CHAPTER 219: CHILDHOOD

"It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Luna," said the bald man who welcomed her into his modest yet dignified office.

He was the governor of the village—Tord, a man responsible for the lives of hundreds—whose lands technically fell under *lAethernox’s jurisdiction despite being so close to another nation’s border.

A strange arrangement, one that made the village feel like a lone pebble caught between the territories of two giants.

It was, in essence, a border town.

Under ordinary circumstances, villages in such positions were always war-prone, cursed with the constant tension of waiting for armies to march over their fields.

But Aethernox and Emberclad were not enemies—never had been. They had their differences, disagreements that sparked debates and arguments in courts and councils, but never battles. Argon, the ruler of Emberclad, had never seen Aethernox as a threat.

And so, this village had survived without ever suffering the iron bite of warfare.

But that didn’t mean they were not suffering.

"I have talked to several villagers, and the reports are... rather concerning," Luna muttered, resting her hands on the edge of the wooden table. "The sickness is spreading aggressively. People have already begun considering migration."

Her tone dipped slightly at the last word.

It was mostly the younger generation who saw leaving as the solution—eyes filled with ambition, fear, and practicality.

But the elderly refused to abandon the land where their ancestors lived and died.

*Home is protected,* they believed, *not forsaken.*

Tord exhaled a long, weary sigh and rubbed his temples. "I sent a letter two weeks ago about this," he said. "The sickness surfaced four weeks ago when an elderly man was spotted coughing violently in the village. He stopped eating, and whenever he drank water, he complained that his throat burnt. In the end..."

His voice lowered.

"...he couldn’t survive more than two days."

Luna nodded. She had already heard fragments of how it began—soft whispers from the villagers, stitched together into a grim picture.

The old man had been a lifelong resident of this village, so the chances of an outsider planting this sickness were near zero.

"Do you know where he came from before he fell ill?" Luna asked, silver hair shifting slightly as she leaned forward. "Maybe a specific place? If so, we should investigate that region. It might help us counter the illness."

Tord clasped his hands together and replied, "He visited the graveyard. It’s built just outside the village, on the opposite end from where you entered. You might not have seen it."

Luna nodded thoughtfully. "Have you investigated the place?"

"We did," Tord replied immediately. "But nothing suspicious turned up. The old man didn’t eat or sense anything unusual there. He simply went to offer food and water to his late son."

Luna leaned back in her seat, humming under her breath as she processed every piece of information.

The room grew quiet—uncomfortably quiet—until Tord broke the silence with a question that carried a mixture of hope and desperation.

"I heard you’re a genius medic, Miss Luna," he said. "Can you not help them?"

Of course he knew.

Naturally, the Chaos Heir and his wives were topics on every tongue these days. And among those names, Luna’s specialty as a healer was well-known.

The silver-haired girl sighed softly, her expression tightening with guilt. "I tried healing one patient," she admitted. "It seemed to work at first, but all I did was slow down the infection. They will still die... just at a later date."

Her strongest spell—something capable of stitching together ruptured muscles and restoring fractured mana pathways—could only delay the inevitable.

It was humiliating. Infuriating.

And worst of all... heartbreaking.

She wanted to do more.

She wanted to use her blood—phoenix blood, sacred and potent enough to cure almost anything: curses, plagues, injuries, corruptions, perhaps even death itself.

But she had sworn an oath.

A sacred promise to her grandmother... and to her husband.

She was never to reveal her origin.

Not unless her own life hung in the balance.

So even though she had a cure flowing through her veins, she couldn’t use it.

Not freely.

Not openly.

Not without consequences that could shatter the fragile stability of everything she held dear.

Unless she discovered the source of this plague and eliminated it entirely, her hands were tied in chains forged by loyalty and love.

Tord’s shoulders slumped. "There aren’t many remarkable things about this village," he said softly, "except for our unity... and our devotion to Lord Zerathos. But with this ailment spreading like wildfire, even that trust is beginning to crumble."

Luna’s brows drew together.

Her teeth pressed into her lower lip.

No.

She couldn’t let that happen.

Not just for the sake of her quest.

Not for the reputation she carried as a healer.

But for something far deeper—something personal.

This village worshipped Zerathos.

Zerathos... whose new identity was Hades.

Her husband.

Her lord.

Her anchor.

She would never allow trust in him to waver—not while she could still stand and breathe and fight.

She rose from her chair, her silver hair cascading behind her like a blade of moonlight.

"I will do something about this," she said.

Not a suggestion.

A declaration.

....

Hades and Peri strolled through the village as evening draped itself across the sky in soft amber hues.

The air carried a pleasant coolness, the kind that urged people out of their homes to enjoy the breeze, share a moment, or simply wander without purpose.

Families chatted near stalls, children tugged at their mothers’ sleeves, and elders gathered on wooden benches, discussing the quiet rhythm of the day.

A lively market stretched along the street—rows of vendors selling daily essentials, freshly baked bread, bundles of herbs, simple crafts, and handmade toys.

This particular market served the locals; the true tourist market lay near the outskirts, far flashier, louder, and more vibrant. That was the place from where Hades had recently bought gifts for Beatrice and Peri.

But this one, nestled deeper inside the capital, felt different. It was quieter, more intimate, steeped in familiarity.

Only villagers walked these paths, and almost everyone seemed to know one another.

Hades held Peri’s hand as they walked, fingers intertwined, their pace slow and comfortable. Every now and then, someone called out Peri’s name from behind a stall, offering her a warm smile or a small treat.

One woman even waved a pastry at her, claiming it was fresh from the oven.

Peri smiled graciously each time, her expression glowing with nostalgia. It was obvious—she belonged here.

This was where she grew up, where every lane held a memory, where every shopkeeper had once watched her run around like a little whirlwind.

Naturally, Hades drew plenty of attention too—not only because of the flaming red hair that made him look like walking fire, but because of how close he was to Peri.

The way he held her hand, the subtle softness in his gaze, the unspoken intimacy—they were impossible to miss.

Villagers whispered behind their palms, some smiling knowingly, others wide-eyed with curiosity.

"People love you," Hades murmured, squeezing her hand gently. "Well, that’s no surprise. I can only imagine how adorable you must’ve been during your childhood days."

Peri blinked at him, pouting dramatically. "Am I not adorable now?"

A small laugh escaped him. "You are beautiful now. Stunning, really. But yes... when you make a face like that, you look cute."

She huffed, leaning against him as if claiming him publicly. "Of course I’m their favorite. I used to run around this market ten times a day. Half my friends lived nearby. And I was very intelligent, you know—I used to buy groceries from a very young age."

Hades considered her for a moment, eyes softening with amusement. "I can absolutely picture a tiny Peri sprinting to the stores, clutching a shopping bag, demanding things from every shopkeeper she passed."

Peri giggled, her voice laced with both pride and embarrassment. "Well, yes... maybe it was in my blood or maybe because I was a Princess. I used to be very demanding and stubborn. Always bossing people around."

There was a soft glow in her eyes—not arrogance, but nostalgia. Hades could see it clearly: the echoes of a younger Peri running barefoot through these very streets, fearless, bright, and adored.

He tightened the grip around her hand and voiced, "Thank you...for letting me be a part of this...your childhood, your memories."

Peri shyly smiled. Glancing at him she muttered, "Of course, you can be. You are my better half now...everything what’s mine is yours too."

Hades smiled as he brought her hand up and kissed her fingers, "I love you, Peri."

The blond elf, despite being shy, didn’t avert her gaze and responded, "I love you too."

Enjoying each other’s presence they wandered in the town for some more time before deciding to return.

It was quite a beautiful day.

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