The Tyrant’s Beloved Doll - Chapter 31

“I never thought I’d see something like this in my lifetime. It’s really beautiful, isn’t it?” Setz said, her voice filled with wonder.

“……”

“Oh, I can’t wait to tell Luna! Though she probably won’t believe me! I have to write this down in my journal, too. This is something I’ll want to remember forever!” Setz babbled on, her face glowing with joy. It was the first time Raytan had ever seen her so animated, so purely happy. She had always seemed a bit timid and reserved, holding herself back just a little…

And perhaps that was why—seeing her like this, all her barriers down, eyes sparkling in wonder—it struck Raytan as… endearing.

“Yeah,” he finally said, his voice soft.

“It does seem… worth it,” he added with a small smile.

He even let out a quiet chuckle. “Smashed cake and half-drunk water…” he murmured to himself. A dry laugh escaped his lips as he recalled the simplicity of their offering. It was laughable, really—bread made of wheat and water that wasn’t even full. Not to mention that they had used a dirty rock they’d dug up from the ground as a makeshift altar.

From a distance, perched high in a tree, Eaton couldn’t help but smile at the sight. Watching Setz’s excitement, the way her eyes lit up—it was adorable, like watching a child discover a new wonder.

Eaton’s gaze softened as he looked at Setz, then he slowly lowered his head, opening the hand he’d kept clenched tight. In his palm lay a small, weathered stone fragment, its surface worn smooth with age.

The name etched into the stone was almost entirely eroded, but the faint letters were still just barely visible.

Sharwhina.

Eaton stared down at the fragment in silence. This place, this lonely hill with its withered tree and barren soil, was her final resting place. It was here that Sharwhina had been laid to rest.

Once, during the age of Herais the Great, when he and Sharwhina had lived, this had been the site of Denhelder’s first and grandest temple—a sacred ground blessed and protected by the gods themselves.

The ancient temple had been colossal, far greater in size than the hollow shell of the temple built by Herais’s descendants. From this hill all the way to Rize’s palace, the land had once belonged to the gods. But after Eaton had fallen into his eternal slumber, everything had changed. The magnificent temple was reduced to ruins, and in its place, a hollow imitation was erected, a shadow of its former glory.

“Yes,” Eaton murmured quietly to himself, his voice filled with a mix of regret and resignation. “This is all just… an empty shell.”

He turned his gaze back to Setz, watching her laugh and marvel at the sight of the golden butterflies. He couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, even this fleeting joy was worth more than all the hollow grandeur the world had tried to recreate.

“Everything is just a shell. Denhelder, those foolish royals playing their games, and even this place itself…”

Eaton’s gaze hardened as he looked over the desolate hill where no grass grew. “But Sharwhina is buried here,” he thought, his voice filled with bitterness. He couldn’t understand why she ended up here. Why you? Why in this place? How dare you die on your own, without my permission, before I could… He clenched his teeth, the question lingering unanswered, with only the dry wind offering a reply.

Eaton’s eyes drifted to the barren hill. He had always been here, and she had always come to find him. They would sit by the tree, the same way those kids were sitting now.

“Look, Eaton! I found you again!”

A voice echoed in his memory, the playful yet earnest tone as clear as ever.

“Who doesn’t know where I am by now?”

“It’s not just that. Didn’t I tell you before?”

And then, he recalled…

“…that I can always find you, no matter where you are.”

The smile that had once lit up her face, so angelic and bright, now haunted him like a distant dream.

Eaton bit down on his lip, staring at Raytan, who sat not far away. A boy who resembles me. A boy who bears my name. And yet… a boy who resembles her more. He thought of the faint divine mark he’d seen on Raytan’s mother’s forehead—the mark he himself had once inscribed onto Sharwhina, a trace of his power left behind.

I’m going to solve this puzzle, Eaton muttered inwardly. Finding the remaining magic stone and reclaiming his power was important, but getting answers was even more crucial. Until he uncovered the truth, he couldn’t move forward.

“Brother Raytan, look at all the butterflies! They’re covering the entire hill!” Setz’s voice broke through his thoughts.

“Eaton, will you cover the whole hill?” another memory whispered back to him.

“But they’re so beautiful, aren’t they?” Setz’s voice was full of awe.

“They’re beautiful… truly beautiful,” Sharwhina’s voice echoed again, blending with the present.

Eaton’s voice dropped to a whisper, “This isn’t for you.” His tone was firm, as if to silence the memories that seemed to dance in the air. This isn’t your gift. It’s a farewell gift for that child instead. Sharwhina’s voice, so dreamlike just moments ago, faded to silence as Eaton closed his fist around the old stone.

He looked at Setz one last time. “Goodbye, Setz,” he said quietly, the words soft as a prayer.

Stay well, he wished silently, and then he stepped away, jumping down from the tree with a quiet resolve.

Golden butterflies continued to flock around the hill, their glow illuminating the night. Not a single one flew toward the lavish offerings laid out in the temple below; they gathered only in this forgotten place.

It truly seemed as if golden rain were falling just for them. Setz thought to herself that she would remember this day forever. She felt a sense of joy, not just from witnessing such a beautiful sight, but because Raytan was there beside her to see it too.

“Next year, let’s come back here together for the Founding Festival,” she said, her voice filled with quiet hope.

Raytan didn’t answer right away. He simply gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. But to Setz, that was more than enough.

The spring night was gentle and warm, and the breeze carried a faint, nostalgic scent of blooming flowers. Everything felt perfect. And so, the last day of the Founding Festival slowly came to an end, wrapped in golden light and a touch of magic.