SPIRITBINDER: The Boy Without A Mark
Chapter 75: Forsaken Pride

Chapter 75: Forsaken Pride

The garden was silent once more, the weight of Hiraya’s departure lingering like a shadow. Medas remained on his knees, his head bowed, tears pooling beneath him. His pride, the very thing that had driven so much pain, now lay shattered.

Morvane, standing with red-rimmed eyes, said nothing. He didn’t acknowledge Medas. His heart felt heavy, his emotions tangled in grief and anger. Without a word, he turned and walked away, leaving Medas kneeling in the dirt, lost in his guilt.

Morvane didn’t look back as he left the castle. He couldn’t. The pain was too raw, too overwhelming. He needed to return to their village, to the only place that still held fragments of his life with Hiraya.

The journey was quiet, save for the faint caw of the black crow that now perched on his shoulder. Hiraya’s shadow beast was a constant reminder of her love and sacrifice, but it also felt like a weight—an unspoken burden he wasn’t sure he could bear.

When he reached the village, the familiar sight of their small, modest home came into view. It was just as he’d left it: quiet, unassuming, yet full of memories.

Pushing open the door, Morvane was greeted by the soft fragrance of flowers. They were scattered around the room, placed in vases on the table, on the windowsill, and near the hearth. They were offerings—tributes from the villagers, who still remembered Hiraya’s kindness and strength.

His steps faltered as he entered the living room. There, on the wooden mantel, was the urn. It was simple yet elegant, etched with delicate patterns of vines and blossoms. His heart ached as he stared at it.

He stepped closer, his hand trembling as he reached out to touch the urn. The cool surface sent a chill through him, and his vision blurred with tears.

"Grandma..." he whispered, his voice breaking.

He sank to his knees before the mantel, his grief spilling over. Memories flooded his mind—her laughter, her warmth, her unwavering support even in the face of darkness. She had been his everything, and now she was gone.

The black crow on his shoulder shifted, its crimson eyes glowing softly. It let out a low, mournful caw, as if sensing his pain.

Morvane bowed his head, his tears falling freely. He didn’t care about pride anymore. He didn’t care about revenge or anger. All that was left was the hollow ache of loss and the faint, lingering presence of the one person who had meant the world to him.

"Grandma... I miss you," he whispered.

The crow let out another caw, its feathers ruffling gently as it perched closer to him, a silent companion in his grief.

The days that followed were heavy with sorrow. The funeral lasted for what felt like an eternity, each day dragging on with the weight of grief that seemed impossible to bear. Morvane, Luna by his side, could hardly find the strength to stand, let alone speak. Together, they stood beside the urn, the only remnants of his grandmother’s life, feeling the emptiness that seemed to stretch on forever.

Luna, too, was devastated. She had known the depth of Morvane’s loss, had felt his pain since the moment his grandmother passed. She had always been a constant in his life, even when others turned away, and now she felt the loss acutely. Her own tears flowed freely as she stood with him, their silence a reflection of their shared sorrow.

Morvane’s thoughts remained dark and tumultuous. The only person who had ever truly cared for him, who had believed in him when no one else did, was now gone. The only family he had left—his guiding star—had been taken. And with that loss, he felt a part of himself slipping away, his identity unraveling in the face of this unending grief.

As the funeral dragged on, one by one, figures of power arrived to pay their respects, each bringing their own weight to the somber occasion.

Vianna, the queen of Nirvath, arrived with a solemn expression. Her regal presence did little to ease the heaviness in the air, but her soft, comforting words reached Morvane. "I know how much she meant to you, Morvane. Her strength was undeniable, and it will live on in you."

Her words, though kind, felt distant to Morvane. He wasn’t sure if anything could bring him solace.

Crimson, the king of Katakwan, came next. His usually confident, commanding demeanor was replaced by quiet respect. He offered a deep bow and a quiet word of condolence. "The loss of a loved one is never easy. You have my deepest sympathy, Morvane."

And then, Medas arrived. His face was etched with regret, his eyes red from tears. He stood a distance away, not daring to approach, but his presence alone was a reminder of all the things that had been left unspoken between them.

Morvane didn’t look at him. He didn’t want to. There was too much pain between them, too many wrongs that had yet to be righted. But Medas stood there, silent, watching. His presence was like a reminder of all the lost time, and Morvane couldn’t bring himself to meet his gaze.

The funeral went on for days, each moment blending into the next, with no real sense of closure. Luna stayed close, as she always did, offering what little comfort she could, but even her presence couldn’t ease the ache in Morvane’s heart.

As the final day of the ceremony approached, Morvane found himself standing alone for a moment. The wind blew gently through the trees, carrying with it the scent of flowers, the same flowers that had surrounded him in his grandmother’s house.

"Why?" he whispered to the wind, his voice breaking. "Why was she taken from me? Why does it always have to be the ones who care?"

His eyes closed, and for a fleeting moment, he almost felt like he could hear her voice, soft and comforting, as if she were still there with him.

But when he opened his eyes, she was gone. And with that, he understood. The pain would never fully leave, but he would have to find a way to move forward. For her. For the love she had given him. For the family he had lost.

Luna approached him quietly, her voice gentle. "It’s time, Morvane. She would want you to live on. For her. For yourself."

Morvane nodded, his heart heavy but determined. There was no going back. The funeral was coming to an end, and it was time for him to face the future—whatever that might hold.

The funeral had finally ended, and the heavy silence that followed seemed even more oppressive. Morvane stood alone in the quiet courtyard, his mind still swirling with the loss of his grandmother and the aftermath of everything that had happened. It was then that Medas, after much hesitation, gathered his courage and approached him.

"Mor—"

Before Medas could finish, a guard came rushing toward them, his face pale with urgency.

"Your majesty, the kid with fire magic escaped," the guard panted. "We don’t know how he did it, but the metals that were supposed to be indestructible, the ones used to keep him locked up, they’ve melted."

Medas’ eyes widened in confusion, but Morvane’s expression hardened immediately. The moment the guard finished speaking, it was as if something inside Morvane snapped. He turned sharply, his voice cold and filled with raw anger.

"That kid... He’s the one who killed my grandmother."

Morvane clenched his fists, his anger seething beneath the surface. "I will find him. I will make him pay for what he did. He won’t escape this time."

Without another word, Morvane turned and started toward the house’s entrance, his resolve clear. Medas watched him go, his own heart heavy with guilt and confusion. What did this mean for him? For his own role in this twisted chain of events?

"Wait, Morvane," Medas called out, his voice breaking the silence. "What do you want me to do?"

Morvane paused but didn’t turn back. His voice was low, filled with quiet fury.

"Stay out of my way, Medas. I don’t need your help."

The words struck Medas like a blow. He watched Morvane walk away, the weight of his actions sinking in deeper. He wasn’t sure what the future held, but he knew one thing for certain—the path he had taken was leading him to places he could never have imagined.

Morvane’s footsteps echoed through the hall as he stormed away, Medas and the guards scrambling to keep up with his pace. His mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, all focused on one thing—getting to the boy, the one who had killed his grandmother.

Suddenly, a guard came running toward him, breathless, his face a mask of fear.

"There’s something we found."

Morvane’s eyes narrowed, his heart skipping a beat. "What’s that? Give that to me."

"The fire magic user... he’s already gone. But... there’s something else. We found this..."

The guard handed him a blood-soaked letter. Morvane’s hands trembled as he unfolded it. The words on the page were clear, but they felt like they were burning into his soul.

"We will see each other again, my friend."

The ink began to smear with the blood that soaked the paper.

Morvane’s breath caught in his throat as the words slipped from his lips, each one laced with venom. He looked up, his eyes wide with a mix of disbelief and fury. The sudden weight of the threat that had just escaped him hung in the air, thick and chilling.

His gaze shifted toward the cell where Esmael lay, still and silent, as if untouched by the chaos and torment that had just unfolded. Morvane’s hands balled into fists at his sides, his body trembling with rage, the full force of his fury barely contained. "I’ll find you, Esmael, and let you taste the bitterness of your death." The words were harsh, dark, a promise whispered with the kind of intent that could only come from the deepest well of hatred.

The room seemed to grow colder with each syllable, as if the very air around him recoiled from the depth of his anger. The quiet in the cell now felt suffocating, the silence punctuated by the weight of his declaration.

Morvane’s eyes never wavered from Esmael’s still form, but the words weren’t just for him. They were for Medas, for the grief that had torn through him, for the guilt that haunted him, and for the memories that couldn’t be erased. But most of all, they were for Hiraya—the one whose death had started this chain of destruction.

Morvane took a step forward, his breath shaky but determined, his pulse pounding in his ears.

He could feel the cold sweat that had begun to form on the back of his neck, the heat of his fury surging like wildfire. "You think you can hide, Esmael?" he muttered under his breath, the words nearly a growl.

"You think you can escape what you’ve done?" His heart pounded with an urgency that matched his words, the need for justice—no, for retribution—coursing through him with a fierceness that was almost physical.

He couldn’t let go of the pain, the betrayal, the death that had been caused by one reckless act. Morvane was no longer just seeking answers; now, it was a pursuit of vengeance that would stop at nothing. The tension in his chest deepened, and as his eyes stayed fixed on Esmael, he knew the path ahead would be paved in blood.