The forest road smelled of blood, churned earth, and scorched magic.
Torches flickered as Nightshade guards secured the perimeter, their boots crunching over broken arrows and discarded weapons.
Healers moved efficiently among the wounded, applying salves and channeling faint restoration magic.
The Duke’s voice cut through the night like a blade, issuing orders with cold precision.
The Duchess stood nearby, her sharp eyes scanning every shadow as if expecting another wave.
Inside the damaged carriage, Lucien sat pressed against the far wall, chest still heaving.
His cheek stung where the arrow had grazed it, a thin line of blood drying on his pale skin.
Elara leaned opposite him, one hand clamped over her shoulder wound while a healer carefully cleaned it.
The silence between the siblings felt different now—heavier, but not entirely uncomfortable.
“You held the barrier longer than I thought you could,” Elara said quietly, wincing as the healer applied a bandage.
Her usual mocking tone was absent, replaced by something closer to cautious curiosity.
“Those last shadows… they weren’t weak.”
Lucien swallowed, trying to steady his voice.
“Didn’t want to end up as forest fertilizer tonight.”
Understatement.
I was one bad roll away from becoming a cautionary tale.
“Here lies Lucien, the delivery boy who got isekai’d and immediately speedran a bad end.” My heart’s still doing dubstep in my ribcage.
Elara let out a short, breathy laugh that turned into a cough.
The healer murmured apologies and worked faster.
When the woman finally stepped back, bowing deeply before leaving them alone, Elara flexed her bandaged shoulder experimentally.
“These attackers weren’t common bandits,” she continued, voice low enough that it wouldn’t carry outside.
“The coordination, the enchanted weapons… someone with resources wanted this to succeed.
Perhaps the same someone who dislikes our family’s recent favor with the prince.”
Lucien nodded slowly.
The subtext was clear: court rivalries didn’t end at the palace gates.
The Nightshades had enemies—many of them—and tonight’s ambush proved they were willing to strike at the children.
“Think it’ll happen again?”
Elara’s eyes met his.
“Almost certainly.
Which means we need to be ready.” She paused, studying him.
“You fought like you actually cared whether I lived or died.
That’s… new.”
Yeah, because in the original novel you both end up as tragic villains.
I’m not about to let that plot railroad us if I can help it.
“I’m tired of being the family liability,” Lucien replied simply.
It wasn’t the full truth, but it was close enough.
His expression was thunderous but controlled.
“Report.”
Elara straightened as best she could.
“Eight attackers, well-trained.
Shadow and wind affinities mixed with conventional weapons.
We held them until reinforcements arrived.”
The Duke’s gaze shifted to Lucien, lingering on the graze on his cheek.
“And you, boy?”
“I helped,” Lucien said, keeping it short.
“Didn’t want to die.”
A long silence followed.
The Duke grunted.
“Unexpected.
Both of you will be examined by the head healer upon return.
This incident will not go unanswered.” He turned to leave, then paused.
“See that your new… cooperation continues.
The family needs strength, not division.”
As he walked away, Elara relaxed slightly.
“He’s pleased.
In his way.”
The carriages were repaired enough to continue.
The rest of the ride home passed in tense vigilance.
Lucien found himself dozing fitfully despite the adrenaline, only to jolt awake at every creak of the wheels.
Elara stayed awake longer, her fingers idly tracing shadow patterns on the seat—practicing, or perhaps just thinking.
Back at the Nightshade estate, the main healer—a stern older woman with deep affinity for restoration magic—insisted on thorough checks.
Lucien’s graze was cleaned and sealed with a cool balm that tingled unpleasantly.
Elara’s shoulder required more work: stitches, a stronger poultice, and strict orders to rest.
Afterward, they found themselves in one of the smaller sitting rooms, a fire crackling in the hearth despite the mild night.
Servants brought warm drinks and light food, then discreetly withdrew.
The room felt almost peaceful compared to the forest chaos.
Elara sipped her tea carefully.
“Tell me more about that dream of yours.
The one that supposedly changed you.”
“It was like living another life.
No titles.
No expectations.
Just… simpler problems.” He offered a small smile.
“Made me realize how quickly things can end if you’re not careful.”
She watched him over the rim of her cup.
“And in this other life, did you have siblings who tormented you?”
Oof.
She’s probing.
Smart.
“Something like that,” he said lightly.
“But we’re stuck with each other here.
Might as well make it useful.”
Elara set her cup down.
For a moment, the firelight softened her sharp features.
“Perhaps.
If you keep fighting like you did tonight, I might even stop calling you ‘little monster.'”
Lucien chuckled despite himself.
“High bar.”
They sat in companionable silence for a while, the crackling fire the only sound.
The bond between them remained fragile—forged in blood and necessity rather than affection—but it was there.
Lucien’s mind wandered to the larger picture: the academy looming, the heroine’s eventual arrival, and the complex web of noble power where shadow affinities like theirs were both weapon and liability.
Enemies were moving.
They would need to be smarter, stronger, and more united if they wanted to rewrite their fates.
Later, as servants escorted them to their rooms, Elara paused at the hallway split.
“Sleep well, brother.
Tomorrow we train together.
Properly.”
Lucien nodded.
“Wouldn’t miss it.”
Alone in his grand bedroom, he finally collapsed onto the bed, staring at the ornate ceiling.
The day’s events replayed in his head—the fear, the desperate locking in, the small victory of survival and connection.
We bought some time.
But the real game is just starting.
No more rookie mistakes.