Chapter 182: Reunion
Aracila felt a wave of bewilderment wash over her, a sensation entirely new. Of course, every time she returned home, Audrey would be the first to rush out and greet her with warmth, but never before had the maid stood waiting outside, exposed to the elements. Seeing Audrey fidgeting, her feet tapping anxiously, an ominous premonition stirred in Aracila’s chest. Her thoughts darted to Damian, from whom she hadn’t heard in a month.
Could something terrible have happened?
The moment the carriage came to a halt, Aracila flung open the door and stepped down. Audrey dashed toward her, eyes brimming with tears, their rims faintly red, making Aracila’s heart lurch.
“Milady!” Audrey cried.
“Audrey, what’s wrong? What’s happened?”
“Hurry! Please, go inside!”
Audrey’s voice trembled as she urged Aracila forward, her hands—chilled from waiting in the cold—pushing gently at her mistress’s back. Striding quickly, Aracila’s mind raced through a thousand grim possibilities. Is Damian hurt? Did we lose the war? Is he even back safely? Surely His Majesty hasn’t imposed a new punishment?
Her heart pounded so fiercely it seemed to echo in her ears. Her imagination veered toward the darkest fear, brushing against the memory of a prophetic dream from the western beast subjugation. What if, like then, Damian…
Clutching the handle of the central entrance door, Aracila froze for a moment. A wave of dizziness threatened to topple her, and she struggled to steady herself. Taking a deep breath, she steeled her resolve. She couldn’t afford to crumble before seeing the truth with her own eyes.
With a determined push, she opened the door. The manor’s servants crowded the entrance hall, their faces mirroring Audrey’s, etched with the threat of tears. Aracila’s blue eyes scanned the room, trembling with apprehension.
Then, she saw it.
A familiar head rose above the crowd, and her breath caught in her throat. As the room fell silent, he turned slowly. Between strands of silvery hair, luminous as moonlight even in the midday glow, golden eyes like a summer sun met hers directly.
Her legs faltered—whether from weakness or disbelief, she couldn’t tell. Moving as if in a dream, Aracila approached him. The crowd parted, clearing a path. He, too, took steps toward her.
One step. Two steps. Three.
After what felt like an eternity compressed into seconds, they stood face-to-face, a mere hand’s breadth apart. The face she had longed for was there, vivid and alive, breathing before her. Words crowded her mind, but she didn’t know where to begin. As her lips parted hesitantly, he gazed down at her with tenderness, spreading his arms and speaking in a low, warm voice.
“I’m home, my love.”
A flush crept over Aracila’s cheeks and cheekbones, and a slow smile spread across her face. She melted into his broad embrace. They moved as one, each stepping forward to close the final gap. Holding him tightly, Aracila whispered, “Welcome home, Damian.”
The greeting she had waited a year to speak finally left her lips, accompanied not by tears but by a radiant smile. A surge of joy warmed the winter air around them.
It was a dreamlike reunion at the tail end of winter, with spring just beyond the horizon.
Damian had returned triumphantly at noon, bearing proof of victory. His first act was to meet the emperor and present the document of surrender. After reviewing the statement from the defeated tribal alliance, the emperor declared, “Damian Vandemir has brought victory to the empire. No one will call you a sinner any longer.”
Though he bore no true crime, Damian was finally freed from the stigma of a convict.
Only after completing his official duties did he return home to Aracila. His heart had ached to see her first, but he suppressed the urge to ensure all matters were settled cleanly.
“And so, I’m late. I’m sorry. Were you terribly startled by my sudden return?” he asked.
“Is that even a question?” Aracila retorted, playfully pinching both of Damian’s cheeks. After their emotional reunion in the entrance hall, they had moved to a quieter spot to talk more deeply. Damian had washed and changed, his appearance now polished and refreshed.
“For a month, there was no word from you. Do you know how much I worried? The news kept reporting your victories, then suddenly—nothing. I was beside myself.”
“I’m sorry,” Damian said, abashed. “As the tide of the war turned in our favor, interference began. Saboteurs sent by those who resented the Red Hawk Knights’ success started tampering with supplies and disrupting strategies.”
Desperate to return sooner, Damian had chosen to cut off all external contact rather than waste time on internal squabbles. He ensured no one knew whether they were winning or losing at the border. Seizing the opportunity, he swiftly crushed the tribal alliance and secured their surrender. As a result, no one could impede his unexpected return.
“Are you angry?” Damian asked, taking Aracila’s hand and pressing his cheek into it. His still-damp hair framed his sharp eyes, now softened with a gentle expression.
Aracila let out a soft laugh. As if anyone could resist that handsome face. “No, I’m not angry,” she said, clearing her throat. “It sounds like you had no choice. And if it meant you came back safely, you did well.”
With her free hand, she gently stroked his hair. Damian leaned into her touch, still as a puppy basking in its master’s affection. As she brushed aside a lock of hair covering his eyes, Aracila noticed a small scar cutting across his left eyebrow and frowned.
“What’s this? Who did this to you?”
“…It happened during a night battle,” Damian admitted, a touch sheepish. “It was dark, and I dodged an arrow a bit too late.”
He had grown his bangs to hide it, but of course, she’d noticed immediately. Aracila’s expression softened with concern as she traced the scar. The slight indentation felt foreign, heartbreaking.
“Did it hurt?”
“Not at all,” he said.
“Bring me the one who shot that arrow. They’ll pay for marking this face.”
“I had a feeling you’d say that, so I took care of it for you,” he teased.
Their playful banter carried an undercurrent of sincerity. Aracila’s fingers lingered on his chiseled features, slowly tracing his face before she withdrew her hand. In the same moment, Damian caught her other hand, pulling it gently toward him as he spoke in a low voice.
“I missed you, my love.”
“I missed you too,” she replied.
“I’ve been wondering how you’ve been faring in my absence, my lady. Please, tell me everything,” Damian said, his voice soft but earnest.
Aracila nodded, her clear, resonant voice spilling forth like a song as she recounted the past year of her life. She spoke with an openness that carried a melody of its own, each word vibrant with the weight of her experiences. Damian held her delicate hand, listening intently as she described her journey—unveiling the true culprit behind Oscar’s assassination and uncovering Frederick’s betrayal. His attention was unwavering, his expression serious yet tender.
“I formed an alliance with His Highness, Prince Lucas,” Aracila said, her eyes bright with purpose. “You mentioned he’d proposed it before, didn’t you? This time, he came to me with the request.”
“It seems he’s finally made up his mind,” Damian replied, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
“Yes, exactly. Together, we’ve been tirelessly gathering evidence to bring down the crown prince’s faction.”
Aracila’s smile was proud, radiant with the effort she’d poured into their shared cause. She hadn’t merely waited passively in his absence; she’d fought for both him and herself, her resolve unshaken. Even hearing her story in brief, Damian could feel the depth of her dedication. His voice, laced with pride, gratitude, and a pang of guilt, softened as he said, “It must have been exhausting.”
“Not really,” Aracila replied with a playful shrug, though a small, exasperated sigh followed her words. “If anything, the real headache has been the research on the truth serum.”
Her casual tone belied the frustration she’d endured. Even today, before seeing Damian, she’d been wrestling with the serum’s complexities. Her words sparked a sudden thought in Damian’s mind. Gently releasing her hand, he rose from his seat.
“Hm? Damian, where are you going?” Aracila asked, her brow furrowing slightly.
“Just wait a moment, my lady. I have something for you.”
With a polite nod, Damian left the room. Aracila, left alone on the sofa, blinked in curiosity, waiting for his return. When he came back, he held a neatly folded handkerchief in his hands. He offered it to her with a gentle gesture.
“What’s this handkerchief for?” she asked, tilting her head.
“Unfold it and see,” he said, his voice warm with anticipation.
“Is there something inside?”
Aracila unfolded the handkerchief without much thought, only to gasp, her eyes widening in shock. There, nestled within the fabric, was a flower with leaves that shimmered in radiant, rainbow-like hues, though slightly dried. Its roots were still intact, carefully preserved.
A Dilai flower. The very specimen she and her research team had been desperately seeking.
“How in the world did you…?” she stammered, her voice trembling with disbelief.
“I came across it by chance while passing through the eastern border, where the magical beasts roam,” Damian explained. “I remembered you mentioning it was a key ingredient for your truth serum research, so I brought it back for you.”
“Damian…”
Her hands trembling, Aracila carefully folded the handkerchief back over the flower to protect it. She looked up at him, her eyes brimming with emotion. In a sudden, fervent gesture, she grasped his hands tightly and said with reverence, “You’ve just saved four lives. You’re the savior of our research team.”
“Truly?” Damian asked, his tone soft but surprised.
“Absolutely. You’ve spared us from going mad and making reckless mistakes in our experiments.”
“I’m glad it’s a fitting gift,” he said, his smile warm and serene.
Aracila gazed at him, her expression softening as if she were beholding an angel. But then her eyes drooped, a flicker of guilt crossing her face. “I’m sorry, Damian. I didn’t prepare a gift for you.”
“No, don’t say that,” he replied gently. “You’ve already done so much for me.”
“But still, I wanted to give you something…”
Her words trailed off as a sudden realization sparked in her mind. Her expression shifted, becoming cautious, almost hesitant, as if she were weighing her next words carefully. Sensing the change in her demeanor, Damian raised an eyebrow, his gaze curious. “What’s wrong?”
“When you were away, Lord Ronde visited me,” she said slowly. “He came to return your mother’s jewelry box.”
Damian’s eyes flickered with a complex emotion at the mention of Howard, but he quickly steadied himself, responding calmly, “Is that so?”
“Yes,” Aracila continued, choosing her words with care. “And with his help, I uncovered the secret within the box’s contents.”
She explained how Cyan Mondor was an anagram of Monica Ronde, revealing the hidden truth behind the name. Damian nodded lightly, a faint surprise in his voice. “I never would’ve guessed that was my mother’s name. It’s… unexpected.”
“There’s more you need to know,” Aracila said, her tone growing heavier.
“What is it?”
Unable to bring herself to say that Monica hadn’t taken her own life but had been murdered, Aracila stood silently and retrieved a diary. It was locked, as it had been when she’d last closed it after reading. But she knew Damian could unlock it with his magic.
“Open it and read,” she urged softly. “You’ll be able to.”
“Alright,” he agreed.
Damian placed his hand over the diary, and a soft verdant light enveloped his fingers, gently undoing the magical lock. As he began turning the pages, Aracila quietly stepped away, giving him space. She knew that when he reached the final entry, he’d want to be alone.
At first, reading the diary only brought an ache to Damian’s heart. The fragile, glass-like image of his mother from his childhood memories—her emotional pain, her struggles—stirred pity and sorrow within him. But as he turned the pages, truths he hadn’t known began to unravel.
He’d always believed his mother, overwhelmed by betrayal and depression, had secluded herself, leaving him behind. The incident from his childhood, when he’d collapsed after being poisoned, was a blur, barely a memory. He vaguely recalled suffering from a severe fever, perhaps the flu, but he’d never dwelled on it.
“I resented you a little…” he murmured to himself.
Why hadn’t she protected him? Why had she left him to endure alone? Though he loved his mother, a different kind of resentment—distinct from what he felt toward his father—had taken root in his heart. It was the quiet anger of a boy who’d grown up unprotected by either parent. He’d always wished, just once, that his mother would open the door, take his hand, and flee that hellish house together.
Yet, despite that resentment, his love and compassion for her had always been stronger. He’d buried his unfulfilled childhood wishes and the bitterness they carried. But now, he realized he’d been wrong. Monica hadn’t abandoned him. She’d fought for him in ways he couldn’t see, protecting him from the shadows. Because of her, he was alive and whole today.
His hands trembled as he turned the pages. The diary was nearing its end, and the fading twilight bathed the room in a soft, crimson glow. Finally, he opened the last page—the one Aracila had left unread, feeling it wasn’t her place.
Summer, X Month, XX Day.
This will likely be my final entry.
I’m leaving behind this diary, Sophie’s tea leaves, and the name Cyan Mondor.
I hope with all my heart that my Damian grows up safely and finds my jewelry box someday.
Dear Damian, if you’re reading this far… you must finally understand what happened to you as a child.
My son, I’m so sorry for leaving you behind. I truly wanted to stay with you. I wanted to watch you grow, to see you fall in love, build a happy family, and live a full life.
I never coveted anything—not my husband, not the title of duchess. All I ever wanted was to live a simple, joyful life with you.
How old are you now, Damian, as you read this? Are you married? Do you have someone you love? I’m so curious about what you’re doing with your life.
But above all, what I want most, what I wonder about most, is your happiness.
Are you happy, Damian? I hope you are.
I worry so much about you, left alone among cruel people after my death. I don’t know if this foolish mother gave you enough love before I left. I hope you’ve grown into someone who knows how to love and be loved.
So please, my son, don’t grieve too much for my death.
You don’t need to seek vengeance.
I know you, my thoughtful boy—you’ll want to avenge me, to right the pain and sorrow I endured. If you seek vengeance for yourself, I won’t stop you. But if it’s for me, I beg you to reconsider.
No mother in this world wants her child to dedicate their life to revenge.
I’ll carry my pain with me. All I ask is that you overcome yours and find happiness.
Live the peaceful life I dreamed of sharing with you, alongside someone you love—someone stronger and kinder than I was.
I love you so much, Damian.
More than you can ever know.
You brought me happiness, and because of you, I have no regrets.
Thank you for being my son. Being your mother made me truly happy.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ✧: *. ꕥ .* :✧ﾟ. ───
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