Chapter 17 – Echoes of a Broken Cloud

The sky over the lands of House Valemortis wept in shades of pale gray, the icy morning breeze carrying with it a heavy silence, interrupted only by the low murmurs of those present. The dark wooden coffin lay open on the edge of the freshly dug grave, awaiting its final rest.

Lord Vaelric and Lady Altheria watched their daughter from a respectful distance. Their hearts were constricted with grief, but their eyes remained fixed on Elyandra, who stood motionless on the edge of the grave. She wore an austere black dress, the color of mourning contrasting sharply with her usual pallor. His face, once so expressive, was now a mask of emptiness, furrowed by bright trails of tears that continued to flow silently. Her gaze was fixed on the inside of the coffin, where Siris lay wrapped in an identical black dress, her serene face turned to the sky.

Lady Altheria took a hesitant step towards her daughter, her arm outstretched in a gesture of motherly comfort. But Lord Vaelric stopped her gently, his hand on her arm. A silent look exchanged between them, a tacit understanding of the need to allow Elyandra to face her pain in her own way. With a resigned sigh, Lady Altheria retreated, uniting again at her husband's side.

Slowly, as if moved by an invisible force, Elyandra approached the coffin. His small steps were hesitant, each one loaded with the weight of loss. He stopped on the edge, his eyes fixed on Siris's pale, motionless face. The gentle breeze lightly ruffled Elyandra's white hair, as if nature itself mourned the departure of what had called her a "little piece of cloud." Siris' eyes were closed, forever sealing the vivacity that so brightened Elyandra's life.

Elyandra's parents exchanged one last look laden with sadness before slowly walking away from the edge of the grave, allowing their daughter to have a moment of farewell alone. Elyandra's small figure remained motionless, her attention completely absorbed in Siris' serene face.

A man in white and gold robes, a priest from the Church of Divine Light, approached Elyandra with slow and respectful steps. His expression was solemn, marked by a reluctant sadness.

"Lady Elyandra," he said quietly, his voice echoing softly in the morning silence, "the light that guided Siris welcomed her back into his eternal embrace. Your body, now resting, will be preserved by divine blessings and consecrated magical properties, maintaining the beauty you have known. May peace be in your heart.

Even in the face of the priest's comforting words, Elyandra did not show any visible reaction. His gaze remained fixed on Siris's inert face, the same blank expression and the same constant trail of silent tears streaming down her pale cheeks. The words of faith and hope seemed to find no echo in his deep and silent pain. The world around him faded, leaving only the immutable image of the one who had always been by his side.

The priest watched the little noblewoman for a moment, noticing the depth of her pain and the absence of any reaction to her words. With a respectful nod, he said in a soft, understanding tone:

"Lady Elyandra, I'll leave you alone to say goodbye." I will call the servants to the burial when it is ready. May the light comfort her.

With these words, the priest slowly walked away, leaving Elyandra alone again with her grief. It was clear that Siris was being laid to rest there, in the open, before her body was finally laid to rest in the cemetery of House Valemortis, an eternal resting place reserved for the ancestors of the noble family. The idea of Siris, his vibrant, warm Siris, lying forever beside the cold, solemn statues of the Valemortis, was a thought that hung heavy in the air, carrying with it the dark finality of loss.

Silent tears continued to stream down Elyandra's pale face, each drop a fragment of her pain. After a long moment of oppressive silence, her childlike voice, choked with tears, finally broke the morning mourning.

"Siris..." he whispered, his voice just a trembling thread of sound. "You said... You promised you'd protect me... forever. Your work... it shouldn't have ended... Not yet.

Silence answered his desperate plea, a cold and definitive silence. There was no comforting sound of Siris' voice, nor the warmth of his gentle smile. Absence was an abyss that opened before Elyandra, swallowing any hope of an answer.

The emotion finally boiled over, breaking the mask of emptiness on his face. Tears now gushed freely, his little shoulders trembling with convulsive sobs. She lowered her gaze to the ground, the salty drops staining the cold earth.

"I... I didn't like you at first... Knew? He confessed, his voice broken with tears. "You were... different. But... Over time... I... I started to... to love you, Siris. So much... so much so that... I can't imagine... my life... without you... by my side.

His voice became a desperate murmur, charged with an overwhelming childlike vulnerability.

"I don't know... if I still feel like doing something... I just... I just wanted... that you would open your eyes... once again... and give me... A hug... Just one more... please, Siris... Just one more hug.

Elyandra's mind, in the midst of searing pain, began to pick up fragments of knowledge that had long been stored. His tutor's words about spirit magic echoed in his thoughts like tantalizing whispers in the darkness. "A magic that transcends reality and existence... controlling life and death..."

The mental echoes intensified, weaving a tapestry of dark possibilities. "Life and death... Control... bring back..." The idea, once distant and theoretical, now pulsated with a desperate urgency.

"Yes..." murmured Elyandra, her voice hoarse and broken, as if speaking with an invisible force. "I can... I can bring you back, Siris.

With a childlike and desperate determination, she raised her trembling little hands and placed them over Siris' cold, inert face. The tears continued to flow, wetting the pale skin of the servant.

"I'll bring you back, Siris... I'm going..." he repeated, his voice choked with tears, his fingers caressing his cold face like a block of ice. The reality of death, the palpable absence of warmth and life, contrasted cruelly with the desperate promise that echoed on her childish lips. The scene was a poignant portrait of innocence confronting the irreversibility of loss, a desperate attempt to defy fate with the fragile strength of a hurting child.

Elyandra closed her eyes, concentrating all her will and despair. From his small hands, a translucent, ethereal, and unstable magical light began to emanate. The pale rays stretched out, slowly seeping into the cold, inert skin of Siris, like roots seeking a long-extinct source of life. A faint trembling smile appeared on Elyandra's lips, a faint hope dancing in her teary eyes.

However, before she could deepen her magic, before she could make a potentially catastrophic pain-driven mistake, a steady, relentless hand grabbed her arm, pulling her back with astonishing force. Elyandra was snatched sharply from near the coffin, her infant body staggering backwards.

With wide and confused eyes, she turned to face the one who had interrupted her. Before her stood Dalia, her usual neutral expression, but her dark eyes carried a cold intensity and a clear posture of reproach.

"Lady Elyandra," said Dalia, her voice calm but firm as steel, "you have fallen so far in your grief that you consider an action so... Stupid?

"Let me go, Dalia!" Elyandra begged, her voice sharp and desperate, trying to free herself from the firm hand that held her. "I need to do this!" I need to save Siris! She protected me... Now it's my turn to protect her!

Dalia did not give in, her hand remaining firm as a claw. His dark eyes fixed on Elyandra's with a stern intensity.

"No, Lady Elyandra. Siris died fulfilling his role. She defended her until her last breath. And you—" Dalia's voice became harsher, "you had no power to heal her while she was still breathing. What foolish delusion makes you believe that now, in the face of consummated death, you possess such a capacity? You have neither the knowledge nor the power to challenge the very essence of life and death.

Dalia pulled Elyandra closer, forcing the little noblewoman to face her own teary eyes.

"Siris died with honor, Lady Elyandra. It was a natural death in this world. That's it... it cannot be reversed just because we want to. That's what makes us human. Finitude. The loss. The acceptance that death is not a game that can be restarted.

"You don't understand!" Elyandra cried, her voice a painful sob. "There's a pain... here..." she brought her hand to her chest, squeezing the fabric of her dress, "a pain so strong that I don't... I don't understand why I'm feeling this!

Dalia let go of Elyandra's arm, and the little noblewoman's legs gave way, causing her to fall to the ground in a convulsive cry.

"She... she came into my life so much..." Elyandra murmured, her tears flowing profusely, "that now... It's as if... there were no more forces...

Dalia crouched down immediately, pulling Elyandra close and wrapping her in a tight, unexpected embrace. His voice, though still hoarse, softened slightly.

"Siris loved you, Lady Elyandra. In her way, with every fiber of her being. She would choose to die a thousand times, without hesitation, if it meant her safety. What do you feel now... this pain... it's what makes her human. Remember this pain, Lady Elyandra. Remember her forever.

Elyandra's crying intensified, a scream of pure frustration and pain tearing through the eerie silence of the morning. She clung desperately to Dalia's robes, her small fists squeezing the fabric as if seeking an anchor point in the midst of her overwhelming suffering.

Dalia continued to hug her tightly, her adult body enveloping the child's fragility in a gesture of protection and consolation. His face, usually impassive and controlled, contrasted sharply with the torrent of tears and anguish stamped on Elyandra's features. A single silent tear traced a slow path down her own face, a silent testimony to the connection that, even for someone like Dalia, had formed with this girl and the loyal servant who now lay inert. In that moment of deep pain, the barrier between stoic coldness and human emotion briefly broke down, revealing the shared humanity in the face of loss.

Elyandra's crying intensified, a scream of pure frustration and pain tearing through the eerie silence of the morning. She clung desperately to Dalia's robes, her small fists squeezing the fabric as if seeking an anchor point in the midst of her overwhelming suffering.

Dalia continued to hug her tightly, her adult body enveloping the child's fragility in a gesture of protection and consolation. His face, usually impassive and controlled, contrasted sharply with the torrent of tears and anguish stamped on Elyandra's features. A single silent tear traced a slow path down her own face, a silent testimony to the connection that, even for someone like Dalia, had formed with this girl and the loyal servant who now lay inert. In that moment of deep pain, the barrier between stoic coldness and human emotion briefly broke down, revealing the shared humanity in the face of loss.

Now it must be said that days passed and Elyandra had locked herself in her room, she did not accept new servants and had stopped eating, this began to worry her mother who whenever she tried to talk to Elyandra she found under blankets where she never answered her, it was then that after a long time, her father decided to intervene in this, this scene must be very detailed so that it intensifies and demonstrates Elyandra's mourning where she had really lost all her will to exist

Days dragged on like centuries in the Valemortis mansion, each of them laden with the silent weight of absence. Elyandra had retreated to her room, locking the door to the outside world. He refused any new servant who tried to replace the void left by Siris. The food that was brought to her remained untouched, the tray forgotten by the door as a mute reminder of her refusal to participate in the life she went on without her friend.

Lady Altheria visited Elyandra's room countless times a day, her soft, worried voice calling out to her daughter's name through the closed door. The only response he received was the oppressive silence that emanated from within. When he opened the door with the spare key, he always found the same scene: a small body curled up under the covers, immersed in a self-imposed darkness, without any sign of recognition or response. The days turned to nights, and Lady Altheria's worry grew by the moment, fueled by her daughter's silent withering.

Finally, after countless failed attempts by his wife, Lord Valemortis decided to intervene. His presence, usually imposing and resolute, now carried an aura of suppressed apprehension as he approached the door of Elyandra's room. He paused for a moment, his hand hovering over the cold doorknob, before tapping gently.

"Elyandra," he called, his voice grave, but charged with a rare tenderness. "Can I come in?"

Silence answered his question, as deep and heavy as the grief that imprisoned his daughter. Lord Valemortis sighed, the grief of the loss of Siris also affecting him, though his expression was more restrained. With a slow movement, he opened the door and entered the room plunged into darkness. The only light that came in was a thin thread through the closed curtains, barely illuminating the small, huddled figure under the covers, a body that seemed to have lost all its vitality, all its will to exist. Elyandra's grief was palpable, a dense weight that hung in the air, suffocating any hope that the little light Siris loved so much would shine again.

Lord Valemortis had always been a man of few words, his emotions rarely showing in his austere expression. His presence was marked by an almost solemn reserve, and communication in his family took place more by tacit looks and understandings than by long conversations.

In the dim light of Elyandra's room, he moved with unusual slowness, his heavy footsteps silenced by the shag carpet. The small bulge under the covers indicated the presence of his daughter, a refuge of pain and silence. Elyandra noticed her father's approach, feeling the weight of his gaze through the fabric, but remained motionless, her eyes fixed on an invisible spot in the darkness under the blanket.

Lord Valemortis paused before the bed, the sight of this little figure wrapped in his own grief cutting his heart in a way that few things had ever managed. He stared at the inert form for a few seconds, a whirlwind of contained emotions stirring within him. Then, with a barely audible sigh, he turned and sat on the edge of the bed, the mattress sagging slightly under his weight, just inches from his daughter's small fortress of pain. The silence between them was dense, laden with unspoken words and a shared sadness.

Lord Valemortis's deep voice broke the oppressive silence of the room, each word uttered with an unusual weight for him.

"When I first met Siris, she wasn't the person you met. Far from it. She was a criminal, an outlaw with a frightening precocity.

He paused briefly, as if the memories transported him to a dark time.

"She was only twelve. His eyes carried a bitterness that I rarely saw in grown men. His features were hardened by the street, by survival. There was no trace of the kindness or the smile she offered him.

Lord Valemortis continued, his voice carrying an almost somber tone as he painted a portrait of Siris's past.

"Your crimes... They ranged from petty theft of food to survive to violent assaults against those who tried to harm her. She was cunning, savage, and incredibly dangerous for her age. A true criminal who learned to fight and steal so as not to die in the cruel streets of Shadowport. She was a skilled thief, able to disappear into the shadows like a ghost, and a ruthless fighter, using any weapon that fell into her hands with astonishing ferocity. The law sought her, and her reputation, even so young, was already feared in the dark alleys of the city.

Under the covers, her father's words echoed in Elyandra's mind, painting a dark and unexpected picture of the Siris she knew. Slowly, a hesitant curiosity began to sprout in the midst of her pain.

"Darkport..." thought Elyandra, remembering her studies. "A village of such low caste that it was barely considered part of the kingdom... a den of criminals and outlaws. It functioned almost like a black market, a place where the law of the Empire of Divine Light seemed not to reach, or perhaps preferred to ignore. A refuge for those who did not fit into the established order."

The image of his gentle Siris, the warm and loyal protector, contrasted violently with the grim description of his past. A twinge of interest, despite her deep grief, pulled her out of her isolation. Slowly, hesitantly, she moved, emerging from under the covers like a pale flower blooming in the darkness. His eyes were still teary and his expression carried sadness, but his attention was now focused on the back of his father, whose posture remained unalterably neutral. She watched him in silence, hoping that he would continue to unravel the enigmatic past of his beloved Siris.

Lord Valemortis went on, his voice maintaining the same calm and reserved tone, as if narrating a distant event, despite the intensity of the memories.

"At that time, I was leading an operation to dismantle some criminal organizations that infested the periphery of the Empire. We were tracking a specific group, suspected of particularly heinous activities. I remember the night we approached an abandoned warehouse, a possible hiding place for them. I was in front, my personal guard close behind, ready to storm.

He paused briefly, a slight frown, barely noticeable.

"But when we entered, the scene we found was... Unexpected. There were bodies everywhere, criminals slaughtered with astonishing precision and ferocity. And in the midst of that chaos, moving like a lethal shadow, was a small, agile figure, attacking the few who still resisted with a skill that bordered on the supernatural. Even in the darkness, his youth was evident.

Lord Valemortis's eyes fixed for a moment on a distant point, before returning to the figure of Elyandra. His expression remained sad, but with a reflective look.

"I stood there, watching. My men too. It was like watching a dance, where that figure, despite his age, was the master. Within minutes, there was no criminal left standing. It was then that she revealed herself. Siris. She had allowed herself to be captured by that group, infiltrating their base with the sole purpose of destroying them from within.

The next revelation carried an even greater weight.

"We found out that that specific group... they were not limited to crimes within the Empire. They trafficked people, selling slaves to nobles in kingdoms beyond our borders, to those who did not bow to the divine light and committed unimaginable atrocities. Siris, even at such a young age, had taken it upon himself to put an end to this abomination.

"When the fight was over," Lord Valemortis continued, his voice still calm and distant, "Siris noticed our presence. His eyes, once focused on his targets, turned to us. They were bitter eyes, suspicious and charged with a defensive hostility. Instantly, she assumed a fighting stance, small but tense and ready to attack at any moment.

He paused briefly, a faint acknowledgment in his tone.

"But it was that girl's grit that caught my attention. Not only his skill in combat, which was astonishing, but the wild determination in his eyes, the readiness to fight anyone who approached. It was the mark of someone who never knew kindness, who learned from an early age that the only way to survive was to distrust and fight. Even as I approached, without showing any hostile intent, she remained in her position, every muscle of her body prepared for attack. The deep distrust rooted in his soul was palpable, the result of a certainly brutal upbringing devoid of any affection.

"Very cautiously and—" I must admit, with a persuasion unusual to me," Lord Valemortis went on, a faint trace of something that could almost be a nostalgic smile crossing his lips for a moment, "I managed to persuade her to lay down her weapons. It wasn't easy. The distrust was deep, ingrained in every fiber of his being. But there was something... a spark of wild intelligence in his eyes, a latent ability that made me insist. I proposed that she join me.

There was a brief pause, the silence of the room again filled only by the soft breathing of both. Elyandra, now sitting next to her father on the edge of the bed, her small bare feet touching the cold floor, looked at him. His face still carried sadness, but curiosity had lit a small flame in his teary eyes.

"Please," she asked in a low, melancholy tone, "could you continue?"

In Elyandra's mind, surprise bubbled along with lingering sadness. "Dad... Talking so much? What about Siris? He was never one to dwell on conversations, much less about someone's past. Our conversations have always been direct, focused on the essentials, on studies, on etiquette... never about personal stories, about feelings."

She watched her father's imposing silhouette, the rigidity of his posture slightly softened by the dim light of the room. "He looks ... different. Looser, perhaps? Or is it just the gravity of the situation that makes him open up?"

Curiosity, however, overcame his initial confusion. The grim image of the young criminal contrasted so sharply with the gentle and protective Siris she knew. It was as if two different people inhabited the same body. The need to understand this transformation, to unravel the secrets of her lost friend's past, consumed her. She needed to know more. She needed to understand how this wild girl from the streets of Shadowport had become the Siris she loved so much.