The sun was beginning its slow descent, painting the sky in bruised purples and deep, fiery oranges. In the Edge of the North, a city built of white stone and cold ambition, the evening air carried the scent of woodsmoke and the distant sea.
Outside a prestigious training hall, a building of sturdy timber and polished floors where the children of high-ranking knights and minor nobles honed their crafts, a carriage stood waiting. It was a magnificent thing, lacquered in the darkest black and adorned with the silver crest of a Eagle. The horses were pure-bred chargers, their coats shimmering like silk, standing perfectly still under the steady hands of the driver.
Leaning against the carriage door was Duke Hein. To the world, he was the Butcher of the North, a man who had ended a war with a single, blood-soaked campaign. To his soldiers, he was a god of war. To his enemies, he was the nightmare that lived under their beds.
But right now, he was just a man waiting for his daughter.
He had removed his heavy armor and dressed in a high-collared silk coat of deep navy, yet even the finest tailoring could not hide the sheer mass of his frame. His presence alone seemed to warp the space around him, a predatory stillness that made the passing commoners lower their heads and quicken their pace. He looked at the sun, trying to determine the time. He was a man who demanded punctuality from the world, but for one person, he would wait until the stars burned out. It was his only daughter, Seraphina Adler.
The heavy doors of the dojo creaked open. A group of young men and women, flushed with exertion and carrying practice swords, spilled out into the street. They were laughing and chatting, but the moment they saw the black carriage and the man leaning against it, the laughter died. A heavy, suffocating silence fell over the students. They bowed instinctively, their faces pale, and shuffled away like startled rabbits.
At the tail end of the group walked a young woman.
She was the image of her father, yet softened by the grace of her late mother. Her hair was a cascading wave of dark tresses, tied back in a practical ponytail, and her eyes were a sharp, intelligent blue. She wore training leathers that bore the scuffs and marks of a long day of sparring. Unlike the others, she didn't look intimidated. When she saw the Duke, a genuine, bright smile broke across her face.
"Father!" she called out, her voice was clear and energetic.
Duke Hein's face underwent a startling transformation. The cold, calculating mask of the High Lord melted away, replaced by a look of such profound doting affection that it would have shocked his generals to their core.
"Seraphina," he said, his voice dropping an octave into a warm rumble.
She jogged toward him, ignoring the etiquette that usually governed a Lady of her station. She threw her arms around him, and the Duke, the man who had crushed the life out of kings, pulled her into a hug as if she were the most fragile thing in existence.
"You're late," she teased, pulling back to look at him.
"I was early," he corrected, reaching out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "The students were simply slow to leave today. How was the training? Did you give the Master a hard time?"
"I disarmed him twice," she said proudly, linking her hand with his. "He said my footwork is getting too fast for him to track. I think he's just getting old."
Hein laughed, a deep sound that echoed off the stone walls. "Or perhaps you are simply becoming a true daughter of the North. Come, the air is getting chilly. Let's head home."
He handed her into the carriage with the grace of a courtier and climbed in after her. The interior was a sanctuary of luxury, lined with velvet cushions and smelling of expensive sandalwood incense. As the carriage lurched forward, the Duke reached for a long, thin box wrapped in crimson silk that sat on the opposite seat.
"I have something for you," he said, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. "To celebrate your progress."
Seraphina's eyes widened. She took the box and carefully unwrapped the silk. Inside lay a sword. It was a masterpiece of a Dwarves blacksmith's art. The hilt was wrapped in white dragon-hide, and the crossguard was shaped like two wings of a bird in flight, inlaid with small, glowing blue gems. She drew the blade, and the steel sang, a high, clear note that vibrated through the carriage. The metal was folded so many times that it looked like flowing water, and it felt weightless in her hand.
"Father... this is incredible," she whispered, her thumb tracing the flat of the blade. "The balance is perfect. I've never seen steel like this. It must have cost a fortune."
She paused, the light from the carriage lamp reflecting in the steel. Her expression shifted from wonder to something more guarded. She looked up at her father, her gaze steady.
"How did you afford this, Father? I know the Ducal coffers have been tight after the expansion of the northern harbor. And this isn't just a sword. This must be a legendary grade weapon from the southern forges."
Hein leaned back, his smile remaining fixed. He waved a dismissive hand. "The North is prosperous, Seraphina. A Duke has his ways of making sure his family is well-provided for. Do not worry about the gold. Just enjoy the gift."
Seraphina didn't look satisfied. She sheathed the sword with a sharp click and set the box aside. "You're doing it again. You're being vague."
"I'm being a father," Hein replied calmly.
"No, you're being a businessman," Seraphina countered, her voice rising slightly. "I heard the rumors, Father. I'm not a child anymore. I know about the 'special taxes' you've placed on the border Territories. I know about the trade ships that come in at night without marking their cargo. And I know about the elves."
The temperature in the carriage seemed to drop ten degrees. The Duke's expression didn't change, but the air around him grew heavy again.
"Seraphina," he said, his voice warningly low.
"Don't 'Seraphina' me," she snapped, her blue eyes flashing with a rebellion that matched his own. "You can't just keep making money through illegal and immoral ways and then give me gifts with that money as if it's no big deal. I have told you over and over about this. I don't want a sword that was paid for with the blood of slaves or the misery of people you've squeezed dry."
Hein let out a sharp exhale, a sound of genuine frustration. "Everything I do, I do for our House. I do it for you. The King demands tribute, the other Dukes want our land, and the world is full of people who would see us ruined. To keep the North strong, to keep you safe, I must do things that aren't found in your storybooks."
"Then find a different way!" she cried. " You're the strongest man I know. Why must you rely on such... such ugliness?"
Hein looked at her, and for a moment, he looked old. He looked like a man who had carried the world on his shoulders for too long. He tried to soften his tone, reaching for a memory he knew usually worked to bridge the gap between them.
"You have your mother's spirit," he murmured, his voice thick with a fake sort of sentimentality. "She was just as stubborn as you. If she were alive today, she never would have let you bully me like this, you know. She would have told you to respect your father's hard work." he gave a little smile at her.
Seraphina flinched as if he had slapped her. Then, she leaned forward.
"You are wrong, Father," she said, her voice trembling with conviction. "If Mother were alive today, she wouldn't be siding with you. She would be the first one to scold you. She would be the one telling you that doing business the wrong way is a stain on our name that no amount of gold can wash away. She loved the North, but she hated cruelty. Don't use her name to justify your greed."
The silence that followed was absolute.
Duke Hein turned his head to look out the window, watching the darkened city streets fly past. The mention of his wife was a double-edged sword; it was the only thing that could make him feel human, and the only thing that could make him feel ashamed. He didn't speak. He couldn't.
Seraphina sat back against the cushions, her arms crossed, staring at the floor. The beautiful sword lay between them, a glittering reminder of the divide that was growing wider every day. They rode the rest of the way in a cold, heavy silence, the only sound being the rhythmic clatter of the horses' hooves and the creaking of the carriage springs.
The carriage finally pulled into the massive courtyard of the Ducal Mansion. It was a sprawling estate of white marble, lit by hundreds of magical lamps that made it glow like a star against the night sky. Servants lined the driveway, bowing in perfect unison as the Duke and his daughter stepped out.
Hein stood on the gravel, looking at the grand staircase that led to the main entrance. He turned to Seraphina, hoping to salvage the evening.
"Seraphina," he began, his voice hesitant. "I had the kitchens prepare your favorite. Roasted venison with honeyed apples. Would you... would you like to have a meal with me? Just the two of us?"
Seraphina looked at the mansion, then back at her father. Her expression was tired, the fire of the argument replaced by a quiet, sad distance.
"No, thank you, Father," she said softly. "A friend is visiting me tonight. I told her I would spend the evening with her in my quarters. I think I've had enough talk for one day."
She didn't wait for his response. She turned and walked toward the mansion, her boots clicking on the marble steps. She ascended the long, grand staircase in the middle of the foyer, her shadow stretching long behind her.
Duke Hein stood in the courtyard, the cold night wind whipping at his silk coat. He watched her go until she disappeared around the landing of the second floor. He stood there for a long time, a solitary figure of power surrounded by servants who were too afraid to move.
He looked down at his hands, the hands that had built this empire, the hands that were currently stained with invisible blood. He had given his daughter everything. He had given her safety, luxury, and the best education in the kingdom. And yet, she looked at him with the same eyes the Elven King had before the end.
He felt a sudden, sharp pang of loneliness.
"A friend," he muttered to himself, his voice sounding hollow in the empty courtyard.
He wondered who this friend was. He wondered if this friend saw the "good man" Seraphina wanted him to be, or if they were just another person who would eventually learn the truth about the Duke of the North.
He turned toward the carriage, noticing the sword box still sitting on the seat. He picked it up, the weight of the steel feeling like a leaden burden in his hands.
"You'll understand me one day, Seraphina," he whispered to the night. "The world isn't your dojo. You can't just disarm your enemies and expect them to stop fighting. In the real world, you have to cut them down before they can reach for your throat."
He walked into the mansion, the heavy doors closing behind him with a sound like a tomb being sealed. The Duke was home, but the house felt more like a fortress than ever before.
Upstairs, in the wing of the mansion reserved for the family, Seraphina entered her private sitting room. She threw her training bag into a corner and collapsed into a chair, rubbing her temples.
"He just doesn't get it," she whispered.
A soft knock came at the door.
"Enter," Seraphina said, straightening her back.
A young woman stepped into the room. She was dressed in a simple traveling cloak, but she carried herself with a quiet, observant grace.
"You look like you've been in a battle," the friend said, a small smile playing on her lips. "And not the kind with wooden swords."
Seraphina let out a weary laugh. "You have no idea. Come in. I need someone to talk to who doesn't think the solution to every problem is a secret tax or a hidden spy."
The two women sat by the fire, the light flickering over their faces. Outside, the North continued to churn, unaware that the heart of its power was beginning to crack from the inside out.
The Duke was dreaming of war and shadows, while his daughter was dreaming of a world that didn't yet exist. And in the distance, a High Elf named Eon was about to set a fire that would force both dreams to collide.
Author note: Support me on my Patreon. You can read upto 20 chapters ahead of others by buying a tier just for 5 dollars. Plus, there are many exclusive Arts related to this novel. Check them out: [https://www.patreon.com/Visioner10]