Shadows of the Forgotten Heiress

The world tilted, the edge of the cliff vanishing beneath her feet. Wind roared past her ears, her body weightless for a single, terrifying second before she crashed into something— a branch.

Crack!

The impact sent a jolt through her spine, but it didn't stop her descent. Another branch snapped beneath her, splinters grazing her skin as she tumbled. Each collision slowed her fall, yet each one left her weaker, the pain unbearable.

Her arm flailed, instinctively grasping for something— anything— to stop the plunge. Her fingers brushed against rough bark, but her grip failed. Another impact. Another fall. 

Her limp body hit a thick, moss-covered branch. This time, it held. For a moment, silence reigned. The only sound was the shallow, uneven breaths rasping from her lips. Blood oozed from her wounds, soaking into the bark beneath her.

She tried to move. Tried to breathe. But the agony swallowed her whole. Her vision blurred, black spots dancing in her eyes.

She was dying.

Her trembling fingers pressed against her side, weakly attempting to slow the bleeding. She didn't have long. She knew that.

The sky above blurred. The forest whispered around her, a cruel lullaby. Her pulse thudded in her ears, slower now. Fading.

Night draped the forest in a heavy silence, broken only by the whisper of the wind rustling through the trees. The air was cold— unforgiving. Seraphina's body lay motionless, barely a flicker of life remaining within her. Her skin, once warm, had turned pale and frigid, the night sapping what little strength she had left.

She shivered.

But she did not wake.

The morning sun crept over the horizon, casting golden rays through the dense canopy. Deep in the forest, an old man trekked carefully along a rugged path, his boots crunching against the damp earth. He was dressed in a sturdy trekking suit, a heavy backpack slung over his shoulders, filled with gear. He had learned his lesson after last time— when an injury had left him stranded here with no way to call for help. Now, he had a signal source set up, just in case.

He was now able to talk to his grandson easily deep in the forests.

"I don't know what you youngsters are planning," he grumbled into the device, shaking his head. "I'm an old man now. All I want is to see you settle down, have a family of your own, and then I can die peacefully. But no, you keep ruining every blind date I set up! How am I supposed to answer your parents when I meet them after I die, huh?"

His grandson chuckled on the other end, his voice calm, patient. "Grandfather, you worry too much—"

Before he could finish, the old man's foot suddenly caught on a root. He stumbled, his body lurching forward.

With a grunt, he crashed onto the ground, landing hard on his backside. Pain shot up his spine, but before he could curse his luck, his eyes fell on something— someone.

A girl.

Blood-soaked. Motionless.

For a long moment, he froze, his breath caught in his throat. His grandson's voice crackled through the phone, calling his name, but the old man didn't answer. His trembling hands pushed against the dirt as he scrambled forward, heart pounding.

He reached out, fingers pressing against the girl's wrist.

Cold. Ice cold.

His chest tightened. Then— a pulse.

Faint. Weak. But still there.

A sharp inhale escaped his lips as he clutched the phone with shaking fingers.

"Dear… dear, listen to me!" he rasped, urgency flooding his voice. "Send help! Immediately! Get the emergency team ready— now! This child… she might have fallen off the cliff. She won't last much longer!"

The urgency in his voice made his grandson's breath hitch. "Understood! I'm on it!"

Within minutes, the distant roar of helicopters cut through the forest's silence. Two aircrafts descended into a clearing nearby, their powerful blades stirring the trees into a frenzy. Medics rushed forward, their movements swift and precise as they secured the heavily wounded Seraphina onto a stretcher.

The old man stood back, watching as she was lifted into the helicopter. Blood still clung to her skin, her breathing shallow— barely noticeable.

The steady beep of the heart monitor filled the hospital ward, mixing with the sterile scent of antiseptics. Nicholas Grantham stepped inside, his sharp gaze instantly landing on the elderly man sitting beside the hospital bed. His grandfather, Reginald Grantham, looked as composed as ever, despite the bandages wrapped around his arm and the lingering signs of exhaustion on his face.

Nicholas sighed, shaking his head as he approached.

"Grandpa," he began, folding his arms, "do you really think you're still a thirty-year-old man? Climbing through the mountains like that? Last time, it was just a small injury, and I had to send people to search for you. That's why I arranged a signal source in the forest— so I wouldn't have to drag you back every time you decided to run away on one of your wild adventures."

His voice carried a mix of frustration and worry.

Reginald sighed, rubbing his temple. "It was just an accidental fall."

Nicholas narrowed his eyes. "With this kind of injury, if the signal wasn't there, you'd either be paralyzed or dead. Then what would happen to me, huh?" He exhaled sharply and took his grandfather's hand, his grip firm but warm.

Reginald knew he was in the wrong. He patted Nicholas's hand in silent acknowledgment, then changed the subject. "What about the girl?"

Nicholas's expression darkened. "It looks like someone wanted her dead."** His voice lowered, turning serious. "She has two gunshot wounds. One barely missed any vital organs—no internal bleeding, which is a miracle. But the other left enough damage to weaken her badly. On top of that, she suffered a head trauma from the fall."**

He ran a hand through his hair, his frustration evident. "The doctors… they don't know when she'll wake up."

Reginald's eyes narrowed slightly, deep in thought. Then, with a quiet resolve, he muttered, "Find out who caused her to be like this. But do it quietly. No wide news. No unnecessary attention."

Nicholas frowned slightly but nodded.

Reginald's gaze drifted toward the unconscious girl in the hospital bed. "She crossed paths with us for a reason. It was fate." He exhaled. "We'll save her. And when she wakes up… we'll let her decide what happens next."

Nicholas studied his grandfather, sensing something deeper behind his words. Reginald Grantham was not the type to save strangers out of mere sympathy. If he had chosen to protect this girl, there had to be a reason.

If he ask about this now Reginald might not tell him the truth so, he simply nodded. "Understood."

The door swung open with a quiet creak. Oliver Grantham stepped inside, his expression unreadable as he carried a small tray. The metal reflected the sterile hospital light, casting faint glimmers over the objects neatly arranged on it.

He set the tray down on the table beside Nicholas, his voice calm yet tinged with curiosity. "The doctors found these on her."

Reginald and Nicholas turned their gazes toward the tray.

A few items lay there— small, seemingly insignificant, yet strangely telling. For a moment, silence stretched in the room.

Then, at the exact same time, both grandfather and grandson uttered the same word.

"Interesting."

Reginald's voice, however, shifted almost instantly. The curiosity in his eyes turned sharp, cold, as though a silent storm had settled within him. His fingers tapped lightly against the armrest of his chair before he spoke, his tone leaving no room for argument.

"Nicholas. Keep these safe. Do not let them out of your sight until the girl wakes up."

Nicholas glanced at his grandfather, sensing the unspoken weight behind those words. He had heard that tone before— the tone Reginald used when something was far more important than it seemed.

He nodded. "Understood."

Oliver said nothing, but as he looked at the unconscious girl lying on the hospital bed, he couldn't shake the feeling— whoever she was, she wasn't ordinary.

And neither was the danger that followed her.