Anthesis of Sadness
Chapter 80: That Smile I Will Protect

Chapter 80: That Smile I Will Protect

I had woken up early. As usual.

After going down to the first floor, I now wandered easily through the hallways of the guest quarters, which had become almost as familiar to me as my own thoughts.

The stewards bowed with a fluid gesture as I passed, precise and discreet.

The servants, with silent steps, glided between the walls like benevolent shadows, pacing the silence of the manor without ever disturbing it.

The suspended dining room was already bathed in a soft light, caressed by the first rays of the day filtering through the stained glass walls.

Outside, the Ember Garden was slowly waking up, dancing under a light mist.

Ashes floated around the glowing flowers, in slow hypnotic spirals, like fragments of dreams consumed and reborn.

I unfolded the daily newspaper, printed in shifting letters, black on shadowy white.

The news of the world vibrated between my fingers — wars, treaties, catastrophes... But my eyes drifted over the words without grasping them.

I was waiting for her.

These past few days, Lysara had developed the habit of writing in the morning, true to her own inner rhythm, to that silent ritual that seemed to nourish her as much as sleep.

So I respected that. I let her come. Without pressing. Without calling. And when she finally entered, crossing the threshold without haste, I looked up.

She was beautiful, of course — but it wasn’t her outfit, nor her graceful walk, nor even the aura of elegance she radiated.

No. It was something else.

Something rarer, more precious than all accumulated possessions, more than the manor, more than titles, more than power.

She carried within her that silent light. That quiet strength, born not of what she had been given, but of what she had conquered on her own. She was alive. Whole. Free.

And to me... there was nothing more beautiful.

That morning, her face — once impassive, sculpted by years of survival and silence — bore a new expression. Light. Fragile. Shy.

A smile. Almost invisible, like a breath upon calm water. But it was there. True. Pure. Authentic.

And my heart tightened softly. Because I saw her.

I saw that slow metamorphosis, that silent miracle unfolding day after day, almost without her noticing.

She was changing. Little by little.

She was stepping away from the shadow of her past.

She was becoming alive. Free.

And in that moment, in that room bathed in soft light, she was simply... magnificent. Not because she wore precious garments or marks of nobility. But because, in that timid smile, there was all the beauty of the world.

She was so adorable, when she smiled like that. And I knew I would do anything to protect that smile, no matter the cost.

"Did you sleep well?" I asked, my voice filled with an emotion I didn’t even try to hide.

"Yes. And you?"

"Yes, it was fine. Come eat. We’ve got a busy day ahead of us."

She sat down next to me. Without a sound. Without ceremony. Just that light, discreet presence that filled the room more than all the surrounding luxury.

In that bubble of quiet warmth, under the respectful gaze of the servants dressed in black, we shared a sumptuous breakfast.

Iced fruits, vivid in color, bursting with freshness. Infernal seed breads, whose exotic aromas filled the air with a spicy heat. Smoked meats from the Hollow Lands, perfectly spiced, melting on the tongue. And to crown it all, a nectar distilled in the mysterious Mirror Gardens, bursting with sweet, crystalline flavors.

Each dish was served with impeccable precision, almost choreographic, by invisible hands trained in the art of excellence.

The conversation between us was simple. A few words exchanged, a few discreet smiles. A silent peace that needed neither embellishment nor speech.

Outside, the Ember Garden basked in golden light, almost unreal. The ashes floated in the air like drowsy fireflies, and the glowing flowers, born of ash and flame, seemed that morning... blessed. As if, just for us, the world had chosen to be kind.

After that suspended morning, the day stretched into a dense chain of lessons. Ancient language, assault and defense strategy, noble arts, etiquette rituals, and even a few secrets of demonic cuisine. Each discipline, each gesture, pulled me a little further from aimlessness to shape me.

And that evening, we had a special appointment. With the Lord of Zagnaroth himself. Not for an official meeting — for once.

Lately, we had been chaining audiences and councils in the high spheres of Zagnaroth, our names orbiting among those of the great powers.

But tonight... it would be different. No political maneuvering. No masks.

A farewell evening. Informal. Almost... familial.

In one of the manor’s private salons, bathed in the soft light of amber and iron lanterns, I brought out, as I usually did on these rare relaxed nights, a barrel of amber alcohol from the Nocturnal Lands — a precious rarity, as biting as an endless winter, capable of tearing the soul out with a single breath.

Next to it, for Lysara, a dark and sweet nectar, distilled from shadow fruits, soft and full-bodied at once.On the table, a few refined snacks awaited: crystallized flower hearts, iced fruits with spices from the infernal mountains, blood cakes with grey salt from the Mists. The manor’s chefs had worked with an almost ceremonial care.

Good cheer quickly took over.

Laughter echoed in the room, warm and discreet, in this usually solemn space. Even the walls, typically heavy and silent, seemed softened that night, as if they had agreed to let a little human light pass through.

Xagros, true to himself, sat in a corner, upright like a pillar, imposing, laconic — but behind his incandescent gaze, an unusual spark shone. Almost imperceptible. But real.

He listened. He stayed. And that was already a lot.

I recounted an anecdote of a fight against a monstrous demon — a creature with eight arms and three brains — and how, when all seemed lost, Lysara herself had burst in to save me.

At that memory, Lysara let out a light laugh, muffled behind a modest hand, her eyes shining with a soft light I wouldn’t have traded for all the treasures of the world.

And even Xagros, that monument of austerity, gave... something. A twitch at the corner of the lips. For him, it was the equivalent of a burst of laughter.

The evening continued like that. Between teasing, pleasant silences, memories gathered from flame and dust.

A suspended moment, outside of time.

Then, gently, almost naturally, the moment came.

I set my empty glass down on the table, its muffled echo resonating in the room.

A sigh caught in my throat. Because I knew. We all knew.

The end was near.

"I’m going to leave, Xagros. We’ll see each other at the Crystal, if we get the chance. Take care of yourself."

He simply nodded, as usual. A sober, controlled gesture, almost insignificant to anyone who didn’t know him.

But his gaze, it had changed. It was heavier. Denser. Laden with all he didn’t say. With all he held back. A look that weighed more than words. A look that conveyed, without artifice, the full gravity of that moment.

And then...

"I’ll miss you, Uncle!" Lysara exclaimed joyfully, carried away by the euphoria of the moment.

Total silence fell over the room. Even the walls seemed to hold their breath. Time suspended, frozen, almost sacred.

I... blinked slowly. She had just called him Uncle. She had never called me Dad. Never.

A flash of soft jealousy crossed my chest. Insignificant, perhaps ridiculous... but sincere.

A furtive pang, like a tender scratch, quickly smothered beneath the wave of pride that followed.

She felt safe enough to say that. To recognize another bond than ours. It was a treasure, as fragile as a breath.

I slowly turned my head toward Xagros.

And he... Even he, the immense, colossal Lord of Zagnaroth, remained frozen. Shocked, behind his legendary shell. Behind his obsidian and fire-cracked skin, where usually pulsed a thousand centuries of solitude and war.

He remained motionless for a few seconds. Then, slowly, almost awkwardly, he brought his hand forward.

The lava that usually oozed from his veins receded, retracted, solidified against his natural will.As if he feared that his mere existence might harm her.

And in a clumsy, hesitant gesture, almost heartbreakingly sincere, he gently tousled Lysara’s hair. Not with the roughness of a warrior. But with the awkwardness of an uncle who, for the first time, realized he had someone to protect in a way other than through strength.

A simple gesture. A huge gesture.

"You too... I’ll miss you, Lysara," he said, in a deep, dignified voice, but far more human than usual.

I smiled in spite of myself.

An uncontrollable smile, slipped between pride and that ridiculous pang in the heart.

Yes. I was definitely jealous.

Not with bitter jealousy. No.

More the kind, soft and slightly foolish, that one feels when seeing someone share a part of a treasure they thought was unique.

I turned toward him, an amused glint shining in my eyes. I raised an eyebrow with a mock solemn air, as if I were about to pronounce an ancestral sentence.

"So... we’re indirectly brothers now?"

Xagros gave me a look of fire. Literally.

His eyes, usually dark and deep like molten rock, shone with a brighter, rawer gleam.

No true anger. Rather a silent challenge, an ancient rumble like lava beneath the earth’s crust.

A silent "watch yourself, little brother," full of all the pride and clumsy affection of a being who, for once, had lowered his guard. And I, unable to suppress my smile, met his gaze with the kind of familiarity that, between us, was worth all the back slaps in the world.

"Don’t get too comfortable, little vampire."

He paused.

The fire in his eyes softened slightly, just a flicker in the immensity of his being.

Then, in a grave tone — but with, perhaps, just perhaps, a rare flicker of amusement, almost imperceptible:

"Protect her well, Lukaris. Or else..."

He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t need to.

The weight of his words, mixed with that strange tenderness hidden behind his colossal roughness, was enough.

A warning.

A promise.

A silent recognition.

And I, my heart lighter than I would have believed, simply bowed my head, like a wordless pact.

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