Selasier (06) 039. Selasier Hiatt's Victory Over Torun in the Civil War
Selasier Hiatt had defeated Torun Hiatt in the civil war. This news, shocking enough to warrant the term in every sense, spread across the entire north in the blink of an eye. In the north, where entertainments were few and far between, word traveling fast was nothing unusual. But that wasn't the only reason.
Rumors, by their nature, swell and exaggerate. People crave more stimulating tales, after all—it's inevitable. Everyone who first heard of Selasier Hiatt's victory must have thought the same: that it was exaggerated, blown out of proportion. That a lucky handling of a minor incident had ballooned into the absurd story of the eldest daughter ousting her elder brother.
And it didn't take long for everyone to realize the shocking news was true.
The girl no longer walked ahead of her escort. She stood side by side with Kalen. Despite her young age, she clasped his larger hand tightly as they walked. Strolling through the castle-like mansion only made it feel even less like home than it already did—it was profoundly uncomfortable.
Only one thing eased her heart: the warmth from their joined hands. Selasier fidgeted with his hand unnecessarily and cleared her throat.
Is he uncomfortable?
This boy named Kalen rarely voiced his inner thoughts, leaving her frustrated more often than not. Especially when it came to anything that might worry others—he'd sooner die than admit it. One could tell just from how he'd brushed off his battered state after the ordeal on Hiatt Mountain that day, claiming he was "fine."
Seeing him like that inevitably stirred guilt in her. How could he be so selfless? Selasier felt embarrassed that she was the object of such sacrifice... and yet, she liked it.
It was a secret no one else knew: dragging the stubbornly insistent Kalen to the family physician. She could sense it from how much more deferential the doctor had become toward her since.
She had won the civil war. She was now just one step away from the moment she'd longed for so desperately.
And now, she was taking that final step.
Could it heal the heart that had withered long ago? No—it surely would. That withered heart had been saved by one boy. This was merely fulfilling the last promise she'd made to herself all those years ago.
...If that happens.
Selasier brought her other hand to her chest, clenching it, and furtively rolled her eyes. Etched into her beautiful ruby gaze was the image of a boy taller than she was. Cherishing that image, she tightened her fist against her chest and whispered,
"What will become of this heart?"
Selasier wasn't a fool. She knew what this emotion was—the one that had brazenly invaded her hideously rotten heart, a place no one else could enter. Its presence grew ever more overwhelming, impossible to ignore no matter how she tried.
It was just a promise, nothing more. Just mistaken gratitude, that was all. Even repeating that to herself changed nothing. No, something did change: the more she tried, the stronger the uncontrollable emotion swelled.
So she lacked confidence. Once everything was settled and there were no other distractions... could she withstand the torrent of those feelings?
Even now, when she could barely ignore them... In a situation stripped of all pretense, to claim she could handle it...
"Milady."
"Eek, y-yes!?"
"Are you still anxious?"
Her voice pitched high from surprise. Before she could swallow her embarrassment, warmth bloomed in her right hand, growing stronger. Turning hastily, she found Kalen on her right, gazing at her with a faintly worried expression.
While Selasier had been sorting through her tangled emotions, her grip on their joined right hands had unconsciously tightened. Unaware of her inner turmoil, Kalen naturally recalled that day—when she'd clung to him despite knowing she was a burden, gripping his arm so tightly blood barely flowed.
It was only natural to think those memories still haunted her, troubling her mind.
"Ah..."
But for Selasier, already wrestling with complex feelings, seeing his concern...
"Nngh..."
It was unmistakably disastrous. It only hastened the flood of emotions too vast to fathom.
Kalen, assuming her unease related to the family head they were approaching, said nothing more until they arrived. For Selasier, that silence was a true blessing.
As a child—back when the world was still filled with dreams—she'd thought her father's love was everything.
Looking back now, it wasn't love so much as... interest. Closer to fascination than affection.
Her mother, who loved her father so deeply she'd dyed her red hair black. But even that effort couldn't last; she was exiled the day her red hair was discovered.
She'd borne his child, loved him—how could he be so heartless? If cold people weren't popular in the north, her father was surely the worst kind of man.
Her mother's feelings for such a father... Selasier couldn't quite understand them.
It started when her mother's exile revealed red glints in her own hair. Around the time she realized her brother always got the larger share, no matter what.
From material things like delicious food and pretty clothes, to intangibles like freedom, choice, and happiness.
Forced into unwanted education, trapped in a suffocating mold—she began doubting if this was truly home.
From then on, the family head's chamber transformed from her father's space into a place to hear unwelcome orders from the man labeled "father."
After that, she'd only built walls around her heart.
Selasier stood quietly before the chamber and let out a small sigh.
"I'll be right here, milady."
"...Okay."
Kalen plopped down casually before the door as if it were nothing. In her tension, that small bit of leisure he injected was enough—more than enough.
Knock knock.
Soon, the sound of knocking echoed, followed by:
—Come in.
A voice like a beast's—yet tinged with resignation.
Selasier gave Kalen a smile before entering the chamber.
Kalen, leaning against the closed door, turned his gaze to the snowy expanse outside the window.
Was the north home to Selasier? Or something else? Such unknowable thoughts drifted through his mind.
"You're here."
The family head's chamber was somewhat grotesque, adorned with the heads of several monsters. Behind the chair loomed a massive sword, as if boasting of its owner's huge muscles.
Selasier gazed at the sword and spoke.
"I won, Father."
"Yes. I've heard."
"Brother..."
She couldn't. That was what Selasier had thought upon discovering Torun's secret dealings. After agonizing for days, her conclusion was always the same: she couldn't tell her father.
She didn't know if he was aware of Torun's actions or not. Either way, fear of the aftermath had kept her from speaking.
But now was different. She'd found a place to lean on, strong enough to overcome it all.
Even if the worst she imagined came to pass, she wouldn't break. The disappointment in her father would hurt, but she no longer had reason to fear.
"Young Master Torun has been found buying and selling northern women as slaves, with a confession obtained. He'll be dealt with according to imperial law."
Selasier's ruby eyes flashed red as she asked,
"Did you..."
Would he remain just a father who favored his children? Or sink to filth who knew of his son's depravity and turned a blind eye?
"...know?"
Grand Duke Azkal, staring into her blazing rubies, nodded calmly.
"I knew."
"..."
As Selasier nearly exploded in outrage, he cut her off.
"Now that things have come to this, it doesn't matter anymore."
Azkal—her father—wore an expression he'd erased since exiling her mother.
"I hoped you wouldn't get hurt, Selasier."
Was it impossible? Back when he was still called "young master," with a brilliant future assured.
In a remote border village, by chance, he'd seen a girl. Her hair and eyes shimmered red.
The moment he laid eyes on her, he understood love at first sight. In the north, red evoked ominous flames—the curse of endless battles. It was natural to be despised.
He knew that well, yet his heart rebelled. Her eyes were like rubies, he'd thought without meaning to.
From that day, feigning coincidence, he'd pursued her heart. She became his wife, dyeing her hair and even changing her eye color—somehow—to live that way until their daughter was six.
He felt sorry. That wasn't the form of the woman he loved. The paradox of denying her true self to keep her close—it pained him.
Still, wasn't it fortunate they could be together like this? In the tradition-bound north, the Hiatt family head with a red-haired, ruby-eyed woman was unthinkable.
—That hope shattered mere months later. He had no choice but to exile his wife. On the day she wept apologies, unable to bear it, she'd smiled gently and said she loved him.
His daughter began resembling her mother. Selasier's eyes took on that beloved ruby hue.
It bred fear. So he vowed to himself: to protect his daughter from exile as her mother had suffered, he'd abandon parental affection.
Call it selfishness. He knew Torun's twisted nature. His son, but his deeds displeased him.
Yet he'd pretended to favor Torun over Selasier. Especially when her face evoked his wife's.
Hearing she'd enter the civil war made him dizzy. So he'd erased every path for her to win.
He swallowed his disgust at his son's actions. Lest Selasier grow too prominent, earning the north's resentment and being ousted for her red hue.
Lest he be forced into that choice. The monstrous northern grand duke, born of warped love that ignored his fragile child's wounds to avoid sending away his daughter too...
Thus, he severed parental bonds.
Was it because she'd brought that impudent brat Kalen? Old memories surfaced unbidden, leading him to permit her frontline path.
She was the first to liken his daughter's rubies not to blood, but wine. It reminded him too much of his former self.
"No regrets. Northern knights never look back. This was my choice, my burden to bear."
"..."
"Yet you overcame all that pain and stood before me."
—Does the spot where the villagers hit you hurt?
—Who're you?
—Oh, just... kidding. Who in the north doesn't know Azkal Hiatt?
—Ah. Right.
The pain from that day, brushed off so casually. The bold smile before him.
—Does it hurt? Of course it does. But it's the first time anyone's worried like today, so it hurts a little less than usual.
Like the girl with pretty rubies.