Nine years ago — Northeastern Sinfon Nation
The skies above the northeastern region of Sinfon were a soft lavender hue, casting a gentle glow over the landscape.
The wind carried the faint scent of blooming magnolias, rustling through endless stretches of trimmed hedges and flowerbeds.
Nestled at the heart of this elegance stood a grand estate — the ancestral mansion of the Nightrose family.
A tall, beautiful manor of pale marble and dark wood surrounded it by a pristine garden that seemed to bloom with every shade of spring.
Vines of white roses curled along the stone walls, and a crystal-clear fountain shimmered at the courtyard's center, its waters dancing softly under the morning sun.
The estate gates stood wide open, guarded yet welcoming, as servants moved with quiet precision across the grounds.
Birds chirped from the treetops above, their song harmonizing with the trickle of the fountain and the soft crunch of footsteps on gravel paths.
This was not merely a home. It was the heart of one of Sinfon's most distinguished noble lineages — the House of Nightrose.
There was a little girl who lived inside that grand mansion — the only daughter of the Nightrose family, Lillith.
It was around this time that she met her first personal butler.
A quiet boy, only slightly older than her. His name was Reginald.
His family — the Lorias — had served the Nightrose household for generations. And though he was young, Reginald carried himself with a calm, collected air far beyond his age.
The day they were introduced, he bowed politely and said his name in a quiet voice.
Lillith, startled by the formality, panicked in trying to respond. She stuttered and fumbled her words like a flustered child, which, at the time, she was.
Days passed. Then weeks.
Reginald never spoke much. His expression stayed composed, almost unreadable.
He simply did his duties without fail, whether it was helping her dress, bringing tea, or quietly waiting outside her door during lessons.
And yet… for Lillith, that silence never felt cold.
Little by little, his presence became part of her daily life. He was always there at her side.
When she ran barefoot through the garden and tripped on the path, he would be there, silently offering a hand.
When she fell and scraped her knee, he'd bandage it without a word, eyes calm and careful.
To the young Lillith, Reginald wasn't just a servant.
He was like a small knight in shining armor — always ready to protect her.
Even before she realized it, a warm, unspoken bond had begun to form between them.
Three years later…
Lillith was around fourteen when tragedy struck the Nightrose family.
Her mother — a woman of grace and warmth — died in a sudden accident.
The house, once filled with quiet elegance, grew colder.
Her father, Hansel Nightrose, a powerful noble and respected leader, was shattered. He had loved his wife deeply — perhaps too deeply.
To bury the pain, he drowned himself in work. Endless meetings.
Late nights at the estate office. Long trips away on political business.
He forced himself into exhaustion, believing it would help him forget.
And in doing so… he began to vanish from Lillith's world.
He rarely saw his daughter anymore. Their moments together became fewer, quieter — and eventually, nonexistent.
Within the mansion's tall halls and endless rooms, Lillith wandered alone. The servants were respectful, but distant. The house was full, and yet empty.
But not completely.
Reginald remained.
Still silent. Still calm. Still by her side.
Even when the world around her began to dim, he was there, steady as ever
But not all shadows in the Nightrose estate came from absence.
Some loomed much closer.
Azhrael Nightrose — Lillith's grandfather — had begun to take a more active role in her life after her mother's death.
A noble of towering pride and iron reputation, Azhrael ruled the family legacy with cold precision.
In his eyes, nothing mattered more than maintaining the dignity of the Nightrose name.
And to him, Lillith was the key to that legacy.
He demanded perfection — not kindness, not care — only flawless posture, speech, etiquette, and obedience.
She was to become a proper noblewoman, worthy of the Nightrose crest.
And his methods… were merciless.
He would yell without restraint, his voice like a whip cracking through the silence of the mansion halls.
A wrong greeting. A misstep at a practice banquet. An incorrect bow. He noticed it all. And punished it all.
Sometimes, his cane would strike down — hard and fast — across her knuckles, or her shoulder, or the table beside her to startle her into trembling compliance.
Lillith tried. She always tried.
But fear began to grow inside her.
Each day became a performance she couldn't master.
The once-lively girl who'd laughed with Reginald in the garden began to shrink inward. Her smile faded. Her words faltered. Her eyes rarely met anyone's anymore.
And Reginald...
He watched it all.
Standing still in the corner of the room during every lesson, every scolding, every cruel demonstration of "discipline."
He could say nothing. Do nothing.
His hands, always kept behind his back in formality, were often clenched into fists — so tightly that his nails dug into skin to bleed.
But never once did he cry.
Just like her… he endured in silence.
A few weeks later, the day of the royal celebration arrived.
It was to be held at the grand castle of the Valles Nation — a gathering unlike any other, where every high-ranking noble from across the continent would attend by royal invitation.
The Nightrose name, of course, was among them.
That morning, as the sun rose over the estate, Azhrael stood before Lillith, his eyes sharp as a blade.
"You will not shame the Nightrose blood tonight," he said coldly. "Smile when spoken to. Speak only when asked. Hold your posture. And do not forget… you are being watched."
"Yes, Grandfather," Lillith replied quietly, bowing her head.
Her voice was calm — almost empty.
Moments later, they stepped into the sleek black vehicle waiting at the entrance.
Reginald held the door open as always, his white gloves perfectly clean, his expression unreadable.
Lillith's eyes met his briefly… but neither said a word.
As the engine started, Reginald shut the door softly and climbed into the front with the driver.
They departed.
The capital glowed in the distance, its white towers and silver lights shining like stars fallen to earth.
When they arrived at the royal castle, it was even more magnificent than she imagined. Chandeliers taller than trees.
Floors that shimmered like polished glass. Music filled the air, laughter echoed from every corner, and nobles dressed in silks and gemstones swirled across the ballroom like wind-dancing flames.
But none of it touched her.
Because Reginald couldn't enter.
He was a servant. A butler. And so, as always, he was left behind — waiting beside the vehicle outside in the chill night air, just beyond the castle gates.
Inside, Lillith walked beside her grandfather like a perfectly crafted doll.
They first greeted the royal family's representative — Princess Valeria — a young woman of striking poise and beauty. The interaction was formal, practiced, and cold.
After greeting Princess Valeria, the evening continued in a blur of nobles, introductions, and performances.
Eventually, a tall young noble approached and offered a polite bow.
"Would the young Lady Nightrose honor me with a dance?"
Lillith hesitated.
Her grandfather's cold gaze burned into her from behind — reminding her of the consequences of refusal. So she nodded quietly and placed her hand in the stranger's.
The music rose.
They moved across the ballroom floor in practiced steps. Lights spun. Dresses rustled. Applause echoed at the edges of her hearing.
But none of it reached her.
With every turn, every step, Lillith's mind drifted further and further away.
"Is Reginald cold out there?"
"He didn't even bring his coat today…"
"He's probably still standing by the vehicle, quietly waiting—like always."
She spun again, her face calm, a polite smile fixed in place. But her chest tightened with every breath.
"He never says a word when he's in pain… just stands there."
"Why can't I go see him? Why can't I even ask if he's okay?"
The nobleman leading the dance spoke something she didn't hear. She gave a small nod to cover it.
"All of this — the dresses, the lights, the music — it's supposed to feel magical."
"But I just want to leave."
"I just want to go stand next to him again… like we used to."
As they danced, her fingers trembled slightly in the nobleman's grip — but her expression never broke.
And just like that, the dance continued.
A perfect noble daughter, moving through the royal ballroom…
While her heart stood out in the cold, beside a silent boy in white gloves.
As the dance ended, Lillith quietly made her way toward the castle gate, her steps hurried, her thoughts still spinning.
But just a few paces from the exit, she froze.
From around the corner, her grandfather's voice echoed—booming, pleased.
"Ah yes—yes, it would be an absolute honor! As the younger brother of our great king, having your son marry my granddaughter would be a most glorious union."
Lillith's heart dropped.
Her entire body trembled as the words sank in.
She didn't wait.
She bolted.
From a distance, Reginald—still waiting by the carriage outside—looked up just in time to see her rushing toward him.
Before he could react, she threw herself into his arms, hugging him tightly.
Startled, he stiffened. "Milady…?"
Her voice was barely above a whisper, fragile and trembling.
"Reginald… please… take me somewhere—anywhere—far away from all of this…"
His hands trembled as they hovered around her.
She clung to him, her emotions spiraling.
"I love you," she said, choking on the words. "I love you so, so much… Please… just tell me how you feel…"
Reginald's breath caught.
His trembling hands slowly steadied. He placed them gently on her shoulders… and with a calm, unreadable expression, he eased her back.
"I… truly appreciate your feelings, Milady," he said softly, "but I'm sorry. As a mere servant… I cannot return them."
Lillith's eyes widened, glistening with tears.
Her voice cracked.
"So that means… you're okay with me being married off to someone else?!"
Reginald's lips parted—just barely.
He hesitated.
Then, slowly, he said,
"…I would be happy to see milady marry someone who matches your noble status."
Lillith's eyes burned.
Without warning, she stepped forward and began striking his chest with her fists, over and over.
"Liar… liar… liar… liar!" she cried.
Her voice cracked with each word.
"If you're really happy, then why are you crying?!"
Reginald blinked, stunned.
He hadn't even noticed.
But sure enough, tears were trailing down his cheeks, quiet and unbidden.
Lillith's fists slowed. Her voice softened, trembling.
"Both Mom and Dad left me… before I even understood what it meant to be alone…"
She looked up at him, eyes filled with sorrow and something fiercer beneath.
"But you… you were always there. Always…"
Her hands curled into tight fists at her sides.
"You were the only one who stayed beside someone as pathetic as me… who helped me, protected me… who made me feel safe."
She took a breath—shaky, but resolute.
"I've had enough… of losing the people I care about."
Then, slowly, she looked into his eyes—directly, without hesitation.
"…Now it's my turn to protect you."
And from that day on…
Lillith changed.
She became exactly what her grandfather wanted—
Cold. Calculated. Composed.
A noble with sharp words and an even sharper gaze.
"I'll become what you want," she had told herself.
"But only so I can protect what matters to me."
Her mask never slipped.
People saw a perfect noble heiress—
Elegant, untouchable.
But behind the veil of pride and power…
"I hate this," she once whispered alone.
"I hate the way I talk to people… the way I look down on them."
"I hate what I've become."
Even as her name rose across nations,
Even as nobles bowed their heads to her—
"I'm sorry," she'd think quietly each time she hurt someone.
"I'm sorry for using you to look stronger than I really am."
Her popularity soared.
She made her own decisions, silencing even Azhrael.
But he said nothing.
As long as the Nightrose name thrived, he didn't care.
Now, she stood as a student of the prestigious Knight Academy.
Beautiful, brilliant, and bold.
But her true goal lay beyond praise or titles.
"If I win this tournament...
If I prove my strength with my own hands—
Then maybe…"
She looked down at her trembling fists.
"Maybe I can face him again.
Maybe he'll finally tell me how he truly feels."
But—
A soft wind slipped through the broken trees, brushing against fabric, carrying the scent of blood and silence.
Lillith sat with her legs pulled in, arms loosely draped over her knees, her back slightly curled as if something heavy had caved in from within. Her hair fluttered quietly, untouched, unnoticed.
She didn't move. She didn't blink.
Just a few feet away, the lifeless body of Reginald rested within the barrier, still, unmoving, cold.
And Lillith…
She wasn't crying.
Her eyes, once sharp and bright, stared forward with a hollow stillness. They weren't glassy with grief or wide with shock. They were simply... dead.
As though whatever light had been flickering inside her had finally gone out.
All that remained was silence.
And within that silence, the echoes of all the words she could no longer say.