House of Halden

The Chief’s office was heavy with lamplight and the scent of old parchment. Shelves laden with scrolls and maps loomed over a cluttered desk, where reports, ink pots, and open ledgers competed for space. The faint hiss of a lantern wick was the only sound between the two figures standing in the center of the room.

The Chief—a broad-shouldered man with years of command etched into his weathered face—spoke with the weight of restrained sorrow. Opposite him stood Blaze, her hood drawn low, concealing all but the faint glint of crimson beneath. Dust from the road still clung to her boots—a silent testament to long, relentless travel.

“Lucan Halden is dead,” the Chief said quietly, though his voice carried the firmness of fact. “With no heir, I fear you are misinformed. How I wish it were otherwise.”

There was reverence in his tone, tinged with the ache of respect and loss—for Lucan had been more than a lord; he had been a savior to many in Funa.

Blaze’s breath caught. “There has to be something left,” she said, her voice heavy with the gravity of the matter. “An heir—not of Lucan, but of the Haldens?”

The Chief shook his head solemnly. “If only that were true. The Halden bloodline is no more.”

The words struck her like a bolt of lightning. Her very first mission—finding Lucan Halden—had ended in failure before it even began. Every plan, every strategy she had forged to convince him now turned to ash in her mind. For a moment, she stood silent, her thoughts unraveling in the still air.

So lost was she in despair that she did not hear the office door burst open with a sharp thud.

Ayan strode in, breathless, his expression blazing with righteous anger. The Chief turned sharply, startled.

“Ayan!” he exclaimed. “What’s the meaning of this?”

But Ayan’s eyes were locked on Blaze.

“Apologize,” he said, voice steady and low.

Blaze did not move. She didn’t even seem to hear him, still drowning in the shock of her failed mission.

“Ayan,” the Chief warned, tone soft but edged with caution, “what’s wrong? Why are you—”

“Apologize to the guards,” Ayan interrupted, his words cutting through the Chief’s like a drawn blade.

Blaze remained still.

Ayan took another step forward, his hand curling into a fist. “They could’ve been hurt! You charged through the gates like a storm and didn’t even stop to see if they were alive!”

The only response came from the Chief. He exhaled sharply. “Ayan, restrain yourself.”

But Ayan was burning with rage, and Blaze’s silence only fueled it. He lunged forward and seized her shoulder—

—and in an instant, he was hurled to the floor. The air rushed from his lungs as his back struck the wood, the world spinning. Blaze had moved like lightning, defense second nature.

Ayan scrambled to his feet, fury unbroken, remembering what Lucan had taught him above all: never back down when justice was at stake.

The fight was hopelessly one-sided. Blaze outmatched Ayan in both speed and skill—every strike flowed like water through his defenses, every counter landed with precise, effortless force. Yet Ayan refused to yield.

His mind whirred with desperate calculation. A feint, a stumble that wasn’t real—then, in a final surge, his hand caught the edge of her hood and tore it back.

The world stilled.

A cascade of crimson hair spilled out, unfurling like fire in lamplight. It shimmered, each strand carrying the memory of sunlight, alive with untamed brilliance. It framed a face both fierce and unearthly—delicate yet sharpened by resolve, the beauty of a blade that could cut both flesh and spirit.

Her eyes—blue, impossibly vivid—locked onto him. They were frozen oceans stirred by a storm, radiating absolute focus that made Ayan’s knees weak. They held him, commanding attention and submission without a word, without a trace of anger.

She lifted him with terrifying ease, holding him above the ground as if he were a doll. Her grip was iron, posture perfect, every movement measured.

How could she—just a girl, nearly Ayan’s age, smaller in stature—wield such monstrous strength? It defied every law of nature. Anyone who witnessed it would ask: How?

But Ayan did not ask. He could not.

Battered and breathless, suspended in her grasp, his defiance melted into awe, his fury dissolved into something nameless and wild. His heart thundered—not with fear, but with something deeper, as if he were staring into the face of…

"An angel," the word echoed in his skull. "I’m looking at an angel."

The edges of his vision blurred. His strength gave way, and as consciousness slipped, the last thing he saw was her eyes—blue flames against a world gone dim.

Then darkness took him into a world where he found himself most often.

On the stone steps beneath the shadow of the roof, supported by tall, elegant columns, sat a silver-haired man. Though in his late thirties, the years had left only gentle marks upon his face. His brows and eyes radiated warmth, filled with quiet affection, and his presence carried the subtle, reassuring aura of someone who could shelter anyone from both rain and scorching sun without question. Slender yet well-built, he exuded strength and calm in equal measure. This was Lucan Halden—a living legend, yet modest in demeanor, a man whose very posture spoke of care for others.

Beside him sat a young Ayan, about nine, clutching a full glass of milk. The sunlight caught the soft waves of his brown hair, and his brown eyes glimmered with admiration and curiosity, silently questioning the man beside him as he pondered words too large for his years.

Finally, the boy spoke.

“Father, why did you take me in as your son… a nameless child with no family, nothing to offer?”

Lucan set down the cup of tea he had been holding and reached out, ruffling Ayan’s hair and messing it up completely.

“How does my son come up with such stupid questions?” he said with a teasing smile.

Ayan, visibly offended, puffed out his cheeks. “Hey! Stop! I’m not a kid! I’ve told you so many times—don’t treat me like one!”

Lucan leaned back slightly, playful glint in his eyes. “Oh? Then how about finishing your milk first?”

“Milk is for kids! I’m a grown man!” Ayan shot back.

Lucan shrugged, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Did my son just call me a kid because I love milk?”

Flustered, Ayan grumbled, gulping down full glass of the milk in one breath. A smear of white appeared on his upper lip.

Lucan’s eyes twinkled. “Ah… you’ve grown a mustache.”

Ayan, red-faced, immediately wiped it off.

Lucan laughed, teasing further. “And here I thought you had grown up… and grown a proper mustache.”

Regretting his decision, Ayan, trying once more to prove his “grown-up” status, called out to the woman standing a few paces back

“Martha!”

She approached, calm and precise as ever. Every step carried quiet assurance, her movements measured and graceful. Her hair was tucked neatly beneath a veil, not a single strand out of place. Her pale skin emitted a faint glow. The vision was from the past, yet she looked the same even today.

“A glass of milk!” Ayan called, urgency threading his voice.

“Of course, little Ayan,” she replied, her tone even and composed, with just a hint of tease.

“Don’t call me little! How many times do I have to tell you—you’re as sharp-tongued as ever,” Ayan shot back, his brown eyes flashing.

“Sharp tongues are wasted on dull ears,” Martha jabbed playfully.

“Then maybe you should listen with your eyes instead,” Ayan replied evenly.

“Maybe I will.”

Martha opened her eyes—crimson and glaring—the mark of a Tarron. She gave Ayan a look that could freeze stone.

“I won’t get scared easily,” Ayan said, though his voice wavered. “I know Tarrons don’t eat people. What the other kids say is a lie.”

Tarron—a word humans never dared to use. They called her kind Denominos, The Named Ones. Yet in the Halden Mansion, such titles were never spoken. Here, humans and Tarrons were equals.

Lucan laughed, his endless mirth fading slowly as Ayan began to regain his senses.

“Father…” whispered the grown-up Ayan, slowly coming to after being knocked out by Blaze. Faint sounds reached him, though he could not make out to whom they belonged. He blinked, opening his eyes and looking at his palm.

“A dream… or a recollection? Ayan murmured

The sounds around him grew clearer. He realized he was lying on a sofa. Across a small table, Blaze and the Chief sat facing him. Blaze looked visibly worried. The moment she saw Ayan open his eyes, she spoke first.

“I am deeply ashamed of my conduct,” she said, lowering her head. “I have no excuse for my behavior. I am willing to accept any punishment.”

The Chief shifted uneasily. The situation had spiraled beyond his control. He wanted to stop her from apologizing, yet no words came.

Ayan’s gaze lifted. Behind the Chief and Blaze stood the two guards from before, unharmed. Relief softened his expression.

“I’m glad you two are well,” he said with a faint smile.

The guards bowed deeply.

“Lord Ayan, please forgive us! We never imagined you’d go so far as to stand against the mighty Usher Clan for our sake!”

“Well,” Ayan said, glancing at Blaze, “aren’t you happy, Mighty Usher? No one got hurt.”

His words could have sounded like a taunt—but his tone was calm, gentle and genuine.

“That I am, indeed” She replied in a low voice.

The Chief shot him a cold, warning glance for speaking so casually to a member of House of Usher, but Ayan paid no heed.

One of the guards stepped forward quickly. “Her Ladyship bears no fault, Master Halden. She showed us her emblem—it was our lack of training that caused the delay. We are greatly ashamed, Master Halden.”

“Master Halden?”

Both Ayan and Blaze spoke the words at once.

Ayan’s surprise came from never having been called by that name before. Blaze’s came from realizing the name Halden still existed at all.

Sweat formed on the Chief’s brow. He fumbled for words, struggling to explain, but none came.

Blaze looked at Ayan closely. Before her sat a plain-looking boy of her own age—carefree, unpolished— devoid of any heroic aura but he possessed the all important Halden name.

“But I was told Lucan Halden had no heir,” she finally said, her voice low but steady.

Hope flickered in her eyes—a fragile, impossible hope that the boy before her might prove her wrong. That he might bear the blood of Lucan Halden.

“Well, I’m an adopted son. I carry the name, not the blood,” Ayan replied casually.

Even so, the revelation stirred something in Blaze. Adopted or not, the Halden Estate had an heir. It was worth looking into.

I should ask Uncle about it… but how do I get close to the Haldens?

The very thought kept her fragile hope alive—and suddenly, an opportunity seemed to present itself.

“I’m truly ashamed of my impulsive behavior,” Ayan said, scratching the back of his head, a faint flush coloring his cheeks. “Would you please… accept my offer to have a meal at my home?”

Before Blaze could respond, the Chief quickly interjected.

“Excellent idea! It’s already dinnertime—why not, Lady Usher, accept this offer?” he said with a forced smile.

“It will be my—”

Before she could finish, Ayan suddenly leapt up from the sofa.

“Dinner time!?” he blurted, glancing toward the window. “Martha!”

He turned to Blaze with an apologetic grin.

“Pardon me—I tend to forget the hour when things get… dramatic. Will Lady Usher follow me rather quickly?”

“Of course,” Blaze replied.

Instilled with new hope, she matched Ayan’s pace, but paused at the door. Turning back, she bowed.

“Sorry for all the trouble,” she said softly, then left.

The room fell into silence.

One of the guards spoke with quiet reverence. “Master Halden is such a generous man.”

“Generous?” the Chief muttered, rubbing his temple. “Do you have any idea what just happened? We narrowly escaped disaster! If that foolish boy’s brazen attitude had offended the Ushers, they might’ve demanded compensation—or worse.”

“Lady Usher didn’t seem the type to seek compensation over mere words,” another guard replied hesitantly.

“Thank the heavens she was merciful,” the Chief sighed. “Whatever her reasons, the Ushers are the most influential of all human houses. One misstep with them, and the entire human alliance could turn against us.”

His words sank in, and they felt weak in the knees, realizing how recklessly they had dealt with her. The lesson drilled into them since childhood returned sharply: the Ushers must always be revered and shown respect, under all circumstances.

Outside, Ayan waited for Blaze. She took the reins of her horse and followed him on foot. They soon cleared the village and crossed open fields, pausing a short distance from a mansion. Its stone walls and sprawling grounds seemed to hold their breath, set apart from the village by empty fields that emphasized both its faded grandeur and solemn stillness.

“Is that the Halden estate?” she asked.

Ayan nodded, hesitating for a moment. Blaze couldn’t tell why.

“Let’s go,” he said, taking a deep breath, and started walking.

At the gates, a figure awaited them: Martha. Ayan matched Blaze’s pace, his steps hesitant, a mixture of curiosity and caution threading through him.

Upon reaching the gates, Ayan spoke immediately, trying to excuse his delay.

“This young lady is on a long journey and has no place to stay for the night. We have many empty rooms—we could even run a hotel.”

The invitation was meant only for a meal. Blaze had no objections; her mind was already occupied with ways to extend her stay and investigate the estate. Ayan’s fumble had unintentionally given her the perfect opportunity.

“Blaze of the House of Usher, in your care.” Blaze lowered her head, introducing herself.

“Usher,” Martha whispered to herself, then, without a hint of emotion, said, “Ah… and here I thought you had brought a girl.” Her voice was calm, yet her words carried a subtle hint of slight.

Ayan fidgeted and offered no response. Blaze tried to help.

“It’s a misunderstanding, Master Halden—” She got no further.

“Of course, Ayan would only bring a girl worthy of the Halden name,” Martha said, her tone clipped and precise. “A girl like Princess Eugenia—never someone from a house that pushes its way in uninvited.”

Blaze, however, showed only a faint smile. Was it affection for Ayan that led her to speak so, or a subtle attempt to belittle the House of Ushers? Perhaps both. Regardless, Blaze was accustomed to malice. Though most people genuinely revered the Ushers, some still harbored resentment.

“The dinner is already served and getting cold. If you wanted to start a hotel business, you should have discussed it with me beforehand. However, one guest will not pose much problem for a night.” She moved forward, keeping her cold demeanor toward Blaze.

Being chosen by the Blazing Sword required humility. Bowing and smiling came naturally to Blaze, and such gestures often smoothed over social awkwardness. But none of them worked on Martha.

She realized that not all battles are fought with arms and weapons—some required diplomacy, an art foreign to her. Yet staying at the Halden Estate presented an unexpected opportunity Blaze could not afford to miss.

Following Martha and Ayan into the estate, she resolved in her heart to use all her wits to break the ice with Martha.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: If you enjoyed my story, please leave a like—and a comment if you can! It really motivates me to keep writing.