The gang pressed forward, the road narrowing into the town's edge. Colden's hands trembled as he untied Isabelle and his brothers, the ropes falling away like broken chains. Isabelle collapsed into his arms, her sobs raw, her body shaking. She clung to him, her tears soaking his shoulder.
"My son…" she whispered, voice breaking. "My son…"
Colden held her firmly, his own chest heavy. "It's ok," he said, his voice steady, though his heart burned. Isabelle wiped her tears, forcing herself to stand tall, her sorrow contained. The brothers followed, silent, their eyes wide with fear and awe.
Together, they moved deeper into the town. The streets bustled with travelers, merchants, and whispers. Colden's eyes darted, his ears sharp, his mind restless. He stopped passersby, asking questions, searching for fragments of Marco's trail.
From the murmurs, a strange truth emerged. The mourning carriage — draped in black, adorned with lavender crests — belonged to the Lavender family. It had been seen in every town across the region, a procession of grief that seemed endless.
Colden frowned, his thoughts twisting. Why would a single family parade their mourning through every town? What game is this?
He pressed on, his questions sharper. At a market booth, he leaned toward a seller, his voice low, urgent. "Have you observed anything suspicious? Someone brought in, hidden, taken?"
The seller narrowed his eyes, his tone wary. "Mister, you're mentioning some pretty specific things. This town's amidst a grave murder in sight. You might wanna check that."
Colden's breath caught. His mind raced. A murder… it must be tied to Marco's kidnapping. It has to be.
The streets grew louder, hustling voices rising, the crowd swelling. Colden's ears caught whispers of a noble's arrival. A duke's close relative. A grand funeral.
Austin.
The name struck him like a blade. His memory surged — Marco's voice, trembling, recounting a strange encounter with this noble. The unease, the cruelty, the shadow of danger.
Rage ignited in Colden's chest, burning through his veins. His eyes sharpened, his breath quickened. He moved forward, Isabelle and the brothers trailing behind, their steps hesitant.
Then — the carriage arrived.
Decorated with garlands, draped in exquisite fabrics, its wheels gleaming, its horses adorned. The crowd parted, murmuring, bowing, watching.
Austin stepped out.
His smile was sharp, his eyes glistening with pride, his movements slithering with arrogance. He basked in the crowd's gaze, his achievements dripping from his posture.
Colden's vision blurred. His blood boiled. His eyes turned crimson, rage consuming him.
He lunged.
With blood red eyes, Colden leapt onto the carriage, his hands gripping Austin's collar. The guards shouted, rushing forward, their blades drawn. Isabelle hid behind the crowd, her breath sharp, her body trembling.
Austin sneered, his voice dripping with venom. "What happened, Windemere? Don't see your blonde hooter around."
Colden's fist clenched. He punched Austin hard, the blow cracking against his jaw. The crowd gasped, their voices rising in shock, in fear, in awe.
The guards swarmed, pulling Colden back, restraining him, their grips iron. Isabelle cried out, her voice breaking, her body shaking. The brothers struggled, caught in the chaos, dragged into arrest.
The crowd hummed, their voices a storm. Whispers spread, fear grew, tension thickened.
And from the cliffs above — a shadow watched.
Marco.
His eyes widened, his breath caught, his body trembling. Tears spilled, his chest burning, his soul breaking.
He wept.
He wept as he saw Colden, after so long, after so painfully long. His heart shattered, his voice silent, his tears endless.
The world spun, the storm raged, the prophecy loomed.
TO BE CONTINUED…
NEXT CHAPTER ON 30th March 2026