"A Flame that Fades"

Chapter 11: Whispers in the Flame

Azgar's POV 

I sat on the couch next to my wife, Freya, my arm wrapped around her shoulders as she rested her head against me. She looked so serene, so content. My heart swelled as I glanced at her from the corner of my eye, taking in the soft rise and fall of her chest as she gently nursed our son, Malachi. The room was bathed in the warm glow of candlelight, and the scent of wood smoke filled the air—our home smelled of safety, love, and quiet happiness.

For the first time in as long as I could remember, I felt at peace.

Everything that had happened to me before—my father's harsh words, the weight of expectations, the endless pressure of living up to a legacy I could never escape—was nothing but a distant memory now. It had no place here, in this cottage, in this life I had built with Freya and Malachi.

I couldn't stop looking at them. My wife, my child. My family.

Two years ago, we had gotten married—an event I would never forget. The image of Freya in her wedding gown still lingered in my mind, her radiant smile so bright it felt like it could light up the entire world. She had walked down the aisle toward me, her eyes locked on mine, and in that moment, nothing else mattered. No worries. No doubts. It was just us. And that moment felt like it was suspended in time, a perfect day that had stitched itself into the fabric of my soul.

We had chosen this life—a small cottage nestled on the outskirts of a sparsely populated village, far from the violence of the larger towns, away from the prying eyes of the world. It was peaceful here. It was quiet. A simple life, but a beautiful one. A place where Malachi could grow without fear, a place where Freya and I could simply be.

I rested my head on top of hers, allowing the silence of the room to settle over us. Outside, the faint rustling of the trees could be heard, and the occasional creak of the wooden beams in our home felt like the world exhaling a soft sigh. There was no tension here, no noise, no fighting. There was only love. Only warmth.

I thought back to the day we had first brought Malachi home from the village healer. He had been so small, so fragile, and I had never felt such a deep need to protect something in my life. Freya had held him close, cradling him with the same tenderness I saw in her eyes every time she looked at him. I had never known what it meant to be a father until that moment.

Now, as I watched them together, the sight of Freya's nurturing touch and the soft sounds of Malachi feeding, I couldn't imagine a life without them. There was no room for the doubts and fears I had carried before. I had found something worth holding onto.

"Are you happy, Azgar?" Freya's voice broke the comfortable silence, her words soft, almost a whisper.

I smiled and turned my head to look down at her, brushing a lock of hair from her face. She gazed up at me with those bright, green eyes that seemed to see straight into my soul. It was as if she could read my heart like an open book, and I didn't mind. I had never minded it.

"I'm happier than I've ever been," I said, my voice steady, but the truth behind it ringing clear. "I've never felt like this before. It's like I've finally found peace."

She smiled, the corners of her lips curling up in that way that always made my chest tighten. "I'm glad." She placed a hand over mine, squeezing it gently as our son stirred slightly in her arms. "I've always wanted this life, Azgar. A quiet, simple life with you and our son."

I leaned down and kissed the top of her head, then looked at Malachi, who was now peacefully asleep in her arms. He looked so small, so perfect, as if he had been made just for us.

"You're perfect," I whispered, the words slipping out before I could stop them. I smiled at the thought of it.

For the first time, I didn't feel the weight of my bloodline, the legacy that had always loomed over me, threatening to crush me under its expectations. Here, in this cottage, with my family, none of that mattered. I had something else now. Something real. Something I could call my own.