The Child No One Wanted
Lowen was born into the Von Geldor family as a mistake... No, not even a mistake—he was a stain, a shameful reminder of his father’s sin. He was a bastard child, the price of a moment of selfish indulgence. His mother, a maid with neither voice nor rights, was never treated as a person. When she was forced to carry him in her womb, it was not by her choice.
She could not run, nor could she even weep. The duke’s wife, Selina Darkmoor, could not stand her presence—could not bear to see the woman carrying living proof of her husband’s betrayal. So she took her away... And when she returned, the earth had already swallowed her blood, and her body had disappeared into a darkness no one dared to search.
No one knew where she had gone. No one cared. But the child—the child who had done nothing wrong—was left alone, left to wonder every day:
"Where is my mother?"
He was young when he understood that no one would speak of her. He was young when he realized that no one wanted him to exist.
So, when the world began to tear apart his childhood, he had nowhere to seek refuge but the sword.
He entered the Empire’s military camp with nothing but his name... and a wound in his heart that refused to heal. He was stronger than anyone—not because of talent alone, but because he had no other choice.
He had to be strong... or be crushed by the world.
And when he rose through the ranks, when his name began to echo across the kingdom, it was not for glory. It was simply to survive.
But strength was not enough to save him.
It was not enough to save her.
A Love That Could Not Be Forgiven
She was not a princess. She was not a noble. She had no name that was whispered in the halls of the great, yet she was the only one who made him feel human. She did not see a title, a sword, or a tool of war—she saw him, for who he truly was, not who the world wanted him to be.
And when he held her hand in front of everyone, he did not know that he had just signed his own death sentence.
His wife—the cold, silent woman chosen for him—did not say a word. But her gaze alone was enough to declare his end.
And that night, his fate was sealed in ice and blood.
The First Punishment – The Breaking of the Body
"If you kneel, we might forgive you."
But they did not forgive him.
The torment came slowly—bone by bone, as if time itself had conspired to prolong his suffering. The first crack was in his arm, a muffled scream mixing with the sound of his bones fracturing under calculated pressure. He was not strong enough to die, nor weak enough to be spared. The sound of his suffering echoed through the palace halls, a melody of punishment, a hymn of agony.
Then came his leg. The break was not sudden—it bent slowly, a faint creak preceding the final shatter, as if the pain itself hesitated before consuming him. They froze his limbs until his flesh crumbled like autumn leaves, his nerves remaining awake only to record every flicker of torment. And when they thawed him, the blood rushing back into his veins burned like molten fire, reviving every nerve only to be tortured again.
And then they did it all over again. Slowly, methodically, as though they were sculptors experimenting to see which stroke would cause the deepest pain, which angle would break his spirit before his body.
His screams were not just sounds—they were the unraveling of something deeper, the bleeding of his very soul.
And when they were done, they threw him into a cell, barely alive.
The Second Punishment – The Breaking of the Mind
They brought them before him—his children, Luna and Ian. His eyes, swollen with pain, searched their faces for something familiar, for a trace of warmth he had once seen in them, for even a sliver of the love he had spent his life trying to plant in their hearts.
But he found nothing.
Luna stood before him, her small face now carrying a coldness that no child should ever possess, her eyes as frigid as the northern ice. For a moment, he tried to convince himself that this was a trick, another of Frost’s deceptions.
But then her voice came—clear, sharp, cutting like the edge of a blade:
"Servant, clean this place."
A few words. Just a few. But they felt like a dagger sliding slowly into his chest, shattering something inside him that no sword could ever break.
Her gaze was not just one of contempt—it was the gaze of someone who saw only a servant before her. A thing, without worth, without history, without memory.
He tried to call her name, to scream, but the words choked him. His body was aflame with agony, but it was his heart that was now truly shattered.
The Third Punishment – Stripping Away Humanity
They were cruel enough not to kill him. No, death would have been a mercy he did not deserve—not yet. They stripped him, not just of his clothes, but of his dignity, his last remnants of humanity, and dragged him to the frozen wilderness.
The air cut into his skin like invisible knives, his body collapsing onto the unforgiving snow. This was not a prison. It was not even a place of torture. It was an execution of a different kind—a slow, merciless death.
They knew nature would do their work for them. The cold, the hunger, the fear—all would conspire to break him in ways no blade could.
There was no hesitation in their eyes this time, no respect for his strength. They did not see a warrior or a knight. They saw prey.
When the first fang sank into his leg, he did not scream. The physical pain was nothing compared to what had already been done to him. He felt the warm blood trickle down his frozen skin, the heat of life meeting the chill of death. The wolves were in no hurry. They took their time, tearing into him piece by piece, making him feel everything.
But he was not thinking of death. He was not even thinking of revenge.
The only thing that left his trembling lips was:
"Forgive me... Luna, Ian... Elinor... I’m sorry... for being weak."
But his suffering did not end in death.
That would not have been enough for the Frost family.
In the days that followed, Elinor’s village no longer existed. Thıs text ıs hosted at novel⸺fire.net
Not a single wall stood. Not a single stone remained in place. As if the very earth had rejected its memory. The houses burned to nothing but blackened ash, mixing with the falling snow until the ground was stained a miserable gray—a graveyard of dreams reduced to cinders.
It was not a battle. Not a war. Not even vengeance.
No one survived. Not the children. Not the elders. Not even the women who had never known Luwin’s name.
And then, it was Luna and Ian’s turn.
They stood before the Frost court, where hearts knew only ice and justice was nothing but a sword.
"Kill them... erase this stain from our blood."
The words were simple, final, unquestionable.
But before the sentence could be carried out, the decree arrived.
A royal decree, sealed with imperial gold.
When it was opened, no one dared defy it.
"The blood of Knight Lowen is forbidden from harm. The children, Luna and Ian, are granted imperial protection—until further notice."
It was not mercy. It was not kindness.
The Emperor was a hunter who knew when to let the prey bleed—until it came to him willingly.
And so, Lowen’s story ended.
Or perhaps... it had only just begun.