thief of fate-Chapter 64: father and daughter

The sunset had begun to descend upon the walls. King Yaram returned to his chamber in heavy silence. His steps were slow, weary.

He removed his cloak silently and threw it on the nearby chair. He summoned no one, called for no servants or advisors. All he wanted in that moment was to rest.

He sat on the large couch and began to gaze at the dim light seeping through the high windows. Nothing felt still in his heart; everything was screaming.

Was it all worth it? The journey, the alliance, the words I spoke to Tarel and Elyria?

He closed his eyes, then drew in a deep breath.

Then he heard light footsteps. He didn’t open his eyes at first, but he knew her.

Evelyn.

His daughter.

She stood near him without saying a word, perhaps because she noticed a certain heaviness in his features. Then she whispered:

"You’re back."

He opened his eyes and looked at her, then smiled faintly, as if a part of his soul had just returned with him.

"Yes... finally."

She sat beside him. Not too close, not too far.

He looked at her in silence for a moment, then said:

"I was thinking... of asking something simple."

She raised an eyebrow, tilting her head slightly like she always did when curious:

"A royal command?"

He chuckled lightly, his voice trembling with a hint of exhaustion:

"Not quite. A request."

"A request? For what?"

He sighed, then said as he looked at her hands:

"The upcoming tournament, it’ll be announced tomorrow. And I thought you might... want to join."

Silence. She looked at him, then at the ground. She stared for a long time.

"Father... no."

"No?"

She shook her head slowly, firmly. Then she whispered:

"I know I won’t win."

A moment passed. He didn’t respond. But he felt something small break in his chest. It wasn’t about the tournament, nor even about her refusal, but the way she spoke those words as if she truly believed, without a shred of doubt, that she wouldn’t succeed.

"Evelyn..." he began, but the words failed him. He simply sighed again and said:

"And the future? Has it changed?"

She raised her eyes to him. There was sadness in them, yes, but also acceptance.

"Nothing has changed, Father."

Her words weren’t harsh. They were the truest thing a child could say to a parent. But they were like a cold arrow to his heart. He turned his face away from her, not wanting her to see the weariness in his eyes.

(So... all those efforts? All that we did? We changed nothing? We’re still on the same path?)

But before he could sink deeper into his thoughts, her voice came again, softer, warmer:

"But it might change, Father."

He looked at her.

She was smiling faintly. A smile that didn’t resist anything, didn’t promise anything... yet meant everything.

"How?" he asked, as if his voice came from a deep well.

She shook her head gently and said:

"I know there’s a chance. A small one, maybe, but it’s there."

The king was silent for a moment, reflecting on her gaze, that look in her eyes that had begun to shift.

He moved a little closer to her, as if her last word had awakened something inside him.

"Evelyn... when you say ’chance’... do you mean your vision?"

She looked at him slowly. Her eyes were still, but behind that stillness... a volcano of untold scenes.

"Yes," she answered softly. "But I no longer follow it to the end."

"Why?"

She lowered her head and stared at the ground. Her words slipped from her lips with weight:

"Because... I was afraid."

He raised his eyebrows slightly, waiting for her to explain, but she didn’t speak right away. A moment of silence passed, then she raised her eyes to him again.

"There’s someone, Father. Someone... I used to doubt. I thought he was a threat, many times, and I saw paths leading to darkness around him. But every time... every time I see him, I see endless possibilities. As if the future rewrites itself around him every time he moves."

He shook his head slightly, saying nothing. His heart shrank involuntarily... from a vague fear.

"Who is it?" he finally asked.

She looked at him for a long time, then said:

"You know him."

He furrowed his brows. She didn’t give a definite answer, but her eyes hinted at much.

"Evelyn..."

He interrupted her before she could continue, but she raised her hand gently, as if asking him to wait.

"Valerian."

She said the name as she watched him hear it. The tension that passed through his face was involuntary.

"I know you’ve doubted him before, Father. And I too... I had doubts."

"And now?"

She shook her head slowly.

"I don’t know. I no longer see him as a bad person. But what I fear isn’t just him. It’s... the one with him."

"Someone else?"

"Yes." She looked away, as if avoiding something. "He’s always there. He doesn’t appear in the picture directly. But he’s present."

"Who?"

She looked at him, this time with a steady, firm gaze, and said:

"You’ll know him at the tournament, Father."

Then she smiled, a short, mysterious smile, and said:

"And I think... you won’t like him."

There was something else in Yaram’s eyes now. Something that hadn’t been there minutes ago. Not just worry or the weight of responsibility. But... sorrow.

He turned his face toward her again, his eyes lost in her features, as if they held an answer he hadn’t found his entire life.

"Evelyn..."

His voice came out low, as if the letters escaped from a hollow chest.

"I want to ask you something... and I want you to answer honestly. No matter how painful."

She looked at him, just for a moment, then slowly nodded, agreeing without words.

He took a breath, as if the air was heavy in his chest, then said:

"How much time... do I have left? In your visions. How much time do I have before... it all ends?"

Her expression changed.

She hadn’t expected that question. Nor did she want it.

But she didn’t run. Evelyn wasn’t one to run.

She looked at him, and for a moment, her eyes darkened, as if the window’s light no longer reflected in them.

"Not much, Father."

Her words weren’t harsh, but they were final.

"How much?"

She hesitated.

"Months? Years? A day?"

She shook her head, then said in a faint voice:

"More than a year... less than two. I can’t see it clearly. There’s a fog. But it’s there. Closer than you imagine."

Yaram closed his eyes.

He had known, deep down, that the end wasn’t far. His body whispered it to him every morning. But hearing it from his daughter... made it harder.

Then he spoke, in a calmer tone:

"And have you... seen how I die?"

She hesitated.

Looked at the ground, then at his hands, then at his face.

"Sometimes... I see him fall. Sometimes he burns. Sometimes he’s torn apart. Sometimes he dies standing, and sometimes... he dies alone. There’s no single image, and that... terrifies me."

"Why?"

She raised her eyes to him, swallowing hard:

"Because your death, Father, isn’t fixed... and that means someone may interfere. That you die... because something will change afterward. And maybe it won’t change if you survive."

He fell silent.

Then whispered:

"My death is a condition?"

She didn’t answer.

Silence alone was the answer.

Yaram smiled faintly, a sad smile. The kind that comes before the long stillness.

"Strange how a man lives his whole life trying to protect his kingdom... only to reach the moment he realizes his death may be... the only thing that can save it."

She wanted to tell him he wasn’t just a sacrifice. That he was a father, and that she still wanted him around. But she didn’t. She couldn’t find words that matched what she felt.

She approached him, quietly extended her hand, and placed it on his. It wasn’t a comforting touch, but a silent bond between two who understood.

He whispered at last:

"Will I feel pain?"

She answered without hesitation, eyes clear:

"Yes. But it will be the last pain you feel. And after it... there will be light, Father."

He didn’t ask her about the light.

He knew he wouldn’t see it.

But he smiled.

For her, only.

They remained like that, he sitting and staring at the ground, and she holding his hand.

Yaram sighed, then turned his face toward her again, and this time his voice had changed. Less painful... but filled with farewell, even though he didn’t say the word.

"Evelyn..."

He whispered like someone calling from the depths of a well.

"No matter what happens. No matter how I die. I want you to live."

She slowly lifted her head toward him, her eyebrows slightly raised, her lips parting as if to object. But he didn’t give her the chance.

"I want you to continue. To breathe. To walk. To love. To laugh even if you find yourself laughing alone. I don’t want you to become a grave you carry inside you every day."

He paused. His gaze dug into hers, as if he were entrusting her with something greater than any expectation.

"This is my decision, Evelyn. Not yours, not fate’s, not the future’s, not any vision... will deprive me from being the father who asks his daughter to live. In every possible way."

Her silence was heavy. But she heard him... with her heart more than her ears.

He extended his other hand and placed it gently on her head.

"And whatever path you choose... I will support you. Even if you choose to forget me. Even if you choose to leave everything behind. I won’t ask you to fight... not for me, not for the dead. I ask you for one thing only."

She held her breath, waiting.

He said it slowly, as if his words were being carved into her memory:

"If you ever find yourself in danger... danger that cannot be stopped, nor faced... run, Evelyn. Run to live."

She gasped softly. His words were heavier than she expected. A father king, ordering his daughter to run? But... he wasn’t speaking as a king.

He was speaking as a father who knew life wasn’t always an arena of honor... sometimes, your daughter’s life is worth more than all your glory.

She nodded, slowly, as if she couldn’t bring herself to agree or refuse.

Then she said, with a trembling voice and a tear falling in silence:

"How I hate this eye of mine, Father."

He looked at her, surprised, but she wasn’t seeking pity.

"All it sees... is pain. Death. Endings. I sometimes feel I don’t live in my world, but in what comes after it. I can’t rejoice in a moment without seeing how it will break. And I can’t love something without seeing how I’ll lose it."

She lowered her voice, as if whispering to emptiness:

"This eye... is not a blessing."

He remained silent.

Then said softly:

"Maybe. But it’s you. And I love you..."

She looked at him and smiled with a tearful eye: 𝚏𝗿𝗲𝐞𝚠𝕖𝐛𝗻𝗼𝐯𝕖𝚕.𝚌𝗼𝗺

"And I... I will try to live, Father. Not for the future... but for you."