Chapter 18 – Shadows of the Past, Rays of Hope

In the dim light of the room, the disparity between them was almost palpable. On one side, Elyandra, small and wrapped in her white nightgown, the purity of the garment contrasting with the shadow of sadness in her golden eyes and the paleness of her skin. Her white hair, thin as threads of moonlight, framed a childlike face marked by the recent loss.

On the other, Lord Valemortis, an imposing figure whose stature and military bearing were undeniable, even sitting on the edge of the bed. Her dark robes, of an impeccable cut that denoted her nobility, absorbed the little light of the room, giving her an austere and reserved aura. His features were firm, his jaw defined, and his eyes, usually piercing, now softened by a contained concern. The very essence of his presence emanated power and discipline.

Elyandra's mind, despite the pain, processed the image of her father, searching the lines of his face for any clue about the past of the woman who had protected her with such ferocity. That man, so distant in his emotions most of the time, was now the only bridge to understand the story of his beloved Siris.

Lord Valemortis went on, his deep, measured voice breaking the dense silence of the room.

"I proposed that she join me," Lord Valemortis repeated, turning his gaze forward, as if reliving the scenes in his mind.

After accepting, with a reluctance still visible in every tense movement of his body, Lord Valemortis's proposal, Siris followed. The contrast between them, even in motion, remained stark. She, with her quick, stealthy steps, keeping a wary distance from the knights of the guard who followed her Lord, looked like a dark shadow hovering on the edge of the light. Her ragged clothes and the wild gaze she occasionally cast at her surroundings denounced her as someone who had always lived on the margins of society, where survival depended on cunning and brute force.

Lord Valemortis, on the other hand, walked ahead with an upright and imposing posture, his noble attire impeccable even after the raid on the warehouse. The way he commanded his men with a nod of the head or a brief verbal command demonstrated his unquestioned authority. The personal escort, in their polished armor, formed a circle of protection around their Lord, a visible symbol of power and status. The journey back to the Valemortis lands was marked by a heavy silence, where the distrust of one and the cautious observation of the other created an almost palpable tension in the forest air.

"But... Did she accept it so easily, Dad? Elyandra questioned, her brow furrowed in confusion. "After all you've described... that anger, that distrust...

Lord Valemortis shook his head slightly.

"No, Elyandra. She did not accept it easily. Far from it.

Born a slave, her childhood had been a cycle of abuse and exploitation at the hands of both sadistic nobles and brutal criminals. This precocious and cruel experience had planted in his heart a deep and indiscriminate rage against any authority figure, anyone who flaunted power, regardless of their caste. To Siris, nobles and criminals were just different sides of the same coin of oppression.

Lord Valemortis's voice resumed, transporting them to Siris' first night in the Valemortis lands.

"I didn't bring her here initially. It would be unwise to bring a stranger with such a violent history directly into our family. I took her to the Valemortis Fortress, one of our military foundations closest to the walls of the Empire. The Fortress was a safe and secluded place to observe his next steps.

He paused, a slightly deep tone in his voice.

"That first night... Siris tried to kill me. He stormed my chambers with a silent fury, a makeshift blade hidden under his robes. There was no hesitation in his eyes, just a cold determination to end the threat I posed in his mind. I had no difficulty in containing his attempt. It was evident that his ability was crude, instinctive, but he lacked formal training. However, his ferocity and sheer intent to eliminate me were undeniable. I then realized the extent of his distrust. She genuinely believed that I had taken her to be a new form of exploration, perhaps as an object of curiosity, a slave, or something even worse. That was the only reality she knew.

Her father's words hung in the air of the room, charged with a dark revelation. Elyandra remained silent for a moment, processing the image of this wild and desperate young woman trying to murder her father. A complex mixture of surprise and a strange affinity was drawn on his features. Surprise at the unexpected violence in Siris' past, so far removed from the protective figure she had known. But also a twinge of affinity, an intuitive understanding of the pain and mistrust that had driven her to such an extreme act. It was as if, for a brief moment, she glimpsed the invisible scars that Siris carried in her soul.

"After that first night," Lord Valemortis continued, his voice maintaining the same measured cadence, "Siris tried to make an attempt on my life several more times. Not with the same blind fury as the first, but with a growing cunning, looking for gaps in my guard, moments of vulnerability. On every occasion, I managed to thwart his attempts without inflicting harm on him. I saw in her eyes, behind that savage hostility, a deep fear and an unshakable belief that I would eventually hurt her.

It was a delicate and tense period. Lord Valemortis found himself in a dilemma. Keeping a potential assassin under your roof, even in a military stronghold, was a considerable risk. However, he saw something beyond that defensive violence. There was a sharp wit behind those bitter eyes, an impressive survivability, and, paradoxically, a certain twisted integrity in his quest for justice on the streets of Shadowport. He pondered several options: turn her over to the authorities of the Empire, let her go so that she could return to her life of crime, or try something else... something that no one in his position would consider. He watched Siris from afar, noting her agility in guard training (where he kept her under surveillance), her ability to learn quickly, despite her initial refusal of any kind of formal instruction. There was a spark, a raw potential that, if directed correctly, could turn into something valuable. The question was: how to reach that girl hardened by the cruelty of the world? How to break the barriers of mistrust that surrounded her like armor? It was a dangerous game, a bet on the uncertain future of a criminal marked by tragedy.

"I've come to a conclusion," said Lord Valemortis, his voice firm but with a tinge of thoughtfulness. "Siris needed something... or rather, someone to establish themselves again.

Elyandra watched him intently, her golden eyes searching for an answer in her father's neutral expression.

"What, Dad?" What did you decide to do?

The period that followed marked a subtle but significant shift in the dynamic between Lord Valemortis and the young Siris. The Lord, realizing that the girl's hostility was fueled by a deep insecurity and the lack of a positive reference point, began to demonstrate a more constant presence in his life. He began to actively follow his training with the guard, not to scold her, but to offer guidance, correcting his technique with the precision of a martial master. Slowly, he also began to instruct her in the good manners of House Valemortis, not with the rigidity of a tutor, but with the patience of one who recognizes a dormant potential.

Interestingly, the influence of the nobility of House Valemortis had already begun to have an effect on Siris even before this more direct intervention. The girl, even though she kept a certain reserve in her look, no longer displayed that sloppy and defensive physical aspect of her early days. His posture had become more upright, his movements more controlled. She had adopted a discreet hairstyle, tying up her dark hair in a way that, though simple, denoted a care that had previously been absent. It was the same body of hair that she had kept for all the time she had served Elyandra, a subtle mark of her slow assimilation to the customs of the House that had welcomed her.

"In time," Lord Valemortis went on, his voice now carrying a softness that rarely manifested itself, "that defensive grip of Siris began to give way. Slowly, very slowly, the hostility in his eyes subsided. There was a period... it took years, I must say... where she stopped making an attempt on my life. Instead, it began to... seek my guidance on some things. Small details at the beginning, about the rules of the House, about how to behave in certain situations.

There was a brief pause, and Elyandra noticed an almost fatherly gleam in her father's eyes, a subtle glint that faded as quickly as it came.

"I got to see her, in a way... as if she were my own daughter. A daughter shaped by the harshness of the world, but with a heart... a loyal heart that needed only one direction.

Elyandra grabbed the thin fabric of her garment between her fingers, her knots whiting with the force of the grip. Her mind wandered, trying to visualize the dark life Siris had lived before she found her father's unexpected protection. The cruel streets of Shadowport, the brutality of slavery, the constant struggle for survival... A whirlwind of dark images danced in his imagination. A painful grip came up in her chest, a twinge of belated empathy for the woman who had protected her with such selflessness. His fingers pressed the soft tissue against his heart even more, as if they could absorb some of the pain Siris had carried for so long.

Lord Valemortis watched his daughter's silent reaction with trained discretion. He recognized the silent battle raging within him, the slow realization of the suffering of others shaping his young soul. That grip, the distant, absorbed gaze, were eloquent signs of the connection Elyandra was finally making to Siris's painful past, a bond forged in absence and belated revelation.

"When Siris came of age, around eighteen, she was no longer that wild girl of the streets. Her sharp intelligence, combined with the training she received, made her an invaluable asset to the military forces of House Valemortis. She acted mainly as an infiltrator and analyst. His ability to move in the shadows, to observe details that went unnoticed by others, was remarkable. And your mind... His mind was voracious, able to analyze complex information and find patterns where no one else could. It has become as good as it is efficient.

Lord Valemortis rose from the edge of the bed with a slow, silent movement, surprising Elyandra, whose eyes followed him with a silent plea for more revelations. He reached into the inner pocket of his noble robes, carefully removing a small rectangular object. It was a photograph, a rare and valuable artifact. He handed it to Elyandra, the image facing up.

The little noblewoman took the picture with trembling hands, her gaze fixed on that portrait of the past. The contrast with the Siris she had known was striking. In that time-faded image, Siris stood alongside other members of the Valemortis military forces. His bearing was erect, his dark hair tied up practically, and in his eyes there was no trace of the wild bitterness his father had described. Instead, there was an intense focus, a seriousness that emanated an aura of high military efficiency. It was the look of someone who knew his worth, who trusted his abilities. That glimpse of Siris's past, captured in an instant frozen in time, was like watching a flower bloom from a barren terrain.

Elyandra narrowed her eyes, observing Siris' firm posture and determined gaze in the photograph. A subtle but undeniable resemblance to Dalia's reserved and efficient attitude struck her.

"She... she looks a bit like Dalia in this picture, doesn't she? He commented, his voice low.

Lord Valemortis nodded slightly.

"It's true. Both share intense focus and quiet efficiency. Military discipline has shaped both in its own way.

He sighed, a somber tone returning to his voice.

"I believed that everything was finally coming to a satisfactory conclusion. Siris had found his place, his loyalty was unquestioned, and the dark past seemed to be behind him. But then... During one mission, something happened. She had a relapse.

The scene Lord Valemortis described unfolded with the cool, efficient precision of Valemortis military tactics. Siris was leading a squad in intercepting a shipment of contraband. The ambush was swift and decisive, the criminals subdued without offering much resistance to the discipline and might of the Valemortis soldiers. While the reins were taken and the prisoners were restrained, the extensive cargo was meticulously inspected.

It was then that Siris saw it. Among the crates and bales, hidden under coarse cloths, were they: children. Of all ages, their thin, dirty faces marked by a suffering that went beyond physical deprivation. But what really made Siris' eyes cold and empty was the look on their faces. It was the same silent anger, the same deep, hopeless bitterness that she knew so well, that she had felt in her own soul in her early years.

At that instant, something broke inside Siris. His face, usually controlled and focused, contorted into a mask of uncontrollable fury, an ancestral rage aroused by the sight of that cruelty. Lord Valemortis revealed that his intention, in assigning Siris to missions involving the underworld of Shadowport, was to confront her with the place that had caused her so much pain, in the hopes that it would heal her, that she could purge her demons. And for a while, it seemed to be working. She fought crime with justified ferocity, using her knowledge of that dark world to dismantle its gears. But on that fateful day, the sight of those children awakened the old wound, rekindling a flame of revenge that he thought he had extinguished. That night, Siris disappeared. And when dawn broke over Darkport, almost all of the slave traders still operating in the area were found dead.

The night in Shadowport swallowed the screams and the clang of steel. Siris, moved by an ancient fury aroused by the sight of enslaved children, swept away the merchants' hideouts with relentless violence. His movements were swift and lethal, years of military training combined with the ferocity of a cornered she-wolf. Their clothes were torn in the intensity of the fighting, the thin fabric unable to withstand the brutality of the clashes against those who protected their abject businesses. His face, illuminated by the flames of the ruined warehouses, was a gloomy canvas where the old bitterness of his childhood mingled with a cold, righteous rage. By the end of the night, the trail of destruction and death was undeniable.

When Lord Valemortis finally found her, dawn was barely rising over the filthy alleys. Siris was standing in the dirt, her body exhausted, but her posture still tense. His eyes, fixed on a distant and invisible point, carried a disturbing emptiness. He approached slowly, the morning silence broken only by his cautious steps. Siris turned her face to him, but her gaze seemed lost, not really recognizing him. There was a deep confusion in his dark irises, an abyss of uncertain identity.

"Siris," said Lord Valemortis, his deep, worried voice breaking the silence.

The young woman stared at him for a long moment, and then, in a hoarse and distant voice, murmured:

"I... I don't know who I am anymore.

Seeking to comfort Siris's tormented soul, Lord Valemortis crouched down and sat beside her on the dirty floor of the alley. Silence stretched between them, a silence charged with mutual understanding. Both seemed to share the brunt of that chaotic situation, the newly occurring violence hovering like a shadow between them. Slowly, with a rare gesture of affection, Lord Valemortis reached out and rested his hand on Siris's head, a firm and comforting touch in the midst of his confusion. Finally, as if collapsing under the weight of his actions and his identity crisis, Siris dropped the bloody daggers he still clutched in his hands and hid his face between his arms and legs, his hunched posture expressing a deep frustration and emotional exhaustion.

"At that moment, Elyandra," Lord Valemortis said, his voice carrying the memory of a crucial point, "standing in that dark alley and seeing the exhaustion and confusion in Siris's eyes, I realized that what she really needed... it was something to protect.

Against Siris's wishes, and despite her initial revulsion, Lord Valemortis assigned her to the servant training of House Valemortis. For Siris, with his military background and his experience marked by violence and the struggle for survival, the idea of serving was an insult, a debasement of everything he had learned to be. She saw servitude as a form of weakness, a submission that her past had taught her to avoid at all costs. However, Lord Valemortis' constant and quiet influence began to have an effect. He visited her during her training, not to force her, but to observe, to offer an occasional word of encouragement or a subtle correction. His constant presence, devoid of any tone of command or exploration, began to break down the barriers of mistrust that Siris had built throughout his life. Slowly, the young woman's initial reluctance began to give way, giving way to a hesitant acceptance of her new role.

Years later, after completing his training as a servant – an arduous process for someone with his background – Siris sought out Lord Valemortis. She found him in one of the Fortress's training areas, overseeing a patrol of new recruits, his imposing and attentive figure guiding the young soldiers. As he noticed Siris approaching, a slight jolt ran through the Lord's usually impassive expression. His eyes fixed on hers, and a genuine surprise flashed in its depths. The gaze that Siris directed at her now was serene, devoid of that wild bitterness and violent frustration that had marked her so much in her early days under the protection of House Valemortis. There was a quietude there, a calm resolution that he hadn't seen in a long time.

Siris approached with firm but graceful steps. On reaching Lord Valemortis, he bowed softly and respectfully, with a cordiality that echoed that of the noble ladies of the court.

"Lord Valemortis," he greeted, his voice now modulated, without the harshness of the streets or the defensive coolness of old.

The surprise on the Lord's face was evident, though he quickly controlled it. A slight nod was his initial response.

"Siris." I see that your training has come to an end.

"Yes, my Lord," she replied, her eyes meeting his with a quiet steadiness. "And I'd like to share what I've learned." The training taught me to observe carefully, to anticipate needs before they are expressed. I learned the art of discretion, of silent efficiency. I have discovered a discipline that channels my energy in constructive ways. Above all, I learned the value of loyalty and dedication to those who trust me.

A subtle shadow crossed Lord Valemortis's gaze as he listened to Siris's words. There was an impeccable politeness to his demeanor, an apparent serenity in his eyes, but something... something seemed out of place. It was as if she was wearing a mask, a façade of calm and submission that didn't fully match the intensity he knew. He realized that somehow Siris hadn't grasped the true purpose behind that unusual training for someone with his past. That realization crystallized the moment she looked up at him, her flawless composure slightly broken by a question that revealed her former nature.

"My Lord," Siris said, the formality of his words contrasting with the expectation in his eyes, "what will be my present mission?"

Observing the latent anticipation beneath the surface of Siris's composure, Lord Valemortis decided it was time to put his plan into action.

"Come with me, Siris," he said, his voice calm, but with a tone that admitted of no objection.

The young woman followed, her distrust subtly rekindled by the unexpected change of course. She maintained a respectful silence as they walked through the halls of the fortress, a familiar environment to her now, but one that had never been her home. He guided her out, toward the gardens that surrounded the military structure. He stopped on one of the stone paths, observing the verdant and flowery expanse of the yard. Siris stood beside him, his posture erect and waiting in silence, his eyes fixed on his Lord's profile. The gentle breeze lightly ruffled her dark hair. After a few moments of contemplative silence, the impatience inherent in her nature finally made her break the silence.

"My Lord," he repeated, the formality in his slightly strained voice, "what is my present mission?"

Lord Valemortis let out a barely audible sigh before turning his eyes to Siris.

"Your current mission, Siris," he said, his voice now carrying an unusual weight, "is of paramount importance. Something I wouldn't trust just anyone.

The Lord's words put Siris on immediate alert. His shoulders tensed slightly, and his posture took on an almost military rigidity, his eyes fixed on those of his superior, awaiting instructions with a focused intensity. Lord Valemortis looked away, and Siris followed his line of sight. His eyes found a woman dressed in an elegant noble dress, sitting on a stone bench under the shade of a flowering tree. Her dark hair was elaborately tied up, and her deep violet eyes were absorbed in reading a leather-bound book.

"Is it something related to Lady Altheria?" Siris questioned, his voice cautious.

"No, Siris," replied Lord Valemortis, his gaze still fixed on the figure of his wife. "Not directly.

At that moment, a small, white-haired figure came running across the grass toward the woman in the noble dress. It was Elyandra, her little feet moving with the energy of a child. The woman looked up from the book, a warm smile lighting up her face as she saw her daughter approach. She bent down, welcoming Elyandra into a tight and affectionate embrace, lifting her into her arms. This was one of the rare days when Lady Altheria and Elyandra visited Lord Valemortis at his place of work, bringing with them a breath of lightness and color to the austere atmosphere of the fortress.

Lord Valemortis turned his gaze to Siris, and what he saw surprised him. The military rigidity in his posture remained, but his eyes... His eyes had lost their usual coldness. There was a subtle, almost childlike glow, as if she had glimpsed something beautiful and unexpected, something that was completely out of step with the darkness that usually hovered in her gaze. It was a small change, almost imperceptible, but one that did not escape his attention, carrying the scene with a quiet tension and a hint of hope.

"So, my Lord," Siris asked, the formality in his voice now tinged with genuine curiosity, "what is my mission?"

"Your new role, Siris," Lord Valemortis said, his gaze fixed on his former soldier's, "will involve no more combat or dangerous infiltration. Your mission, from now on, will be simple, but extremely important to me. You will be the servant of my daughter, Elyandra.

The shock was stamped on Siris' face. His eyes widened slightly, and his posture, until then firm, faltered for a moment. The idea seemed so far removed from everything she had experienced, from everything she had been trained to do, that the Lord's words took a moment to make sense. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out, her mind struggling to process that unexpected twist.

Lord Valemortis turned, briefly observing the scene of his wife and daughter playing on the lawn. Then he turned his gaze to Siris, his expression serious and determined.

"Get ready, Siris. Soon, you will live in our house.

Back in the dim light of Elyandra's room, the little noblewoman clutched the photograph of Siris with trembling hands. The revelations about the servant's past hit her with the force of an unexpected blow. The image of the savage criminal, the efficient infiltrator, the tormented woman, and finally the dedicated servant girl mingled in his mind, creating a painful confusion. His golden eyes, watered with fresh tears, fixed on his father's serious face.

"Dad..." his voice was a hesitant whisper, charged with childlike anguish, "all of it... everything Siris did for me... that loyalty... Was it real? Or was she still... on a mission? That calm, that... kindness... Was it just a mask? Did she really care about me, or was I just another chore for her to protect?

"You're mistaken, Elyandra," Lord Valemortis replied, his voice now carrying a soft firmness, as if to dispel his daughter's painful doubts. "The truth is, Siris fell in love with you the moment you first walked into this room.

He paused briefly, his eyes fixed on Elyandra's, seeking to convey the sincerity of his words.

She acted as if it were a mission, a task assigned, until the moment she finally met her in person. I watched her, Elyandra. I saw the subtle but undeniable change in his eyes as their gazes met for the first time. That glow... it was real. It was pure. It was something I had never witnessed before in Siris. There was no calculation there, just... fascination.

Lord Valemortis continued, his voice now choked with suppressed emotion.

"I followed the routine of the two of you closely, in the shadows, as I always did with those who protect my family. And I can tell you, with all the certainty of my heart, that Siris saw in you the childlike glow that cruel life had denied you. She loved being by his side, watching his joy, his curiosity... It was as if, through you, she could glimpse the innocence she never had. That loyalty, that care... they were not a mission, Elyandra. They were love. True love, in her way.

Her father's words hit Elyandra like an overwhelming wave. The tears, which had once flowed silently, now flowed freely, accompanied by convulsive sobs. She rose abruptly, staggering toward her father, and clung to his noble robes with desperate force, her small body trembling with the intensity of her emotion. The pain of loss was still searing, but now it was mixed with the deep understanding of the unconditional love that had surrounded her. In that moment of extreme vulnerability, something transformed inside Elyandra. The spoiled girl began to glimpse the depth of human bonds, the complexity of emotions, and the true meaning of sacrifice. The loss of Siris, clothed now in the certainty of her genuine love, planted a seed of maturity in her young and afflicted heart.