The early morning sun pierced through a curtain of mist, painting the sprawling Wilson estate in muted gold. Dew clung to the grass like tiny jewels, and a crisp breeze carried the scent of fresh earth and anticipation.
At the grand gate, massive iron doors creaked open with a low groan that seemed to stir the hearts of those gathered—it was time.
Carriages stood in neat formation, each bearing the Wilson insignia, their polished exteriors gleaming faintly under the early sunlight. Beast-like horse creatures stamped their hooves, snorting clouds into the morning air, while armoured guards sat tall in their saddles, their posture rigid with discipline.
Rows of servants moved with quiet precision—some loading the final crates, others adjusting travel cloaks or tightening leather straps. A few stood near the carriages, eyes constantly darting toward the estate entrance.
Among them, hushed voices rippled like a low tide.
"Did you hear? We're going during the festival—can you imagine the crowd?"
"I've never seen a Lizardman in my life. What do they even look like up close?"
"I heard their empire glows at night… from their rivers."
Excitement flickered across tired faces, washing away the exhaustion of the early morning. For many, this was more than duty—it was a rare glimpse into a world they'd only heard of in stories. The Lizardman Empire, especially during the Grand Festival, was said to be a place of wonder and fierce power. Bright lanterns, sky dances, elemental duels—the kind of spectacle that left even nobles speechless, let alone them.
The only wait now was for Aidan to come.
In the outer castle, Aidan's gaze lingered on his mother. Her fingers fidgeted with the edge of her shawl, knuckles pale, lips pressed in a thin line. Beside her, Liam stood tall, arms folded loosely, but there was a steady warmth in his eyes. He leaned in slightly, voice calm yet unshakable.
"Don't let fear hold you," he said, his tone quiet but certain. "No matter who stands in your way—remember this. Your father's behind you."
Aidan gave a small nod, his eyes lingering on his parents. His chest tightened. A part of him wanted to step forward, to pull them both into a hug and feel their warmth one last time—but he couldn't. The guilt clawed at him. They believed he was heading to the Lizardman Empire, proud and trusting. But the truth he carried would break them.
So instead, he offered the only thing he could—a smile. Fragile, thin, but steady enough to pass.
To his left, Erwin stepped forward. Back straight, arms behind his back. "Hold your head high, Aidan," he said, voice firm as a command. "You're carrying the Wilson name. Make sure they remember it."
A pause. Then the faintest curve of a grin.
"They're eager to see what Wilson future looks likes. Don't disappoint—show them."
"Of course, Uncle," Aidan said, the words sliding out too easily—another lie layered over so many others.
He wasn't going to the festival. He wasn't going to show the world the future heir of Wilson.
He turned his gaze just slightly, eyes drifting toward Violet, who stood a little apart from the others. In her arms, she held the young boy gently, yet her expression remained unreadable—calm, stoic, as if untouched by the moment.
Aidan didn't expect warmth from her. He never had.
His eyes softened as he looked at the child instead. "I'll play with you more after I return," he said quietly, offering a small wave.
Then, turning his eyes to Violet, he added with a calm grace, "Farewell, Aunt Violet. Until I return."
The little boy's tiny hand wiggled in response, a bright smile lighting up his round face—as if he truly understood the promise Aidan made.
Violet, however, remained unchanged. Her expression unreadable, her posture rigid. Only a brief, almost imperceptible nod came from her—no words, no farewell, just acknowledgment.
"Father, could you do me a small favour? Let Grandmother and Lily know I was a little sad she couldn't see me off in person."
Both of them had been away on business for a month now, completely unaware that Aidan was set to leave for the Lizardman Empire.
"Alright, I will," Liam said, with a faint chuckle.
Aidan lingered at the steps, his hand tightening briefly at his side before he turned to his mother.
"Take care until I return," he said, his voice steady but quieter than usual.
Sophia didn't answer right away. Her lips trembled faintly before she crossed the space between them in quick steps. She cupped his face with both hands, her touch warm and trembling, then leaned down and pressed a kiss to his forehead.
"Take care of yourself, my child," she murmured, her voice barely holding together.
She turned, her eyes already glistening, and fixed Matthew with a gaze sharp as steel.
Her footsteps stopped before him, the weight of her presence heavier than any order she'd ever given. A single nod followed—a silent contract sealed by trust.
"Matthew," she said, her voice low, firm, and resonant with authority, "I entrust Aidan to you. You have full command—do whatever it takes to protect him if need be."
She paused, her jaw tightening, her next words colder than steel drawn under moonlight.
"Even if it means declaring war on those who dare lay a hand on him—be it a noble house or an entire empire. Do you understand?"
Beside Matthew, the other two captains stiffened. Captain Jerry shifted his stance, gripping the hilt of his sword with a slow exhale; Captain Hazel merely nodded, his jaw clenched in silent acknowledgment. They didn't speak, but the glances they exchanged said enough—they understood the weight of her words, and the storm she was willing to unleash.
Further back, Liam stood quietly, a faint, knowing smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He made no comment—just watched, as if he'd already expected this from his wife.
Lord Erwin shook his head with a quiet sigh. He knew his sister too well—Sophia's intensity wasn't just maternal protectiveness; it was rooted in something older, deeper. Her distrust of the other races wasn't born from logic, but from scars left by childhood trauma. How anyone treated you depended on the value you held. It was the same with the other races.
Sophia, a commoner who had lived outside the Human Empire in a village, bore the deepest scars left by them. It was the same for Lily.