Spellbound by a Moonlit Heir

The Landon Estate, usually a place of formalities and fleeting visits, had become a haven for Caveen over the past three days.

He had laughed more in those hours than he had in years.

And all because of one little girl.

---

Day One

It started with a tea party under the willow tree. Elara wore a paper crown Maika had folded, declaring herself "Queen of the Butterflies." Caveen had joined her, awkward at first, but something in the child's presence melted the steel in him.

She offered him a cup filled with rose petals and rainwater. "Your tea, Uncle."

He took it, smiling. "Tastes magical."

She beamed. "That's because I made it with my powers!"

He chuckled. "You have powers?"

"Shh," she whispered, glancing around dramatically. "Nana Maika says I shouldn't show anyone yet. But I can make fire in my hand… just a little one."

Caveen stared at her.

She was proud. Innocent. Unaware of the danger such power could attract.

He nodded solemnly. "Then I'm honored you trust me."

---

Day Two

They spent the afternoon in the garden. Elara tried teaching him how to braid vines into bracelets. He failed miserably.

"You're hopeless!" she giggled, her tiny hands expertly weaving the green strands.

"Uncle Caveen is better with swords and spreadsheets," Maika teased from the veranda.

Elara tilted her head. "What's a spreadsheet?"

"A weapon of the human world," Caveen replied with mock gravity, making her laugh harder.

By nightfall, she was asleep in his lap while he read her a story. Her soft breaths against his chest stirred something in him—a pull he didn't know he'd been missing.

She felt like his.

Because she was.

---

Day Three

Elara showed him a sketch she'd drawn—a crude crayon picture of her, Maika, Carl, and Caveen holding hands in front of the estate.

"I drew you too," she said proudly. "Because you're part of my heart now."

The words broke something in him.

Caveen knelt beside her, his voice low. "Elara… has your Daddy ever visited you here?"

She shook her head. "Not yet. But I dream about him. Mama says when I'm strong enough, he'll come. She said… he has golden eyes like mine."

His breath caught.

He touched her curls gently. "He must love you very much."

"I think he does," she whispered. "But sometimes I think… he doesn't know I'm here."

Caveen closed his eyes.

"I know now," he murmured.

---

That Night

The decision came to him in silence.

He stood by the balcony, staring at the moonlit hills beyond the estate.

Carl joined him with two glasses of aged red.

"She's changed you," Carl said without looking at him.

Caveen took the glass. "She's mine. She's ours. And I have to hear it from Lysandra herself."

Carl nodded. "Dont be too hard on her, she just wants what is the best for the child."

"I'm will not hurt her," Caveen said. "I just want the truth. And if she won't tell me, I'll still protect them both. But I have to hear it."

---

The Farewell

Before sunrise, Caveen stood at the estate gate, duffel bag in hand. His car waited, engine warm.

Elara ran to him, wearing her butterfly crown again.

"Are you leaving already?"

He knelt. "Just for a little while."

She hugged him tight. "Promise you'll come back?"

He hugged her even tighter. "I promise."

She pulled back and kissed his cheek. "You're my favorite uncle."

Caveen smiled, heart aching. "And you're my favorite little girl."

Maika watched from a distance, a silent guardian of secrets.

As the car disappeared down the winding road, Elara whispered to herself, holding her tiny bracelet made of vines:

"Come back soon, Daddy."

The road to Ravenshade was darker than Caveen remembered.

Twisting shadows flanked both sides of the ancient forest, their branches like fingers clawing at the dawn sky. He drove fast, as if trying to outrun the pounding in his chest.

For three days, the image of Elara had not left his mind.

Her laugh, her golden eyes, her voice calling him "uncle."

And the way she looked just like him… just like them.

He gripped the wheel harder.

"Lysandra."

She had kept their child from him. For years.

And now, he needed answers.

---

At the Gates of Ravenshade

The wrought-iron gates of Ravenshade opened slowly, groaning like the past it guarded. A cloaked figure stood just beyond, waiting.

Caveen stopped the car and stepped out.

Alaric Vellaria Vaelthorne.

Even in the dim light, the man looked as regal and intimidating as the legends said—his long silver hair brushing against his dark mantle, crimson eyes like glass blades.

"Caveen," Alaric said with a faint nod. "You've come."

Caveen returned the gesture, his tone steady. "I'm here for Lysandra."

"I assumed as much," Alaric replied. "She's in the training field. But before you go storming in like a wounded beast, I suggest you breathe."

Caveen's jaw clenched.

"I have every right to feel this way."

"You do," Alaric said without argument. "But that child in the Landon estate... she's more than just blood. She's a storm the Council will one day try to snatch. Lysandra made choices to keep her safe, not to hurt you."

Caveen's eyes darkened. "And did she tell you before she told me?"

Alaric gave a tight smile. "I knew the moment I saw the child's aura. And I knew you would too."

Silence passed between them like thunder.

Then Alaric stepped aside. "She's waiting for you. Try not to burn the forest down."