Chapter 318: The Beauty in the Midst
Chapter 317: The Beauty in the Midst
Lyria’s POV
"One moment," he continued, "you are laughing beside your family. And the next..."
He paused briefly and shook his head.
"You are away from them, because someone chose vengance for something g so simple and the innocent became pieces upon a board they never asked to stand upon."
He fell silent after that.
"I may never fully understand what you have endured, Your Highness," he said softly. "And I sincerely hope you never relive those memories."
A faint sadness crossed his features.
"Nor would I ever wish for you to witness the things I have witnessed."
His smile, though gentle, held unmistakable sorrow.
"They are not sights I would wish upon anyone."
He paused, searching for the proper words.
Then his expression softened.
"Perhaps..."
His voice was almost a whisper.
"Perhaps, even while acknowledging just how much rot fills the world, we could also admire its beauty."
He held my gaze steadily.
"Because, as you said, our kind may bring the rot, but there are also those who help to fight against it."
Earl Hawthorne remained silent for a long while after his words settled between us.
The rain continued its gentle rhythm against the tall windows, the sound soft enough to soothe rather than distract. Grey light filtered through the glass, casting muted shadows across the training grounds and lending everything a quiet, almost peaceful atmosphere.
For a time, neither of us spoke.
The silence did not feel awkward.
Rather, it felt as though he was allowing me the space to consider everything he had said.
At length, he drew a slow breath.
"The greenery of the world possesses its own beauty," he said quietly. "The gardens filled with flourishing flowers, the creatures that carry pollen from bloom to bloom, the countless colours that brighten even the dullest day, the sky that greets us each morning."
His gaze wandered briefly towards the rain-streaked windows before returning to me.
"But above all of those things..."
A gentle smile touched his lips.
"There are people who make this world worth living in."
I felt my breath catch ever so slightly.
His words settled somewhere deep within me.
"Yes," he continued softly, "a child may have been seen as a threat by those who lacked the wisdom to recognise that she was only a child."
His voice remained calm.
"People often project their fears and insecurities onto others. It is easier to condemn innocence than to confront one’s own faults."
His eyes remained fixed upon mine.
"They fashioned her into something she had never been."
I stood perfectly still.
"But," he continued, "there were others who still saw only a child."
His smile softened.
"Those who cared for her. Those who loved her. Those who accepted her as their own. Were there not?"
He tilted his head ever so slightly, and I stared at him.
My heartbeat quickened.
Did he know?
Surely he could not.
The child I had spoken of had been me.
And the person who had accepted me—who had loved me—who had shown me kindness when no one else would—had been Patricia.
I had never spoken her name.
I had not described her.
I had offered him nothing that should have led him to such a conclusion.
And yet...
The gentleness in his voice.
The understanding in his eyes.
It felt as though he somehow knew there had once been someone who had loved me.
My fingers curled slightly at my sides.
"W-what if..." I asked quietly.
The words caught in my throat before finally escaping.
"W-what if those w-who spread the r-rot t-take that p-person away?"
The question lingered between us.
He did not answer immediately.
Nor did he avert his gaze.
Instead, he regarded me with quiet compassion.
"Then," he said simply, "others will come."
I blinked.
"P-pardon?"
"That child grew despite everything," he said. "She chose kindness instead of bitterness..."
His smile became almost imperceptible.
"And it is exactly because of that that she will naturally draw kind people toward herself. People who recognise goodness when they see it. People who wish to protect it."
He paused thoughtfully.
"People who desire nothing more than to see her continue smiling."
A lump formed in my throat.
"They may acknowledge the rot within the world," he continued. "They may even suffer beneath it themselves. But they also recognise beauty when it stands before them."
He took one slow step towards me.
"They become the sort of people who fight. Not because they enjoy conflict, but because they cannot bear watching innocence be destroyed."
His expression softened even further.
"They protect the peace of those who deserve peace."
I swallowed.
The training grounds suddenly felt far warmer than before.
"Your Highness," he said quietly, "I possess many shortcomings."
He gave a faint, self-conscious smile.
"I have never denied that."
He folded his hands behind his back.
"There are undoubtedly matters I ought to understand better. I am not nearly as scholarly as Julian."
A faint chuckle escaped him.
"I shall never rival Alistair where wit is concerned."
His smile became rueful.
"Lucian surpasses me in many respects."
"And Evander..."
He shook his head.
"I have long since accepted that attempting to outmanoeuvre him is an exercise in futility."
He laughed softly.
"I should sooner challenge the rain to cease falling."
His humour drew an answering smile from me.
"But," he continued, his tone becoming more earnest, "that does not mean I am incapable of helping when someone stands in need."
His eyes met mine once more.
"If ever you require assistance..."
He spoke slowly.
"As someone who genuinely wishes you well—all you need do is send word. And I shall gladly help you fight against the rot in this world as well."
He frowned slightly, almost dissatisfied with his own wording.
He shook his head.
"No. That is not quite right."
He smiled sheepishly.
"You need only say my name..."
His gaze never left mine.
"...and I shall come."
Silence settled between us once again.
I searched desperately for words worthy of such sincerity, but none came. So I said the only thing I could think of in the moment.