Flashback
"They say the last thing you remember before death is the person you loved most." The child's voice echoed in the room.
"What kind of nonsense are you spewing?" she snapped, her voice rough, her words sharper than she intended.
Her hands froze mid-motion as she adjusted the bandage around the child's arm. She exhaled slowly. The child didn't flinch at the harshness of her tone. Instead, she looked down at her bandaged arms, a small frown tugging at her lips as she absently toyed with the ends of the cloth.
"Because last night, I surely remember you," the child whispered, barely audible.
A few months ago
Since the dog's death, the child's grief still lingered in her eyes. She had cried for days, unable to let go of the small creature she had tried to save. Irene's cold and often detached demeanor, couldn't help but feel a faint tug at her heart each time she saw the child's sorrow.
Irene had told herself that it wasn't her problem. It wasn't her responsibility to mend the child's broken heart. But there was something in the child's pain that gnawed at her, something that made it hard to ignore. And so, Irene had thought of a way to distract her, a way to give her something to focus on, something that could replace the void left by the dog.
The next morning, she had made up her mind. She had gone to the nearby annex where a small litter of kittens had recently been born. One of them, a timid little thing with soft gray fur, seemed like the perfect choice. She had taken it with her, carrying it close to her chest as she walked back to the child's quarters.
The child was sitting by the window when Irene approached, her face still bearing the marks of her previous sorrow. When she saw Irene holding the kitten, her eyes widened, the hint of a smile forming on her lips despite her lingering sadness.
"Is this for me?" The child's voice was hopeful as it was.
Irene lowered the kitten carefully into the child's hands, feeling the weight of the gesture more than she cared to admit. The child's arms enveloped the small creature, her face lighting up with an expression Irene had almost forgotten existed.
"It's so cute!" the child exclaimed, giggling softly as the kitten mewed and squirmed in her arms. "Thank you, Irene!"
Irene paused, a knot in her throat. She had expected something more restrained, something less emotional. But the child's reaction—her beaming face, her innocent happiness—made something within Irene crack just a little. Then she cleared her throat and spoke, her tone colder than she felt.
"Don't get the wrong idea," she said, her voice firm and slightly impatient. "I just brought it here because it distracted me while training. That's all."
The child looked up at her, still cradling the kitten in her arms, and her smile faltered just for a second, like she had been expecting something different. But then, as though the words didn't fully register, she hugged the kitten closer and nodded earnestly.
"That doesn't change the fact that it is your gift," the child said softly.
Last night
The basement door creaked open as Irene entered, her heart hammering in her chest. The silence inside was suffocating, but it wasn't the silence that held her frozen—it was the absence of the child. She had searched every corner of the manor, but there was no sign of her. The child had disappeared, and the last place she hadn't checked, the last place she hoped she wouldn't have to, was the basement.
She hadn't meant to leave the child alone. The tasks assigned by the imperial family had taken longer than expected, and her mind had been so focused on the political affairs that she hadn't once thought about the child, hadn't once thought about what might happen to her in her absence.
When she reached the bottom of the stairs, her eyes were immediately drawn to the dim, flickering light in the far corner of the room. The scene that greeted her was one she would have rather never witnessed, but there it was. The child was lying on the cold stone floor, her body bruised and bloodied. The wounds on her back were raw, open lacerations that had been made by the cruel, merciless flagellations she had endured. The child was trembling, her eyes swollen from crying, her breath shallow and unsteady.
Irene felt a chill crawl up her spine, and for a brief, fleeting moment, her breath caught in her chest. She stood rooted to the spot, unable to tear her eyes away from the horror before her.
"I will start the child's education when she reaches ten."
The Duke's words echoed in her mind like a sickening reminder, and Irene felt the blood drain from her face. She had known the Duke's nature, had seen the way he treated those who reached the age of ten in this household, but somehow, the reality of it never truly hit her until now. She had forgotten what "education" meant here. Belserion was a place of suffering, of cruelty, for those who came of age. And now, the child was no exception.
Irene's hands clenched into fists at her sides. Her thoughts were interrupted when she heard a sound—a creak of the floorboards behind her. Irene turned sharply, her eyes flashing with recognition as she saw the two guards stationed near the door.
"Stop!" one of them barked as they rushed toward her. "You can't go any further."
Irene didn't hesitate. Her body moved with a fluidity born from years of training, her mind working faster than the guards could react. She sidestepped the first one, her arm snapping out to disarm him with a swift, practiced motion. The sword fell to the ground with a clang, and Irene spun, ducking under the second guard's grasp before twisting his wrist until he cried out in pain and released his hold on her. Irene wasn't sure if they had expected her to fight back—she had never shown any inclination to do so before. But now, standing between them and the door to the basement, her face was set in cold, determined lines. She couldn't afford to show mercy, not now.
"I'm going in," Irene said quietly.
The guards hesitated, glancing at one another nervously. They knew better than to challenge her. But they also knew their duty. One of them stepped forward, his hand reaching for the dagger at his belt.
"You're not going to stop me," Irene said with a steely gaze. She advanced on him in a blur of motion, and before he could react, she disarmed him too, her wrist twisting sharply and sending the blade clattering across the floor. The guard stumbled back, shaking his head as he tried to regain his balance.
Irene shoved the door open, stepping over the fallen guards and into the dark, oppressive air of the basement. The scene before her hit her like a punch to the gut. The child lay still, barely conscious, her wounds stark against her pale skin. She cradled the child's broken form in her arms. Blood from the child's lacerated back seeped onto Irene's pristine white robes, staining them red.
"E-Erza?" Her voice cracked, almost unrecognizable. It was almost too strange for someone like Irene to speak the name of the child with such raw emotion. Her lips trembled as the child did not answered.
"C-child... are you… alright?"
Irene stood in the doorway of the Duke's study, her breath shallow and her fists clenched at her sides. She had managed to get Erza into the manor's infirmary, but now, the rage that had been simmering beneath her calm exterior finally began to bubble to the surface.
The Duke sat lazily at his desk, the dim light of his cigar flickering as he puffed smoke into the air, his eyes never leaving the papers in front of him. There was no sign of remorse, no indication that he understood the gravity of what had happened. Irene's teeth ground together as she closed the door behind her with a sharp thud.
"What did you do to the child?" Her voice was steady.
The Duke didn't even look up as he casually leaned back in his chair, lighting his cigar with a flick of his wrist. "I told you already, haven't I?" he said, his voice smooth and dismissive, as if the matter were inconsequential.
Irene's jaw tightened. She couldn't believe it. She couldn't believe the audacity of this man. "Did I permit you to do so?" She asked, her voice. She let the question hang in the air for a moment, her eyes burning into his.
"I am the head of this house, Irene. Anything that crawls in the face of this manor is subject to my discretion."
Irene chuckled lightly, a humorless sound that filled the room with a chilling sense of mockery.
"Has that incompetent child knocked some sense into you?" The Duke turned his back to her, seemingly uninterested in her presence. It was the same cold, arrogant posture she had grown used to, but it only fueled her anger further.
"What do you mean?" Irene snapped, leaning forward, her patience wearing thin. She was tired of the Duke's aloofness, his lack of respect for anything or anyone.
The Duke didn't face her immediately but instead stared out the window for a moment. When he finally turned to meet her gaze, his expression was unreadable.
"I know you came here at this very hour to demand I summon a doctor to treat her," he stated, his voice dripping with contempt. "Unless the task is completed, I will allow it."
Irene's eyes narrowed. "What is the task?" she asked, the words leaving her lips in a low growl, her voice trembling with barely contained rage.
The Duke's gaze flicked over her, and a small, twisted smirk played at the corners of his lips. "Kill the cat you gave her."
"I thought if I just endured the beatings and the whipping, the cat's life would be spared. But in the end, Milliana died because of me." The child said.
Irene's stomach twisted as if she was feeling something else. It was her fault. She had killed the cat. It was she who had finished what the Duke had started, thinking that by taking the cat's life, she would save Erza from further punishment. But now, as she listened to the child's anguished cries, she couldn't help but feel that she had taken something irreplaceable from her.
The child clutched the sheets of the bed in desperation, her body wracked with sobs that seemed to shake her to her core. "I'm sorry, Irene." The words were so soft, so broken, as Erza reached out, tugging at the hem of Irene's robe.
Irene felt the tug, but it was as though she were rooted to the spot, her body frozen in place by the weight of everything that had happened. The child's face was streaked with tears, her eyes wide with that same sorrowful, haunted look that Irene could never escape. The child's brown eyes—those eyes that always seemed to follow her, even in her darkest moments, in her most painful dreams.
Present
Irene slowly opened her eyes, her body protesting with sharp, painful reminders of the injuries she had sustained. The stench of damp earth and the cool, unforgiving air of the cave filled her senses, and for a moment, she couldn't remember where she was or how she had gotten there. The last thing she could recall was being ambushed by a group of assassins. The poison from one of their weapons had taken hold, and she'd been on the verge of losing consciousness.
So, I'm still alive, huh? The thought came to her weakly as she tried to sit up, only to be met with a wave of dizziness. Her body ached in places she hadn't even realized she could feel, and for a moment, she wondered if it was all some cruel dream. Her mind raced with fragmented thoughts as she steadied herself and surveyed her surroundings. The cave was dim, but she could make out the outline of rocks and the small, flickering light from a nearby fire. And there, standing just beyond the firelight, was a figure.
A child.
The sight made Irene's chest tighten. The child had black hair and brown eyes—eyes that were strikingly similar to the ones she had seen in her memories. The child's expression was one of wariness. Shit! She cursed. Her future murderer? Irene's mind recoiled at the thought, but she couldn't deny the strange sense of déjà vu that twisted through her gut.
The child was holding a bundle of herbs, trembling as she stepped forward cautiously, one limp foot dragging behind her. Irene's instincts kicked in immediately. She reached for her sword, the weapon still lying within reach, and pointed it directly at the child, her movements sharp and instinctive.
"Stop there," Irene commanded. She wasn't sure what this child wanted, but she wasn't about to take any chances. Hadn't she learned her lesson? Irene thought bitterly to herself as the memory of their last encounter came rushing back. The child had nearly choked to death in her grasp, but somehow, she had escaped thanks to her subordinates. Now, this—this child was here, standing before her once more.
The child hesitated for only a moment before taking another step forward. Irene's grip on her sword tightened, and she raised her voice louder, this time making it clear that she wouldn't tolerate any further movement.
"I said, stop!" Irene's voice was firm, her eyes narrowed, watching the child's every move.
The child did intend to stop however, she limped forward due to her injury causing her to stumble before Irene. Her form grew more visible to Irene. The child's clothes were torn in places, her arms marked with abrasions, her face pale and drawn. But the worst of it was the wound on her left leg. It was a deep gash, already infected, the skin around it swollen and discolored. The sight made Irene's stomach turn. The child was clearly suffering, just as Irene herself was.
The realization hit Irene. Had she tried to save me? she wondered silently. The herbs scattered on the ground, some crushed, some still whole helped her recover. The child had been feeding her these herbs, trying to ease her suffering, despite her own wounds and the infection that was eating away at her leg.
Irene stared at the herbs, her mind piecing together the situation. The child had been here for days, most likely since Irene had fallen unconscious. And still, despite the clear signs of her own ailment, the child had not left her side. Despite everything, despite what she had done to the child a few days ago, helping her escape death was almost incomprehensible. Why? She asked herself.
But before she could dwell too much on the question, the child took another faltering step forward. Her foot slipped slightly, and Irene saw the child stagger, the herbs spilling more from her hands.
"Mmmm… mmm.."
Irene watched the child intently as she signaled to her, her lips forming unintelligible words. She couldn't speak for now. Irene's hand tightened around the hilt of her sword instinctively, but as the child's silent gestures continued, the knot in her chest loosened slightly. What was she doing? Irene thought, unsure of what to make of the child's efforts.
The sword in her hand lowered, though she didn't put it away entirely. Urgh, Irene groaned inwardly, feeling a frustration she couldn't quite place. She had no reason to trust the child—after all, she was her future murderer. But somehow, she had no choice now.
The child seemed to sense the hesitation in Irene, and with a cautious movement, she bent down, gathering some of the scattered herbs from the ground. She washed them quickly in the nearby stream before returning to Irene's side. Then, in one fluid motion, she picked up a piece of cloth, pressing it gently into Irene's hands.
Irene stared at the cloth, unsure of its purpose. To bite on? she thought, her brow furrowing in confusion. She wasn't sure what the child meant by this. The child's trembling hands reached out, guiding Irene's hand to the cloth and showing her how to bite down on it. The child slowly mimicked the motion, biting down on the cloth herself to demonstrate.
With a reluctant sigh, Irene followed suit, biting down on the cloth. Her teeth sank into the fabric, unsure of what to expect next. The child then took the herbs she had washed and began to gently apply them to Irene's wounds, the herbs' bitter scent filling the air. Irene winced as the first sting of the herbs touched her skin.
"Damn!" Irene cursed and bit on the fabric.
Somewhere in the shadows
A figure cloaked in darkness stood, the flickering light of distant flames casting an eerie glow on the edges of the room. A voice broke the silence, sharp and anxious.
"The test subject had escaped, Master."
The cloaked figure groaned, frustration and annoyance evident in the sound. The air in the room seemed to grow heavier and the figure's posture stiffened as the news sank in.
"Had she been pursued already?"
"No, not yet," came the reply, hesitation in the voice. There was a moment of pause before the voice added,
"But it's only a matter of time before they find her."
The cloaked figure turned slightly. With a cold, chilling calm, the figure spoke again.
"Make sure to find that thing and return it to the headquarters as soon as possible, if you want to keep your head."