unsettlingly calm as she pointed toward a figure in the center of the arena. The boy’s malnourished, frail body was draped in tattered clothing, and his hands were bound in heavy iron chains. His skin clung to his bones, yet his eyes glinted with a dangerous resolve that belied his weakened form.
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Across from him, a massive black hound prowled, its fangs glinting like daggers in the dim light, each one as long as a small tree branch. The beast growled, its eyes fixated on its prey. The other children huddled along the edges of the arena, their faces pale with fear, some hiding their eyes, others forced to watch in horror.
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“Humans,” the boy muttered, his voice low and filled with contempt. His gaze swept across the masked onlookers, his expression hardening. Then, in a sudden burst of movement, he lunged toward the hound, a blinding flash of light illuminating the arena as he moved. His chains clattered against the stone floor, but he twisted and evaded with an unnatural agility, as if defying his own physical limitations.
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The audience gasped, some shouting in astonishment, while others leaned forward, captivated by the unexpected display of power from the emaciated child. The hound snapped its jaws, but the boy was faster, weaving around it in blurs of light and shadow.
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From her vantage point, Countess Luann watched in a mix of horror and awe. She hadn’t anticipated this twisted spectacle, nor the chilling resilience of the child before her. His movements were sharp, calculated, almost as if he were driven by something far stronger than mere survival instinct.
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“Does he… do this often?” Luann asked Kila, her voice barely above a whisper, unwilling to look away.
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"More often than he should," Kila replied, a hint of pride slipping into her tone. "He's a survivor. But he's also our most valuable asset."
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Down below, the body dodged another lunge from the hound, using his chains to wrap around the muzzle in a desperate, brutal maneuver. The beast snarled, thrashing as it tried to break free, but the boy held on, determination blazing in his eyes as he see it's gaze with one unyielding purpose, Victory.
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"Finish it!!" The voices of the masked people echoes the whole arena
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