The God of Nothing.-Chapter 18: A House Divided

Kaden woke with a start.

The sun had barely begun its ascent, golden light filtering through the barracks window, yet something felt... off.

A nagging sensation, a whisper of unease at the back of his mind.

He exhaled, rubbing the remnants of sleep from his eyes. His body still ached from last night's training, but it was a good ache—the kind that reassured him that he was still pushing his limits, still honing his edge.

He stood, rolling his shoulders before strapping on his sword belt.

Caelith should already be up.

The kid was never late.

Kaden smirked to himself, recalling the stubborn determination in the boy's eyes during their last bout. That brat's got more guts than sense.

It was only natural to expect him at the training yard by now.

Yet, as he made his way toward the clearing where they usually met, a strange emptiness settled in his chest.

The yard was still.

The usual morning routine of the guards had begun, but something was missing—the sound of steel meeting steel, the quiet mutterings of strategy, the occasional curse when Caelith overextended himself and got caught in a counter.

Kaden frowned.

He waited.

Minutes passed.

Still nothing.

A small seed of irritation took root. Overslept? That wasn't like Caelith. The boy practically lived for training.

Kaden exhaled through his nose, the slightest crease forming between his brows.

Something wasn't right.

He pivoted on his heel and strode toward the peasant quarters. If Caelith had gotten too comfortable sleeping in, he'd make sure the boy regretted it.

But as he approached the rundown part of the estate, the unease bloomed into something heavier.

The door to Caelith's room was ajar.

No candle burned within.

No voices. No sounds of movement.

The air inside was still, cold.

Empty.

Kaden stepped inside, his gaze sweeping the room.

The straw beds where Caelith and his mother slept remained untouched from the night before.

The small table where Elysia usually worked on her salves was undisturbed, and the remnants of her herbal mixtures still faintly scented the air.

But there was something else.

Something wrong.

The floor.

Scuffed. Dragged.

His pulse quickened. He crouched down, fingers brushing against the faint impressions in the wooden boards. The marks of boots—heavy, armored.

His stomach twisted.

Someone had been here.

And Caelith and Elysia were gone.

Kaden rose swiftly, his movements sharp with purpose.

His instincts screamed at him. There was no way the boy would just leave.

Something had happened.

And he was going to find out what.

Kaden's mind grew alive with activity.

'If he was taken, then by who? Where? We are inside the Stormont estate, so it had to be ordered from inside. A bastard was worthless as leverage for another family or nation. Elowen? Why would she go behind Alaric's back? She is not dumb enough not to understand the consequences when their relationship was already so... strained.'

The estate corridors bustled with activity, servants hurrying about their morning tasks, but Kaden saw none of it.

His strides were long and purposeful, each step a silent oath.

He turned a corner—and there he was.

Vaerin Stormont.

He leaned lazily against one of the pillars in the courtyard, swirling a goblet of wine far too early in the morning, his golden hair catching the light just so. A training sword rested by his side, obviously meant to serve as an excuse.

Kaden stopped dead in his tracks, his sharp gaze locking onto the younger Stormont heir.

Vaerin noticed him instantly. A slow smirk tugged at his lips.

"Looking for someone, old man?" he mused, tilting his head in mock curiosity.

Kaden clenched his jaw, his fingers twitching at his sides.

Vaerin let out a dramatic sigh, taking a slow sip from his cup before continuing.

"Let me guess. The bastard?"

Kaden took a single step forward. "Where is he?"

Vaerin chuckled, the sound devoid of humor. "Oh, Kaden. I thought you were smarter than that."

Kaden didn't blink. He didn't move. He simply stared.

A muscle twitched in Vaerin's jaw.

He pushed off the pillar, stepping closer and lowering his voice.

"Things have a way of working themselves out. Accidents happen. People get too ambitious, forget their place, and suddenly..." He made a small flicking gesture with his wrist. "Gone."

Kaden's entire body tensed. A storm brewed in his veins.

"That wasn't an answer," he said, voice like sharpened steel.

Vaerin only grinned, raising his goblet once more. "Ask Father. I'm sure he'll have plenty to say about it."

And with that, he turned, strolling leisurely back toward the manor.

Kaden exhaled slowly, forcing down the burning rage in his chest.

He needed answers.

And there was only one man who could give them to him.

Alaric Stormont stood at the grand balcony of his private chambers, watching the estate below.

The early morning sun reflected off the rooftops, its light catching on the polished armor of the patrolling guards—a serene view.

And yet, his thoughts were anything but.

Caelith.

The boy had proven himself. Again and again.

What he had accomplished—what he had become—was undeniable.

He had done what none had expected.

And that was the problem.

Alaric's fingers tightened on the stone railing.

Vaerin was a disappointment.

Selphira... was something else entirely.

She had always been different. He had noticed it from a young age. Where Vaerin demanded attention, Selphira thrived in silence.

She watched. She listened.

She understood things without needing to ask.

People whispered about her. Even now, warriors twice her age hesitated before meeting her gaze.

She had inherited her mother's intellect, but something else lurked beneath it.

Alaric had no doubts—of all his children, she was the most dangerous.

A knock at the door.

"Enter."

Kaden stepped inside, his usual nonchalance absent. His expression was a mask of barely contained fury.

Alaric turned, his own composure unwavering.

"Kaden! What's the matter?" he said, voice slightly shocked.

Kaden's hands curled into fists. "He's gone."

Alaric's eyes darkened.

Kaden took another step forward. "And don't play games with me. I know damn well you didn't order it."

Silence.

Then—Alaric exhaled through his nose.

"Elowen."

Kaden nodded stiffly. "Your wife is a conniving wretch."

Alaric allowed himself a small, humorless smirk. "Keep your voice down!."

Kaden shook his head. "You should have stopped this."

Alaric's expression hardened. "And you think I wouldn't have?"

Kaden didn't respond immediately.

Alaric took a slow step forward, voice lowering. "The Vrykal family does not forgive slights. And Elowen is still their blood. Do you truly think she would sit idle while her son was disgraced? Furthermore, you are the first to have informed me of this."

Kaden exhaled sharply, looking away.

Then, after a long moment—

"You loved her, didn't you?"

Alaric's breath hitched.

Kaden didn't elaborate. He didn't need to.

Alaric closed his eyes for a brief moment, then forced himself to push away the memories, the emotions.

"That's enough," he muttered.

Kaden studied him for a long moment. Then he nodded.

But just as he turned to leave, Alaric spoke once more.

"Caelith inherited more than just my blood."

Kaden halted.

"He doesn't just fight well," Alaric continued, his voice quieter now. "He was born for it."

"If it wasn't for Elysia's status, he would have likely grown strong enough to explore broader horizons... beyond Igaria's borders. Yet, he would have likely died! The world is not so forgiving as the estate. He may not have had an easy life here, but he was safe! Now, this turn of events is unexpected, but living as a commoner won't be bad for him now. Yes, now that he's trained, he will be able to survive."

Kaden paused, his lips tightening. Then he spoke.

"And if Elowen wasn't okay with a loose end? Not just about Caelith's duel with Vaerin, but your past?"

Kaden had nothing more to say. Alaric understood.

The silence between them stretched, heavy with the weight of unspoken truths. Then, with a final glance, Kaden turned and strode from the chamber, his footsteps fading into the distance.

Alaric remained still, his fingers curling against the marble railing of his balcony. He exhaled slowly, his chest tight with something between rage and something far more dangerous.

Something closer to regret.

Caelith was gone.

Elysia was gone.

And he knew exactly whose hands had orchestrated this.

Alaric turned sharply, his long cloak trailing behind him as he strode toward the doors of his chamber. They swung open violently beneath his touch, the guards outside flinching at the force.

"Summon Lady Elowen," Alaric commanded, his voice as sharp as a blade. "Now."

The guards hesitated for a fraction of a second before bowing and scrambling to obey.

Alaric's jaw tightened as he stepped back into the room. His mind raced, piecing together the implications of this treachery.

Elowen was no fool. She would have anticipated some retaliation.

But the question was—did she understand how much of a mistake she had made?

Elowen entered her chambers with practiced grace, the trailing silk of her gown whispering against the polished floors. She had been expecting this summons.

A smirk tugged at her lips.

'The fool took longer to act than I had anticipated.'

The door behind her slammed shut.

Alaric stood across the room, his stance rigid, his eyes dark with fury.

For a moment, neither spoke.

Then—

"What have you done?"

His voice was quiet. But it was the kind of quiet that came before a storm, the kind that could level cities if left unchecked.

Elowen feigned an expression of mild curiosity. "I'm afraid you'll have to be more specific, my dear husband."

Alaric moved.

In the blink of an eye, he was upon her, his hand locking around her wrist in a vice grip, the sheer force behind it making her breath hitch.

"I said," his voice was barely above a whisper, "what have you done?"

She met his gaze, her emerald eyes gleaming with something unyielding. "I corrected a mistake."

Alaric's grip tightened. "A mistake?"

Elowen did not flinch. "A bastard who believed he was worthy of our name. Who humiliated your heir. Who disrespected our bloodline?"

Alaric's nostrils flared. "You took it upon yourself to make that decision?"

Elowen lifted her chin slightly. "Someone had to. You were watching him, weren't you? Entertaining the idea of him as something more than a stain. Do you think the noble houses wouldn't notice? That they wouldn't question your favoritism? You were growing sentimental."

A dangerous silence settled between them.

Then, in a blur of movement, Alaric threw her.

Elowen barely caught herself, the force sending her stumbling onto the edge of a nearby table.

She looked up, shocked—not at his aggression, but at the fact that he had lost control so easily.

She had touched a deep wound.

"Elysia," Alaric said slowly, each syllable like molten steel, "Was never yours to touch."

Elowen let out a soft, humorless laugh as she straightened herself. "Oh, Alaric. You really should be thanking me."

His hands curled into fists. "For what?"

"For protecting your legacy," she said simply. "Do you think the nobles haven't been watching? Do you think House Vrykal wouldn't have sunk its claws into the whispers about your bastard son?"

Alaric stilled.

She smiled now, cold and knowing. "They would have used him against you. They would have twisted him, dangled his mere existence as proof of your weakness. The bastard was better off eliminated before he became a liability."

Alaric inhaled sharply, forcing the rage boiling in his chest to still. He knew what she was doing. Playing the game of power, of logic, of calculated brutality.

But there was one thing she had miscalculated.

Caelith wasn't dead.

Not yet.

"You're a fool, Elowen," he said finally. "You think you've tied up a loose end. But you've created something far worse."

She frowned slightly, not understanding.

Alaric stepped forward. "Do you know what he inherited from me?"

Elowen's lips pressed together, her eyes narrowing slightly.

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"Not my fire. Not the divine blessings of House Stormont."

He leaned in closer.

"He inherited the will to survive."

A flicker of something passed through her expression.

Alaric smirked—a cruel, knowing smirk.

"You should pray he dies out there, Elowen."

"Because if he doesn't..."

He leaned back, watching as realization slowly dawned in her emerald eyes.

"...he will come back."

And with that, Alaric turned sharply, his cloak billowing behind him as he strode toward the doors.

"Where are you going?" Elowen demanded.

Alaric paused, glancing over his shoulder.

"To remind the world who I am."

Elowen smirked in response.

"Don't be rash, Alaric. Think carefully; you know I am not a fool."

The smile kept playing on her lips as she enunciated every word.

Alaric raised an eyebrow.

"What are you hiding?"

Elowen then sighed.

"You see, House Vrykal recently picked up a genius from a crane. The girl is special enough to have been sent directly to the royal family; rewards are soon to come, and afterward... the elders will stop you from being able to act so freely."

Alaric turned away.

"Try me."

And then he was gone, leaving Elowen standing in the dim light of her chambers, the weight of his words pressing heavily against her chest.

She exhaled slowly, smoothing out the fabric of her gown.

A mistake.

He thought she had made a mistake.

Her fingers tightened against the silk.

She would have the last laugh.

The estate's halls buzzed with hushed whispers. Servants had noticed Caelith's absence. Some dared to question it. Others knew better.

Alaric moved with purpose, his mind already calculating his next move.

Elowen's involvement meant one thing—House Vrykal was watching.

They were always ruthless.

A noble house built on blood, known for its cold efficiency. Elowen's family.

If he had acted without consulting them, they would retaliate.

If she had acted under their orders, then Caelith's disappearance was merely a fraction of something larger.

And Alaric loathed being outmaneuvered.

As Alaric walked, his fingers twitched absently as if tracing the weight of a sword long since sheathed.

A mundane blessing.

Every major noble house, whether that be in a kingdom or an empire, was gifted with divine blessings and elemental affinities granted by the gods. Fire, water, wind, earth, and sometimes even deviants.

Alaric had once heard of a family from the center of the continent wielding multiple.

But there was something else—the blessings that were never spoken of.

The mundane ones.

After all, why were the noble families that currently existed the families that they were?

The blessings didn't grant mana affinity but instead shaped body, mind, and instinct.

And Caelith had surely inherited one.

Something dormant. Something that would awaken only when pushed to the absolute brink.

Alaric's jaw tensed.

Elowen thought she had solved the problem.

But she had only just begun one.

And somewhere, deep in the wilderness, he knew his bastard son was still breathing.