But upon hearing it, I didn't feel anything.
Not anger. Not sadness. Nothing.
Maybe because I only knew my father by name. A fraction of his image.
No memories. No fondness. Nothing.
"I see," I said simply.
Sieg gave a small nod, his voice calm. "He had gone mad, trying to erase all Skarnhaal by himself. Thought we, humans, were better than any other race."
He kept walking, his tone almost indifferent—like he was telling me about some other man, some distant legend.
"At first, though, he was doing it for money. He was a sellsword. Willing to kill anything for the right price. And every King in Valkthara was willing to pay him good coin to make the Skarnhaal disappear from this land."
I listened, my boots crunching softly against the ground as I followed.
"But later on—" Sieg exhaled sharply. "It wasn't about money anymore."
His eyes didn't leave the path ahead.
"It was about hate."
"He believed he had to kill every single one of them."
Then—a pause.
"Including King Edric's wife."
I stopped in my tracks.
"...King Edric's wife was a Skarnhaal?"
"Aye," Sieg said.
His voice was flat, but there was something beneath it. Something close to disgust.
"Though, Edric only used her as a breeding machine."
I frowned. "What?"
Sieg exhaled sharply. "He had a screwed-up mind. Thought that if he bred with a Skarnhaal, he could create something better. A superior race. Stronger than humans. Smarter than Skarnhaal."
His pace didn't slow.
"They had three children. The first two were twins—I still remember their names. Thalia and Roderick."
"But their mother sent them away when they were just kids," Sieg continued. "I don't know if they're still alive or not."
I let that settle for a moment.
Three children.
A mix of human and Skarnhaal.
Created for the sole purpose of being 'better.'
"And the last child?" I finally asked.
Sieg finally stopped walking.
He turned his head slightly, just enough for me to see his expression.
"Astrid."
"Which, judging by you standing here alone, I assume she's dead?" Sieg asked.
I nodded. Too quickly.
"Yes. Rhazan killed her."
Sieg was silent for a moment.
Then, he sighed. "Pity. Poor kid."
His tone was unreadable, but there was something almost tired in his voice.
"Her father didn't want her, you know. She reminded him of her mother the most."
My fists clenched slightly.
"The reason he sent her with you? It was never about helping you."
He turned his gaze toward me, his expression hard.
"He sent her to get rid of her."
We emerged on the surface of Drakenburg.
Midnight had settled over the city, the streets eerily quiet, lit only by flickering lanterns.
A fresh gust of cold air filled my lungs.
I hadn't realized how much I needed it.
Sieg didn't stop walking.
"Go to the inn," he said. "I'll meet you at the square tomorrow morning."
I frowned. "And the King?"
"Do not go see the King."
There was no room for argument in his voice.
And then, without another word—Sieg left me alone.
The streets of Drakenburg were quiet.
Not dead—just quiet.
Midnight had stripped the city of its noise, leaving only the distant sound of water dripping from rooftops and the occasional creak of wooden shutters swaying in the wind.
I walked aimlessly, my body moving on instinct, my mind still turning over everything.
Eindva. Sieg. Astrid.
I exhaled, watching the cold air curl from my lips.
At some point, my feet led me to a modest-looking inn, nestled between a blacksmith's shop and a candle-maker's stall. A sign above the door swayed lightly in the breeze, the name barely visible in the dim light.
The Hollow Hearth.
I pushed open the door.
The warmth inside hit me immediately, the scent of burning wood and old ale settling into my lungs.
The inn was mostly empty. A few men sat in the far corner, too drunk to care about anything but their cups. A single candle flickered at the main counter, where an older man—gray-bearded, barrel-chested, eyes sharp despite his age—leaned over, polishing a dented mug.
He barely glanced at me before speaking.
"Rooms are five silver a night. Food's extra."
I reached into my pouch, pulled out the coins, and slid them across the counter. "Just the room."
The innkeeper raised a bushy brow, his eyes flicking over me.
"No food?"
"Not hungry."
He let out a low grunt. "Strange. Most soldiers come in starving."
I said nothing.
He studied me a moment longer, then reached under the counter, pulling out a brass key.
"Room's upstairs. Third door on the right. Bath's in the back if you need one."
I took the key without a word and made my way up the stairs.
The room was small. Simple. A single bed, a wooden table, a basin of water.
I set my sword down, my fingers brushing over the hilt. Rhazan's head that I supposed to bring to the King, I also put it down. For the first time since leaving the underground, I felt… still.
Not calm. Just still.
Stripping off my gear, I stepped into the bath. The water was warm, but it didn't wash away the weight in my chest.
Astrid's blood on my hands.Sieg's words ringing in my ears.
I leaned back, letting the heat soak into my skin.
But it did nothing.
By the time I crawled into bed, my body exhausted but my mind hollow, sleep took me without a single dream.
Just blackness.