Anthesis of Sadness
Chapter 78: Diary (7)

Chapter 78: Diary (7)

Little by little... I was changing.

Slowly, silently, but irreversibly.

I was becoming stronger — not only in my body, but in my mind, in that inner strength that no longer wavers at the first blow.

More learned — able to understand, to analyze, to anticipate, where before I would have seen only chaos.

More complete — as if the scattered pieces of my being, spread by years of survival and pain, were finally finding their rightful place.

More myself — not the broken creature the world had shaped, but the one I should always have been.

And this path, I walked it thanks to him... and thanks to me.

He had seen what I was not yet, what even I didn’t know how to become. And he had planted that seed without ever doubting it would bloom.

For the first time, I could look back and see not only what I had fled from, but also what I had conquered.

And even the Lord of Zagnaroth...

Little by little, against all odds, I grew attached to him.

But even in the face of the Lord of Ruins, it was his shadow I searched for. His silhouette, discreet but always there, was my anchor point.

Behind his words heavy with meaning, his gaze of steel forged in a thousand battles, and his deep voice that seemed to make the air itself vibrate, I perceived something else.

A heart, buried under layers of centuries, woven with ancient memories, with contained pain, with losses impossible to erase.

A being immense, shaped by war and mourning, yet still capable of watching, observing, protecting in his own silent way.

I liked him.

In his silence, there was a quiet strength, almost reassuring, like the presence of an immovable mountain facing the storms of the world.

To me, he gradually became... almost like an uncle.

Distant, sometimes unreachable, but present. Solid.

And, in his own way, kind.

And me...

Me, the lost child of yesterday, the broken weapon, the nameless creature, shaped by hunger and fear...

I was there.

Surrounded. Loved. Protected.

Not as a burden to be tolerated, not as a tool to be used, but as a being in my own right.

Something I never thought possible.

I felt around me those solid presences, those bonds woven day by day, made of simple gestures, silent glances, of trust offered without condition.

Me, who had never belonged to anything, I was now part of a whole.

And that truth, more than any victory or conquest, had become my greatest strength.

Then, one day — yesterday — came the happiest day of my life.

A day engraved in my flesh, in my soul, deeper than all the scars, all the past pain.

A day simple in appearance, without drums or great battles, but where every instant shone with a light nothing could tarnish.

Everything I had been, everything I had endured, had led me to this exact moment.

A moment suspended, fragile, perfect, where the pain of the past seemed distant, eclipsed by the simple reality of being there, alive, surrounded, recognized.

Yesterday, for the first time, I was no longer a survivor.

I was a being. A promise.

A smile turned toward the future.

The Lord of Zagnaroth himself, in all his greatness, in all the crushing majesty of his existence, granted me what I had never dared imagine.

Not a title, not a medal, not a war reward.

No.

A name. A real one.

It wasn’t an administrative act. It was a silent oath, more sacred than any pact of war or blood. He made me his chosen lineage.

A family name. Anthony’s.

A name I could carry with pride, with dignity.

An anchor. A root that no one could ever tear from me.

That single word, engraved in the solemn echo of the great hall, resonated in me louder than all oaths, than all battles.

It sealed what I had never believed possible: to belong to something. To someone.

To exist for something other than survival.

To exist... to be loved.

I was officially his daughter.

He, who had received so little from the world, had given me everything. Not out of duty. But by choice, free and whole.

Not just in his words murmured with tenderness, in his gestures full of patience, in his silent gazes filled with pride.

But to the whole world. In the very history that would continue to be written after us.

I bore his name, like a banner woven from everything we had endured.

I was part of him, of his lineage, of his legacy.

His family.

And in that word, laden with meaning, vibrating with a warmth that neither time nor trials could tarnish, there was a simple, radiant truth: My Father.

Two words, an entire world.

A world where, at last, I was no longer alone.

And he... He too received, on that same day, an honor worthy of all he had accomplished.

A title as rare as it was unheard of: Grand Varkh.

The equivalent of a demonic Duke, a rank so high, so sacred in the traditions of this world, that no one had received it for a century.

His name was carved into the memory of Zagnaroth, inscribed in flame and stone, where only the greatest had their place.

And I knew, seeing his name recorded among the legends, that I was not following a mere man... but a giant that history had finally recognized.

It wasn’t just recognition.

It was consecration.

A promise that his existence, his fight, his journey, would never be forgotten.

And I, at his side, felt that pride erupt inside me, burning and pure.

For that day, not only had he given me a family... but together, we had carved our steps into eternity.

He hadn’t just opened the world to me — he had taken me into it at his side, as an equal, as an heiress.

I was proud.

Prouder than I had ever been.

A pure pride, burning, not trying to hide, swelling my chest until it made breathing difficult.

A pride that had nothing to do with arrogance or vanity, but with the deep certainty of having found my place, of having chosen the right path, the right guide.

He had never tried to be loved. He had simply been there. Solid. Unshakable. And it was that silence, that indestructible calm, that had saved me.

To see him, recognized for what he truly was — a pillar, a beacon, an indomitable force.

And deep within me, in that vast hall, surrounded by gazes I no longer feared to meet, I knew that no matter what would come next—

That moment, no one could take it from me.

Ever.

And me...

Me, who had been nothing more than a slave, just a few moons earlier.

Me, who crawled through dust, fear, pain, with an empty belly and extinguished eyes.

Me, who had been nothing more than a breath among the forgotten, a body thrown into the world without name or future.

I was now noble.

A figure recognized in this world of the powerful, of lords and legends.

My name rang alongside those who were respected, who were feared, who were honored.

I had crossed a chasm I would never even have dared to imagine.

What I had become didn’t erase my past... but it lit it with a new light.

Proof that, even in a world built on strength and blood, it was possible to be reborn.

To walk with head held high.

I didn’t fully grasp it yet.

Maybe it would take me years to understand what it truly meant — what that name carried, what that earned place weighed, what that future promised.

Maybe I would need a lifetime to measure its full scope.

But in that moment, I didn’t need to understand.

What I felt... was happiness.

Pure. Whole.

A happiness without fear, without condition, without bitter aftertaste.

A happiness that depended neither on escape, nor on survival, but simply on being there, alive, recognized, surrounded.

And for the first time, I didn’t need to distrust that feeling.

I could just... let it exist.

I owed him so much.

I owed him everything.

He had been the fire in my darkness, the hand in the icy water, the only landmark when everything else wavered.

Each step I could take with my head held high, each breath I drew without fear, each heartbeat, free and whole — I owed them to him.

And in the soothing silence of that night, as I stood on the balcony of that new home, watching the sky studded with pale stars, I closed my eyes.

I thanked silently the god — whoever they may be — who had sent Anthony into this broken world.

I thanked fate, or chance, or the invisible weave of the universe, for that quiet miracle that had placed our paths on the same road.

And for the first time, my prayers were not a cry for help... but a whisper of gratitude.

And in that whisper, it wasn’t a god I was truly praying to. It was him. It was Anthony. My living miracle.

Lysara Thalaris Von Eskarion.