CHAPTER 531: THE WEIGHT OF DUTY

Lara personally came that afternoon to fetch the three children. Reya stood with them by the gate, their small luggage bags neatly arranged beside them — each one handcrafted by Lina and the women of Gabriella, lovingly stitched with colorful thread and charm pendants to ward off misfortune.

The rhythmic clatter of hooves echoed down the gravel path before the carriage came into view. It was a modest horse-drawn carriage, its wooden panels polished to a soft gleam in the sunlight. When it came to a stop, Lara stepped down gracefully, her eyes scanning the area, searching for a familiar faces.

"Sister, you finally came!" Pamela and Ivy cried out in unison, their voices full of excitement. They rushed forward and wrapped their arms around her waist, laughing breathlessly. Lara’s expression softened; she bent down, brushing their hair tenderly with her hand.

Her gaze then fell upon Ivan, who stood with his back straight, hands clasped in front of him like a miniature gentleman. The sight made her chuckle. She reached out to ruffle his hair, earning a faint frown from the boy as he quickly tried to fix it again — his effort only making it worse.

As Lara turned back toward the gate, something caught her eye. Through the narrow gap of the opened gate, she saw a figure moving away — the hem of a white tunic swaying lightly in the afternoon breeze. Her brow creased.

"Excuse me a moment," she murmured to Reya, then stepped through the gate, following the fleeting silhouette down the path lined with small trees that led toward the martial arts school beside the manor.

"Sandoz, wait up," she called as she quickened her pace.

She found him seated at a stone table beneath a broad Narra tree, his shoulders slightly hunched. He was kicking the few small times away. The golden light filtering through the leaves dappled his pale face.

"Why are you here?" Lara asked gently as she approached. "Aren’t you coming with the others?"

Sandoz lifted his head. The sadness in his eyes was unmistakable — raw and unguarded. He quickly looked away, as though ashamed to be seen like that. He was still just a boy, not yet eleven; too young to hide the turmoil that weighed on him.

"I still have to train," he said softly, his voice low and heavy with melancholy.

Lara sat beside him, resting an arm over his shoulder. "You can continue your training at Helian Manor," she said. "You don’t have to stay behind."

She studied him quietly for a moment. She knew why he pushed himself so relentlessly. He is the only son of Duke Connor Arces. He carried a burden far too heavy for his small frame. The tragedy of the trafficking incident years ago had already stolen precious time from him, setting him behind in his studies and training. Now, he needed to catch up.

He really envied Ivan. He only trained a little bit, and he could play afterwards.

"Don’t shoulder everything on your own, Sandoz," Lara said, turning slightly to face him. Her tone softened, like the hush before twilight. "You are still a child. You’ll only have this phase once in your life — don’t let it slip away. Time won’t wait for you."

Sandoz hesitated, his lips parting as if he wanted to speak, then closing again. Finally, he whispered, "But... Sister—" He stopped himself, lowering his gaze. He wanted to tell her that he longed to play too — with Ivan, with Ivy, even with Pamela, the lively girl just a year younger than him.

"What is it?" Lara asked, her curiosity gentle, patient.

He swallowed hard. "Master wouldn’t agree," he murmured, his voice cracking slightly.

Lara smiled, her eyes kind. "Don’t worry," she said, squeezing his shoulder reassuringly. "I’ll speak to my master. Just come along — and don’t pack too much. Only what you truly need."

For the first time that day, a faint glimmer of relief crossed Sandoz’s face, fragile but real — like the first light of dawn breaking through the mist.

The Narra tree swayed gently overhead, its broad leaves rustling in the soft wind. The air smelled faintly of blooming flowers in the distance, a calm before the storm.

Lara stayed beside Sandoz in quiet companionship, watching as the young boy absently traced circles on the stone table with his finger.

For a while, neither spoke. The silence between them was not awkward — it was the kind that invited truth.

Finally, Sandoz drew a deep breath, his small shoulders rising and falling. "Sister Lara," he began, his voice barely more than a whisper, "do you think... I’m too young to carry a name like mine?"

Lara turned to him, her gaze soft but steady. "What makes you ask that?"

He hesitated, then clenched his fists on his knees. "Because everyone keeps reminding me who I am — the son of Duke Connor Arces, heir to the Duchy of Arches." He said the words as if they were a chain he could not remove. "They say I have to be strong, to make Father proud, to protect our people one day. But..." His voice faltered. "What if I can’t?"

Lara watched him closely. The boy’s jaw trembled with effort as he tried to hold himself together — the composure of nobility already drilled into him, but beneath it all was just a child afraid to fail.

"You think you’re not enough?" she asked gently.

He nodded, his gaze fixed on the table. "When I see Ivan or Ivy, they can laugh easily. They don’t think about what will happen if they make a mistake. But for me... every mistake feels like the whole world will notice. Every failure feels like I’m disappointing Father all over again."

He swallowed, his small voice wavering. "Sometimes, I wish I could just be Sandoz, the boy who lived with you in Galeya’s Throne in Mount Roca — not the heir, not the duke’s son. Just me."

Lara was silent for a long moment, the weight of his words sinking deep into her chest. She reached out and brushed a strand of hair away from his forehead.

"Sandoz," she said softly, "your father’s title may belong to you one day, but the person you are — that’s something no title can define. You’re not born to live up to a name. A name becomes great because of the person who carries it. Remember, you are you."

The boy looked up at her, eyes wide and uncertain. "But... what if I fail?"

"Then you learn and stand again," Lara replied simply. "Even your father once did. Every great man, every great woman, begins as someone unsure. The only difference between those who rise and those who don’t is that the first group keeps walking, even when their legs wobble."

Sandoz’s lips pressed together. He wanted to believe her — truly wanted to — but the burden on his shoulders was years ahead of what a ten-year-old should bear.

Lara sighed. She pulled Sandoz into a tight embrace, as she used to whenever he felt down. "Have you forgotten the things I taught you before?"