CHAPTER 129: LIKE FATHER LIKE SON

Hearing his father’s answer, Seamus could only laugh. In the end, Andrew still chose to keep everything buried instead of being honest.

"Why would I stay with someone who keeps secrets from me?" Seamus asked, his voice sharp and shaking.

"What if one day you decide being a father is too much and throw me away again?"

His teeth clenched, the sound cutting through the silence.

He took a step closer, voice rising with each word. "After all, isn’t it safer with the Velstrath than with you?"

In his whole life, his father had never truly looked at him. Maybe Andrew was afraid of what he would see: a reminder of his failures, or perhaps the ghost of Alice.

They shared the same face, the same eyes that Andrew could not bear to see.

He had thrown away everything connected to her—letters, photographs, every trace of her existence—maybe to protect his broken heart.

But Seamus was something he could not throw away, so he abandoned him instead.

Maybe Andrew hated him for killing his wife, for being the one left behind after Alice’s death.

"I would never do that, Seamus."

Andrew’s voice was firm, his eyes clearer than Seamus had ever seen them.

For once, there was no drink in his hand, no sarcasm in his tone. It reminded Seamus of a couple days ago, the only other time his father spoke of Alice without slurring her name.

"I will take care of you," Andrew said slowly.

"I’ll make you safe. Isolde’s path is full of danger. I know it. I lived it. That’s all you need to know."

Seamus frowned, the pieces falling together in his head. X was right, they were connected in the past.

He turned to Isolde, searching her expression for confirmation.

She met his gaze and smiled faintly. "He’s right. But I never forced you or guided you into my path."

"It isn’t that dramatic. I told you what you needed to do, and you chose to believe in me. If you are miserable, that’s not my fault. It’s yours."

Andrew laughed bitterly. The sound was heavy, worn, and full of something like pain.

"See? That’s what your future will be, Seamus. She’ll leave you when you’re no longer useful."

He grabbed his son by the shoulders and shook him hard. "Look at yourself. Look at what she’s done to you."

Seamus blinked, disoriented. His gaze drifted toward the cracked windowpane where the weak morning light spilled through.

His reflection looked back at him: tired eyes sunk deep in shadow, cheeks hollow, hair unkempt.

He looked like someone who hadn’t slept in days.

He wasn’t sure if there was still life in him. Maybe there never was.

All his life he had been chasing something he couldn’t name: money, safety, maybe meaning.

He was still just eighteen.

He didn’t know any better.

But life had slowed down when he met Viviane. The world became softer, full of color. He liked flowers because she did.

He walked through town because she loved the streets. He watched horror films because she laughed at them.

His favorite color was red because it reminded him of her hair when the wind caught it. Gold, like her eyes when they kissed for the first time.

Time with her had moved both slow and painfully fast. Every second stretched, every hour burned bright.

And standing there, staring at himself in the morning light, Seamus knew the path he would choose.

"I... I need to keep my promise to someone.’ Seamus answered, his voice wavered, "and if I come with you, I would never be able to do that."

"It’s because of that girl, isn’t it? Viviane."

Andrew raked a hand through his hair, pacing as if trying to escape the thought.

"You just met her, Seamus! Yes, you love her, but that feeling will pass, you’ll forget her in the end!"

He reached out, fingers trembling, and grabbed Seamus’s wrist. "So come with me instead!"

Seamus yanked his arm back, the sound of their clash echoing in the manor.

"Then look me in the eyes!" he shouted, stepping forward.

"When you see me, do you see me or do you see your wife?!"

Andrew froze, his breath uneven. His eyes darted away, jaw tight, shoulders hunched as if bracing for a blow.

"You can’t do it, can you?" Seamus’s voice cracked, his chest rising and falling too fast.

"Even after ten years, you’re still miserable! You can’t forget her!"

He grabbed his father’s collar, pulling him closer until their foreheads nearly touched. Andrew’s hands hovered in the air, unsure whether to push him away or hold him.

"I love her! I love her with all my life, and she was taken from me!" Seamus’s voice broke.

"Tell me, Dad, if I choose you, would I end up swallowed by regret for the rest of my life? Would I keep searching for peace I’ll never find because my peace is her?!"

He pressed his fist against his chest, veins visible down his arm. "Would I end up like you?!"

Andrew’s breath came rough and shallow. His lips parted, but words wouldn’t come. The air between them felt heavy.

Then, softly, he said, "Is what you feel love, Seamus... or guilt? So deep you’d throw your life away for it?"

"What?" Seamus frowned, taking a step back.

"You can’t answer because you know I’m right," Andrew said firmly. "You’re not just in love, you’re obsessed. You’re drowning in guilt and calling it love." His tone faltered for a moment.

"Don’t compare my love to your self-destruction. I loved your mother, but I could accept she was gone. At least I can live with that."

"Shut up! She can come back! Viviane can be revived!" Seamus shouted.

Andrew’s voice broke into weary sadness. "And where are you now, Seamus? Standing in the ruins of your misery, chasing an illusion."

"Even if she did come back, she wouldn’t be the same. She wouldn’t be the Viviane you love."

"So what?!" Seamus snapped, his voice raw. "At least I’m walking my own path! You’ll never understand my choice!"

He turned to leave.

"Seamus, you’ll regret this! Stop lying to yourself, she’ll never come back!" Andrew shouted, stepping forward.

But Isolde moved in between them, her expression unreadable, her voice smooth and sharp as glass.

"She will come back," she said, her smile calm, almost tender. "And I promise you, she will."

Seamus stopped mid-step, his head turning slightly.

"You keep saying that, but—"

"I can make a blood pact if you want me to."

Her words echoed through the room like a bell. Andrew’s face was drained of color.

"You’re insane!" he shouted. "Stop manipulating him! Don’t believe her, Seamus, it’s the same as making a deal with the devil!"

But Seamus didn’t care. He looked his father dead in the eyes and said, "Don’t stop me. My whole life, I’ve been begging you to stay, to guide me through life, but you never did."

His voice trembled slightly, but his stare didn’t waver. "Now I give up, and suddenly you want me?" He let out a short, bitter laugh.

"I don’t want to go back to the person who abandoned me. Let me choose my path, just like you chose yours."

Andrew’s shoulders sank as he shook his head. He took a deep breath, his hand covering his face for a moment before he let it drop to his side.

Maybe he had already given up, realizing Seamus had made up his mind. Or maybe shame finally caught up to him.

After a long silence, he turned toward Isolde and nodded. "Let’s do this."

Isolde’s smile was genuine, her tone calm but edged with gravity. "This pact will connect my soul with yours. Our promise and words will bind us until one of us is dead. Are you sure you’re prepared for that?"

"Yes," Seamus said quietly. "I am."

Isolde stepped closer. She reached for his hand, her touch cold yet steady. "Then repeat after me," she said.

"You may follow my first sentence, then state your own demand. The False God will judge if our exchange is equal."

Seamus nodded. He didn’t speak further; the exhaustion in his eyes spoke for him. He only wanted this to end.

With a silver blade drawn from her belt, Isolde cut her palm without flinching. Seamus followed, the sting making him hiss softly.

Their hands met, blood mingling and dripping between their fingers.

"I, Isolde of House Velstrath, loyal follower of the False God of the Undead, call upon you to witness my agreement with Seamus Velstrath," she began, her voice smooth and unyielding.

"I vow to help him revive Viviane Velstrath and protect him until the day my daughter returns to our side."

The blood on her palm stirred like a living thing, writhing and coiling upward before slithering toward his hand.

Between them, a faint red shimmer grew into a scale, its pendulum tilting heavily to Isolde’s side.

"Now," she said softly, "state what you want from me."

Seamus straightened, his voice steady but drained. "The False God, the cruel ruler of hell. I, Seamus Velstrath, demand that Isolde be honest in every plan she makes involving me. She will cease her deceit and treat me as her equal, not as a tool."

His blood reached toward hers, merging at the center. The scale was balanced.

Thin threads of crimson extended from their joined hands, weaving themselves into a glowing sigil, a crescent moon branded into their flesh.

When the mark was sealed, the air went still. The vow was complete.

"Good," Isolde said with a grin. "From now on, I’ll tell you everything. I am, after all, a woman of integrity."

Her voice dripped with amusement. "Now, shall we return to Velstrath?"

Seamus only nodded. Her hand still clasped his, firm and possessive, and it made his stomach twist. But he didn’t pull away. He had no choice.

He turned to his father one last time. Andrew stood frozen, eyes hollow and face drawn, finally tasting the same abandonment he had once given his son.

It was cruel, yet Seamus’s heart felt strangely calm.

"Goodbye, Dad," he said softly. "Let’s meet again next time."

Madeline approached, her steps light as the sigil beneath them ignited, a crimson circle with a serpent coiled at its center.

In a flash, Seamus, Isolde, and Madeline vanished, leaving only Andrew behind in the ruin of his misery.