"A Flame that Fades"

Chapter 10: Behind the Walls

Azgar's POV

"Good morning, Young Chief," Zoron greeted me with his usual formality. His voice felt distant, like it always did when he addressed me with that title. I nodded in acknowledgment, but my mind was elsewhere, still lost in the turmoil of the night before.

I picked at my breakfast, barely tasting the food, as Zoron stood by, his gaze steady but hesitant. "I found this paper in front of your door earlier today. You must've dropped it," he said, offering me a small piece of parchment.

I glanced at the paper in his hand before taking it, my brow furrowing. I didn't remember dropping anything, but I didn't care enough to ask. My mind was too clouded, too caught up in the remnants of the argument with Freya from yesterday. The tension between us, the frustration, the silence...it still lingered, a heaviness in my chest I couldn't shake.

"Thanks," I muttered, setting the paper on the table beside my untouched fork. The act felt robotic, like I was moving through the motions of a day I didn't want to face.

I hadn't slept well at all. The images of our fight kept playing in my mind, twisting and turning like some cruel loop. How could she not understand? How could she keep pushing me when all I wanted was to be left alone? She didn't know what it was like to have all these expectations weighing down on you, to feel like you could never be good enough, no matter how hard you tried.

My brow furrowed again as I stared at the paper. I had to focus. I had to. But the thoughts kept swirling, tangling with each other, louder than my ability to think clearly.

The words my father had said still burned, still clawed at me. "You're endangering our bloodline with filth." His voice, cruel and biting, echoed in my mind, and my stomach churned. Was he right? Am I ruining everything?

The terror of losing my father's approval gripped me. It was an irrational fear, I knew, but it was there—constant and suffocating. What if he really did choose Agnar over me? What if I was already too far gone in his eyes, too weak, too broken to ever live up to the legacy of our family?

A sharp pang of dread twisted in my chest. What if Agnar knew exactly how to manipulate me? Had he been playing this game all along, knowing how desperately I wanted my father's approval, knowing how easy it was to control me when I was vulnerable?

The doubts festered. Was Freya just another part of his plan? A distraction? A tool to weaken me from the inside?

I wanted to believe she was different. I wanted to believe that her feelings for me were real, that she truly cared. But the more I tried to convince myself, the more the doubts gnawed at me. Maybe she was never meant to be a part of my life at all. Maybe I had been blind.

I shook my head, running a hand through my hair in frustration. The room felt smaller, the air heavier with every passing second. I couldn't focus on the letter. I couldn't bring myself to read it, even though my fingers were itching to unfold it. The last thing I needed was another blow to the gut. But a part of me—maybe the part that still wanted answers—told me I had to face it.

Sighing, I picked it up, feeling the weight of it between my fingers. If only I could quiet the storm inside me long enough to figure out what the hell was happening. If only I could make sense of all this.

I didn't want to open it.

I had no idea what she had written, but I knew one thing for sure—it wouldn't be good. The way she had looked at me yesterday, the quiet sadness in her eyes, the finality of her silence—it all pointed to something I wasn't ready to face. Something that would make this all real.

I stared at the letter, the paper folded neatly, untouched. I could hear the hum of the wind outside, the soft creak of the building settling. The air felt thick, like it was holding its breath, waiting for me to make a decision.