Kallian sat across from Darkin, meeting his father's gaze directly.
"Ending the war with Heister is impossible," he said firmly.
Darkin sighed softly at his son's unyielding eyes. "Your recovery should come first."
"My body will heal quickly."
"I meant your memory."
"I haven't lost a limb, Father. Missing fragments of memory don't mean I can't fight."
Darkin ran a hand down his face, clearly frustrated by Kallian's stubbornness.
"You don't even remember that woman. So why are you so determined to keep fighting this war?"
Kallian fell silent.
The war had begun when a political marriage — meant to symbolize peace — fell apart. The Heister daughter had fled, shattering the fragile agreement between their two families.
Was it the lingering emotion of that betrayal driving him?
Or was it his need to avenge his mother's death?
"If Valdormer proposes peace now, Heister won't accept it quietly," Kallian said.
"They'll demand war reparations. We can handle that much," Darkin replied wearily.
Kallian looked at his father in silence before speaking again, his voice low.
"If we withdraw now, the vassal families will no longer see Valdormer as their lord."
This wasn't just a matter of victory or defeat between two houses.
In the memories he still retained, Kallian remembered vassal troops disobeying his orders and retreating on the battlefield.
Whatever had happened in the past ten years, it was clear that loyalty toward Valdormer had weakened.
If he ended the war now, every vassal would see Valdormer as weak — easy to defy.
And beyond all logic, something in his chest burned with the instinct to continue fighting Heister.
After studying his son's determined expression for a while, Darkin finally sighed, as if in defeat.
"Very well. You're right."
But then he added in a grave tone, "However…"
Kallian waited quietly for his father to continue.
"You'll break the current truce after your official succession ceremony."
Kallian's eyes widened in shock. "You mean… you'll make me the head of the family?"
The Darkin he remembered had always been rigid and traditional — so it hadn't surprised Kallian that, even after ten years, his father had not yet stepped down.
But to hear this now, so suddenly…
"This isn't sudden," Darkin said, seeming to read his son's thoughts. His voice softened slightly.
"When I thought you were dead, I realized how foolish I'd been. What treasure did I think I was protecting by holding on to this seat?"
His eyes darkened with quiet regret.
"If you'd gone to war as Valdormer's lord, perhaps the vassals would've followed you better…"
Kallian said nothing, but he understood.
Darkin was right — if he held the official title, his words would carry far greater weight.
And Kallian had no reason to refuse that authority.
"Understood," he said calmly. "Once the succession is complete, I'll resume the war."
Darkin nodded. "I'll call a council of the vassal houses. We'll discuss the succession — and the war."
Kallian inclined his head. "We should also hold the vassals accountable — especially those who disobeyed orders and fled the battlefield."
Darkin looked at his son with quiet pride. "You're right."
After finishing their discussion, Kallian bowed respectfully and returned to his office.
Layla brightened when he entered, but Kallian went straight to his desk, too deep in thought to notice.
He couldn't resume the war immediately, but that was fine.
This would give him time to discipline the disloyal vassals and strengthen their forces.
He could even demand more soldiers and supplies under the guise of enforcing responsibility.
And…
Before the war began again, he wanted to see her one more time.
The woman who had saved him — Denian's mother — who was somehow connected to his lost past.
She had denied knowing him, but the way she had looked at him sometimes hadn't been the gaze of a stranger.
'Could she be… the woman who whispered she loved me in my dreams?'
If they had truly loved each other — if Denian had been born from that love — then everything made sense.
She would have fled and hidden in that small cottage to protect their child from the legitimate wife's eyes.
And perhaps he himself had sent Jared to secretly watch over her.
Even the emotions he couldn't explain… now felt justified.
The only thing he couldn't understand was why the Silverstel man was by her side.
That, he decided, was something he would confirm when they met again.
As he organized his thoughts, Layla quietly approached, carrying a tray with water and medicine.
Even as she stood right beside him, Kallian didn't notice — lost in his own thoughts.
Layla watched him silently, anxiety flickering in her eyes.
Meanwhile
Snow was falling thickly from the sky, covering the ground and making it hard to tell the path apart.
Holding Denian in my arms, I limped forward through the deep snow.
I had injured my leg when I jumped from the wagon, shielding Denian as we escaped.
"Mommy, put me down," Denian said softly, his voice mature for his age. "Your leg hurts."
I forced a small smile. "It's fine, sweetheart. It's just a scratch."
"But… I can walk too."
He was only three or four years old — too young to walk safely on such a rough mountain path.
The original plan had been to ride the supply wagon down to the nearest village.
But the moment snow began to fall, I had known instinctively.
'Lloyd must've realized already.'
He had noticed our escape earlier than I'd expected, forcing me to jump from the wagon before he caught up.
If I hadn't, he would've found us by now.
"Mommy."
Denian's serious little voice brought me back to the present.
"Let's rest for a bit, okay?" I said, sitting down with him beneath the roots of a large tree.
The twisted roots made a decent hiding spot, shielding us from view.
I remembered that one time I had traveled outside the castle with Lloyd.
If my memory was correct, it would take an entire day of walking to get beyond his territory.
As I tried to think of a plan, Denian fiddled with his fingers and murmured,
"Can't we go to the cabin? Kal Uncle is waiting for us there…"
I hesitated, unsure what to say.
Denian must've thought Kallian was still at the cottage — he didn't know Kallian had left.
"There's no uncle at the cabin anymore," I said softly.
"Oh… Is he looking for us too?"
"…"
I couldn't bring myself to answer.
That was when I heard it — voices nearby.
"The footprints lead this way!"
Soldiers from the castle — imperial soldiers — were closing in.
Startled, I grabbed Denian and ran.
The snow was relentless, numbing my hands and feet.
The ground was uneven, and visibility grew worse with every step.
Then, suddenly — my injured foot slipped into a hole hidden beneath the snow.
Beside us was a steep slope.
Instinctively, I hugged Denian tightly as we tumbled downward, my hand catching a thick tree root at the edge.
"Mommy!" Denian cried, his voice trembling.
With one arm holding him and the other gripping the root, I tried desperately to keep us from falling.
But I could feel my grip weakening.
'I can't hold on much longer. I have to lift him up first—'
At that moment, a large hand grasped my wrist firmly.
"Are you all right?" a man's voice asked.
Startled, I looked up — and my breath caught.
"Jared…?" I whispered in disbelief.