After My Dead Ending

AMDE | Chapter 129

129.

The drawbridge lowered, allowing those able to leave the territory to escape temporarily.

Yet, not everyone could afford to leave. The remaining residents, under Edio’s guidance, began moving to nearby temples and shrines.

The tragedy of 11 years ago had not left me and Archie as its sole survivors. Strangely enough, some who had been praying in those sacred spaces were spared. It was speculated that the prayer rooms alone remained untouched by the Black Hand. This was why we scattered the people among the temples and shrines.

Access to the west was slowly being restricted, including Romdak. Every measure was taken with quiet precision, like the movement of shadows.

The last matter to address was Archie.

The silence in the lord’s office was broken as the double doors swung open. Lady Seymour entered, guiding Archie along.

It had been two days since I last saw him. His sharp intuition was evident on his face, which was already etched with worry. He couldn’t ignore the tension that had overtaken the castle, now resembling a fortress bracing for war.

As he saw me, formally dressed in light ceremonial attire, he frowned and sighed softly.

“Come closer,” I said, rising slowly from my seat.

I hid a sigh of my own as I spoke, my voice deliberately solemn. Archie hesitated, his steps tentative as he approached.

“Aunt…”

“Kneel and pay respect.”

Archie glanced toward Lady Seymour, who nodded reassuringly. Reluctantly, he bent one knee with surprising grace.

“Archie McFoy, fulfill your duties as acting heir to the family.”

“…”

“From now on, the responsibilities of this house must come first. You cannot let personal feelings sway you.”

Archie had known since he was a small child what had happened to McFoy and that such horrors could one day return.

“When the family is in peril, the acting heir must survive. You also bear the duty to protect those who follow you and to accept their loyalty without hesitation.”

Archie’s lips parted slightly, as if the weight of the moment stunned him into silence. Fear flickered across his expression, but I didn’t wait for him to collect himself. With a seemingly cold demeanor, I extended my hand toward him.

“Give me your left hand.”

“Aunt, I…”

He hesitated but reflexively held out his left hand. Whatever he wanted to say remained unspoken. Without a word, I slipped the family ring off my finger and onto his.

But the ring didn’t fit his finger. My emotions surged, threatening to overwhelm me, and I clenched my teeth to steady myself.

Feigning composure, I removed the ring from his index finger and slipped it onto his thumb instead.

“…It fits your thumb better.”

My father had worn this ring on his ring finger, as it was crafted to fit an adult male heir. For me, it had fit my index finger. For Archie, his thumb sufficed. Seeing the familiar symbol of authority now on his small hand filled me with a grief so profound I thought my heart might shatter.

“Stand up now. Don’t rest until you reach the Norton estate. Deliver this letter to their lord as your first duty as acting heir of McFoy,” I said, handing him a rolled scroll.

Archie took the letter but remained silent. He held it tightly, biting his lip, unable to respond.

“I’ve already sent word to your uncle. He will come to meet you. Until then, remember the weight of your position and don’t forget the view of McFoy from the castle walls. The McFoy you inherit must always be better than the one you leave behind.”

I knelt before him, looking up at his small, trembling form. For a moment, my resolve faltered, overwhelmed by the possibility that this might truly be goodbye.

“Remember this: at your age, you are stronger than I was. You’ll do better than I ever could,” I whispered, gripping his arms tightly. My desperation must have shown in my voice, as his violet eyes wavered with emotion.

“Why… Why are you saying that? It’s cruel. Don’t talk like I won’t see you again!”

How could the Aisa McFoy in the story have died and left behind this boy? How could she have abandoned him? The thought seemed impossible to reconcile.

“Promise me,” he said, his voice trembling with suppressed tears, “swear to me that you won’t die!”

I knew the burden of unfulfilled promises and how deeply they could wound. And this time, I couldn’t offer him false hope. Not with so much at stake.

“I’ll do my best,” I said instead.

Archie’s tears spilled over, but he didn’t throw a tantrum or try to delay. He understood the situation better than anyone.

Tears streaming down his face, he straightened his small frame and left with Lady Seymour. Despite holding Archie’s hand tightly, Lady Seymour’s pallor betrayed her fear.

With Erica to assist him, the second knight order for protection, and his escort, Archie finally departed the castle.

I didn’t follow them to the drawbridge. Instead, I climbed the walls and stood on the ramparts, watching until they disappeared from view.

The act of letting him go was crushing. For a moment, I found solace in the fact that Norma wasn’t here to witness this. It was a faint relief amidst the despair.

* * *

Time, as always, flowed steadily forward. I woke at the usual hour, ate my meals at the same time, and retired to my chambers as if nothing had changed. Yet, one thing was different—I no longer confined myself to the study during the day but instead spent hours on the ramparts, gazing endlessly eastward.

By my side remained Glen, ever vigilant. Edio, who had been dragged from the temple to McFoy, stayed as well, though he looked as if he wished to flee with every fiber of his being. Nevertheless, he had his orders: to remain in McFoy and protect the people.

At last, he was earning his keep. Thanks to his connections, we had summoned several high priests and holy knights from the western temple, who were swiftly stationed across the territory. Should the worst come to pass, they would at least hold off the ominous Black Hand.

For now, that was enough to ease my mind. At the very least, we wouldn’t be caught off guard as we had been 11 years ago.

Yet there was no knowing when Nyx would arrive. All I could do was climb the ramparts and fix my gaze eastward, a compulsive act born of helplessness. If the story held true, it would come for me during the Founding Festival, but that was only a vague hunch.

As sleepless nights bled into days, I counted down the time. Each passing day brought no relief; instead, the slow crawl of time felt like torture. It was as if the hours dragged deliberately, only to suddenly thrust me into the next day without warning.

The Founding Festival drew nearer, and my hunch solidified into certainty: Nyx would come.

On the morning of the festival, before the sun had risen, I ascended the ramparts with unhurried steps. Glen followed silently behind.

The pre-dawn landscape reminded me of the day I’d stumbled upon Norma by chance. My eyes instinctively searched for his radiant form among the pale hues of morning.

If only he were here now. There were a hundred things I wanted to tell him, words I could finally say without hesitation.

Yet the sunrise showed no mercy for my longing. The horizon brightened, painting McFoy in bluish tones. A stifling silence enveloped the castle. I could almost believe I was the only living soul left within its walls. Closing my eyes briefly, I let my thoughts wander.

‘By now, Archie must have reached the north. Norma, I hope, is heading toward Norton after receiving my letter. And Gano… Has he found Ophelia?’

And where was Nyx?

When I opened my eyes again, Glen’s voice, tinged with unease, broke the silence.

“Lord McFoy…”

I followed his gaze. A thin line of gray smoke was rising in the distance, barely visible against the mountains.

“Ah, there it is,” he muttered, his voice trembling.

A second plume of smoke rose closer than the first, darkening ominously.

So there were two now. The approaching force was as swift as a beast on the hunt.

Finally, the third signal appeared, alarmingly near.

“It’s here,” I whispered.

“Sir Dogman, whatever happens, you must hold your ground.”

I kept my eyes fixed on the ridges where the smoke was rising.

* * *

The narrow forest trail barely wide enough for a single horse echoed with the frantic pounding of hooves. Startled animals scattered, disappearing into the underbrush as two riders came to an abrupt halt.

“Jack.”

Ophelia called softly, glancing back. He nodded, understanding without the need for further words.

Moving in sync, the pair left the trail. Jack led their horses into the dense woods to hide them, while Ophelia climbed a tree to keep watch.

Before long, the sound of galloping grew louder, the ground trembling under the thunderous approach of unseen riders.

Hand resting on the hilt of her blade, Ophelia’s sharp gaze remained fixed on the hidden path ahead. Few knew of this shortcut that cut straight through the forest to the east.

But her sword stayed sheathed. The approaching figure was not an enemy.

‘That’s one of Aisa’s men,’ she realized instantly.

The fleeting glimpse was enough. The bronze-skinned, red-haired man was unmistakably one of Aisa McFoy’s people.

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