As a guard inside from the manor inform the guards guarding the gate to open the gate.
The manor gates opened not with welcome—but with hesitation.
Iron groaned against stone as guards pulled the doors apart just wide enough for the wagon to pass. Their eyes followed Lucas closely, measuring him not as a guest, but as a memory they had failed to bury.
"Stay close," Lucas murmured to the children.
Bereshith nodded and instinctively took Levanah's hand. Yareach slept against Lucas' cloak, unaware that she was crossing a threshold weighted with years.
The courtyard was immaculate—too immaculate. Marble paths untouched by dirt, banners hanging without a wrinkle. Servants froze mid-step as the wagon rolled in. Whispers rippled outward like cracks in glass.
"He's back."
"Redsun…"
"The disgraced knight…"
"With children?"
Lucas stepped down first.
He did not bow.
That alone unsettled them.
A man approached—older now, beard streaked with silver, posture rigid with authority and restraint.
Sir Ascirick Redsun.
Lord of the manor.
Father of Maria.
His gaze locked onto Lucas with something dangerously close to disbelief.
"…Lucas."
"Sir Ascirick," Lucas replied calmly.
Silence stretched.
"You return unannounced," Ascirick said, his voice carrying. "Without armor. Without title. And with strangers."
"They're under my protection," Lucas said simply.
A murmur followed.
Ascirick's eyes dropped briefly to Bereshith—too briefly—and then to the baby.
"And you presume to stand in this house again?"
Lucas met his gaze steadily."I didn't come to reclaim anything."
Before Ascirick could respond, a voice broke through the tension.
"Father."
All heads turned.
Lady Maria stood at the top of the staircase, pale, rigid, her hands clenched at her sides as if holding herself together by force alone. She had not changed as much as time suggested—only hardened.
Her eyes found Lucas.
And everything she had sealed away fractured.
"You came back," she said, not as accusation—nor relief—but disbelief.
Lucas inclined his head. "My Lady."
She descended the steps slowly, eyes never leaving him.
"They said you were dead," she said.
"I wasn't," Lucas replied.
Her gaze dropped to the children.
"…So it's true."
Lucas said nothing.
That silence was answer enough.
Maria's breath trembled. "You abandoned everything—for this?"
"For family," Lucas said.
That word landed like a blade.
"You were family," Maria snapped.
Gasps echoed softly among the gathered nobles.
Ascirick raised a hand. "Maria—"
"No," she interrupted, eyes never leaving Lucas. "He should answer."
Lucas finally spoke, his voice low, unwavering."I warned you. I told you I had a wife. A child. You chose not to hear me."
Her jaw tightened.
"And when they died?" she demanded. "Did you think of us then?"
The courtyard went silent.
Lucas' past stood naked before them.
"I buried them," Lucas said. "And I buried myself with them."
Whispers stirred again—judgment sharpening.
"A knight who failed his family."
"A man who brings ruin wherever he walks."
Before Lucas could speak again—
Bereshith stepped forward.
The movement was small.
The effect was not.
He looked up at Maria—not with fear, not with reverence—but with clarity far beyond his years.
"Why do you blame him," Bereshith asked gently, "for loving what God already gave him?"
The air shifted.
Adults stiffened.
Ascirick frowned. "Child, this is not—"
"You loved him," Bereshith continued calmly. "But love that demands possession is not love. It's hunger."
Maria recoiled as if struck.
"How dare—"
"You locked the door," Bereshith said softly. "But you never closed it. That's why it still hurts."
Silence fell so heavy it felt sacred.
No one could explain why they listened.
Bereshith turned to Lucas and took his hand.
"He didn't come back for forgiveness," the boy said. "He came back because you never stopped calling him."
Maria's breath broke.
Ascirick stared at Bereshith with something dangerously close to fear.
"…Who are you?" he asked.
Bereshith smiled faintly.
"Just a child," he said."But not an accident."
Lucas squeezed his hand.
For the first time since entering the manor, Lucas felt it—
The judgment faltering.
The past loosening its grip.
The door, long left ajar, creaking wider.
And somewhere beyond it—
The future waited.