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Episode 1
Duke Jean Theo–Bastin Sion knew that he didn’t have much time left to live. Old age had already taken its toll.
He was sixty-one years old.
By any measure, he had lived a long life. Many of his brothers and fellow high-ranking nobles had died much younger than him.
And so, the Duke was preparing for death with a calm heart.
“It’s a bit stuffy in here. Open the window—wide.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
When the maids opened the large window, the cool night air of September flowed in.
The chamberlain’s expression darkened; even a mild chill could worsen the health of the frail, aging Duke. But knowing that his master had little time left, he couldn’t scold him for this small, perhaps final, request.
He could always close the window later when he came back to check on the Duke’s condition.
“…You may all leave.”
As he waved his hand weakly, the Duke’s servants bowed their heads and quietly exited the room.
The bedroom fell silent, save for the occasional whisper of wind.
The Duke lay still, turning only his head to gaze at the night sky outside.
The faint crescent moon caught in the clouds, and the countless twinkling stars calmed his heart. Memories of his life passed before his eyes, one after another.
Born as the eldest son of the ducal family, he had received the education of a ruler from childhood.
After his coming-of-age ceremony, he followed his father everywhere, learning the duties of leadership. At twenty, he inherited the title of Duke and became the ruler of Sion.
For over forty years, though the world was chaotic, the Sion territory had flourished and remained stable.
When he first became Duke, the population was under 100,000; now, it was close to 150,000. Institutions and administration had matured, and the land was in its golden age.
His son and heir was serious and steadfast, well prepared to manage the territory. His two daughters, long married, were living well.
“It was a good life.”
As a ruler and as a father, he could be proud. The only thing he missed was his wife, Elizabeth, who had passed away over ten years ago.
Thinking of her brought back the faces of others—especially two people who had left his side even earlier.
“Mother… Father…”
Their figures appeared hazily in his mind.
He remembered his parents as young—much younger than he was now.
His father’s face had always been hidden behind a mask, but his mother had been beautiful.
“Why… Why did you do it?”
He spoke as if they were right before him.
In their early forties, still in their prime, his parents had not only passed down the title but had left the duchy entirely.
No one could understand why they would abandon such power and luxury. But the Duke knew then, and he still knew now.
“Even so… you could have stayed with me a little longer…”
His vision blurred with emotion.
His mother had aged gracefully, appearing only a little younger than her true years.
But his father—the founder of House Sion, the previous Duke—had always worn a mask. And more importantly…
“Father… were you truly human?”
Only the direct family and his father’s closest aides knew the secret:
His father did not age.
His appearance had remained the same for decades.
To hide this, he grew a beard and wore his mask constantly after his children grew old enough to notice.
An ageless being—someone who had defied the laws of the gods.
If the kingdom of Obla, which already viewed the duchy with suspicion, learned of this, they would surely unite with the Church to destroy House Sion.
That was why his father had relinquished his title and left with his wife.
“Father…”
He had been a great man—not just because he gave up power, but because he had been one of the Six Heroes who ended the Age of Chaos, the knight who slew the Evil Dragon Viuslek.
But what truly made him great was how he had built the duchy from nothing.
After marrying the princess of Obla, he led 500 settlers to this barren land and shaped it with his own hands.
All the prosperity the duchy now enjoyed was his father’s legacy.
The current Duke had only added colors to the grand canvas his father had drawn.
“Haa…”
Regret, longing, and guilt escaped in a single deep sigh.
His mother’s ashes had been returned long ago, but his father’s whereabouts were unknown.
He wasn’t dead. An ageless man wouldn’t die so easily.
“If only… I could see you one last time…”
As death approached, the old man thought of his eternally young father.
Whoosh—
A gust of wind blew the curtains, briefly obscuring the window.
“…!”
His wrinkled eyes widened.
Behind the swaying curtain, he saw a silhouette.
An illusion?
He doubted his senses. No one could possibly scale this high window at night.
But it wasn’t a trick of the mind.
Step, step…
Footsteps drew closer, and the figure emerged from the shadows—wearing a black robe that reached the knees, brown boots, and a hood that partially concealed the face.
The Duke trembled. His cracked lips quivered.
“Are you… are you an illusion? Am I dreaming?”
A large hand reached out and gently stroked his head, brushing through his white hair and down his wrinkled cheeks.
“It’s no dream, my son.”
The voice—warm and soft—made the Duke’s eyes widen. A tear rolled down his cheek.
“Father… Dad…”
Like a child again, he reached out weakly.
“Yes, my son. Jean Theo, my brilliant boy.”
His father held his hand firmly.
The warmth he remembered from long ago flowed through him once more, and tears streamed down his face. His father was the only one who ever called him Jean Theo.
“Why… why only now? Father, Dad… I missed you so much. For so long… Why now?”
“I’m sorry, my son. I’m just… so sorry.”
His father wiped his tears with a sorrowful smile.
In that smile, the Duke understood:
For an immortal, watching your child age and die is unbearable pain.
But he also understood something more profound—his father’s love for him was greater than that pain.
That love had brought him here tonight.
“Father…”
The old Duke asked, his voice trembling like when he was a child:
“Was I… a good ruler? Was I worthy of you and the gods?”
More than anything, he had lived to make his father proud.
For a moment, his father shook his head. His heart sank—until the gentle voice followed:
“You have always been my proud son, Jean Theo.”
His eyes softened.
Before being a ruler, he was a son—and his father was proud of him.
“I love you, Jean Theo. Thank you… for living as my son.”
The father’s voice wavered with emotion, like in the old days when he told bedtime stories.
“Yes, Father… Thank you. I was happy to be your son.”
“Yes, yes.”
“Father, did you know? Ten years ago, I…”
Like an excited six-year-old, the old Duke eagerly shared stories of his life. His father listened with a warm smile, nodding again and again.
The father and son talked for a long, tender time.
Two days later.
On a crisp autumn day, Duke Jean Theo–Bastin Sion passed away peacefully in his sleep.
His family and many others had already gathered, knowing his time was near, so the funeral was held immediately.
Crowds lined the road to the family crypt, mourning the wise ruler who had led their land to prosperity.
Among them stood a tall man in a long, thick robe with a hood that half-covered his face.
As the funeral procession passed, the man turned away.
“I will love you forever, my son…”
He whispered softly through tightly pressed lips—words no one heard.
(To be continued)
