Chapter 43: The Sister Who Stayed Away
The halls of the Luther Stronghold were quieter than usual, though word of Jean's victory over Duke Erich had spread like wildfire through the mountains.
But one room—hidden high above the Patriarch's Keep—remained still, its walls untouched by celebration.
There, Silvia Luther stood before an ancient tapestry depicting the First War of the Dragon Age. Her crimson hair was braided down her back, her greatsword resting against the stone wall behind her like a sleeping titan.
She had arrived the night before, unseen by all save Charles.
Now, her golden eyes traced every thread of the tapestry: men and women locked in struggle, dragons blotting out the sun, and in the center, the silhouette of Martin Luther, sword raised skyward, striking down the heavens themselves.
Behind her, the door creaked open.
"I knew you'd come," said Charles Luther, voice like cold steel.
"I didn't come for you," Silvia replied, still facing the tapestry. "I came for her."
Charles crossed his arms, cloak billowing faintly. "You gave up your right to guide this clan long ago. The Succession War is not your war anymore."
Silvia turned, calm and sharp as a blade unsheathed.
"And yet… you summoned me."
He didn't answer.
Because he didn't need to.
They both knew the truth: Jean was changing.
Her power was rising faster than even Silvia had expected. And the Eclipsion—that blade—was never meant to be found again.
"She reminds me of him," Silvia murmured. "Too much fire. Not enough time."
"Do you think she's ready?" Charles asked.
"No," Silvia said quietly. "But she's going, whether we like it or not."
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Down below, Jean trained in the dawnlight.
Each swing of Eclipsion cleaved the air with unnatural heat. Whitney watched nearby, still wary of the blade, though fiercely loyal to Jean. Her aura shimmered with both divine light and something darker—something she didn't yet understand.
A shadow fell across her.
She turned.
And saw her.
Silvia stood at the edge of the training field, arms folded, cloak billowing in the morning breeze.
"Sister," Jean said, voice unreadable.
Silvia tilted her head. "You've grown."
"You left," Jean replied. "When we needed you most."
"I didn't come to apologize," Silvia said. "I came to see if you're strong enough to survive what comes next."
Jean's grip tightened on her blade. "Then test me."
A pause.
Then Silvia smiled—a rare, fierce, warrior's smile.
"Not yet."
She stepped forward, closer now, and placed a hand on Jean's shoulder.
"But I'll be watching. And when the time comes… I'll be the one standing beside you."
For the first time in years, Jean saw not the legend, not the warrior—but her sister.
And for the first time in her journey, she realized—
She wasn't alone.
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