Chapter 396: A FLEETING LOVE STORY
The night was still, moonlight spilling faintly over the sprawling grounds of the Cao manor. The grand estate had long since lost its master, yet it was still alive with quiet activity. Housemaids moved softly through the halls, tending to the lingering traditions of service, as though unwilling to allow the grandeur of the manor to fade with its fallen lord. But outside, beyond the gentle glow of lanterns, silence held dominion.
A short walk from the courtyard lay a secluded garden, its stone pathway winding into a small grove where two graves stood side by side, carved in dark granite and framed by burning torches. The air smelled faintly of incense and the steady hum of cicadas. It was here that Guinevere, clad in a simple cloak draped over her fiery red dress, approached with a lantern in hand.
Her footsteps slowed as she reached the graves. The names engraved into the stone greeted her like old wounds:
General Cao – Pillar of the Pacesetters Academy.
Cao Ren – The Prince of Flames.
Apparently, after the demise of both there parents due to the war when Guinevere was just 3, General Cao decided to take them in and gave them his name ’Cao’ since there parents were close friends of him.
In her hands, she carried two bouquets of flame-red lilies. With trembling fingers, she bent down, placing the flowers at the foot of both graves. For a moment, she simply stood there, shoulders quivering as the memories pressed upon her.
Her gaze shifted to her brother’s grave, and that was when the dam broke. Tears welled in her eyes before she could stop them, her voice catching as she sank to her knees in the soil.
"Ren..." she whispered, her voice fragile against the weight of silence. "It’s been so long, hasn’t it? They used to call you the Prince of Flames... radiant, brilliant, unstoppable. You carried fire like it was born in your blood."
Her fingers brushed the engraved letters as though they were his face. Her tears fell freely now, dripping into the earth.
"You were supposed to be the one to change everything for our family... for me. I was just the shadow you left behind, the little sister who could never catch up. And yet—" she bit her lip hard, her voice trembling between pride and grief, "—I’ve surpassed you. I am the Princess of Flames now. I’ve taken your crown, Ren. But it doesn’t feel like victory. Not when it means standing here... alone."
Her sobs broke into the night, soft but heavy. The wind stirred as if to answer her grief, the flames on the torches flickering wildly. She pressed her forehead to the cold stone, clenching her fists until her nails bit into her palms.
"I don’t want to just be your shadow anymore. I will go further than you ever dreamed. I’ll aim higher, burn brighter. I’ll take the ambitions you carried, the ones death stole from you, and I’ll make them mine. I promise you, brother, your flame didn’t die with you—it lives in me."
Her body trembled, and with every word, her resolve hardened beneath the grief. She lifted her head slowly, wiping her tears roughly away.
Then, turning her gaze to General Cao’s grave—the man who had once stood as a pillar of the Pacesetters Academy—her expression softened into reverence.
"General," she whispered, bowing her head respectfully. "You were a legend, not just for the Academy, but for every young flame-wielder who ever dreamed of becoming more. You guided me when you didn’t have to. You gave me the discipline to shape my chaos into strength. I’ll never forget that. I will not let your name vanish into history without meaning."
Her hand lingered briefly over the flowers she had laid for him. Then she stood, shoulders squared, the flicker of determination glowing in her eyes despite the wet streaks on her cheeks.
She inhaled deeply, letting the cold night air fill her lungs.
"I swear on these graves," she said firmly, voice steadier than before, "that I will carry both of your flames forward. I’ll burn until there’s nothing left to challenge me. For Ren. For General Cao. For the Princess of Flames that you both shaped me to be."
The torches flared brighter at her words, as though the fire itself acknowledged her vow. Guinevere turned away, her tears drying into an iron resolve. The night closed around her, but the heat of her determination burned hotter than ever.
She did not look back.
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The moon still hung pale and heavy in the sky, veiled only slightly by drifting clouds, its light spilling across the stone pathways of the Pacesetters Academy cemetery. Unlike the sprawling graveyards of commoners, this one was small, neat, and heavy with history—every gravestone belonged to a student who had once walked the Academy’s halls but never lived to graduate. Their lives cut short in duels, expeditions, or battles too great for their young shoulders.
The iron gates creaked softly as Morris Grey pushed them open. His figure, cloaked in a long black coat, moved with slow, deliberate steps. In his hand, he carried a modest bouquet of lilies, their pale petals trembling faintly in the night breeze. He could feel the silence of the cemetery pressing around him, the weight of so many unfulfilled dreams.
But he wasn’t here for all of them. Only one.
Morris’s steps slowed as he reached a particular gravestone, its polished surface catching the moonlight. Kneeling down, he brushed away a thin layer of fallen leaves and dust to reveal the name carved deep into the stone:
Sofia Hathaway
"A flame extinguished too soon, but never forgotten."
The sight of her name almost undid him. His fingers trembled as he laid the bouquet gently at the base of the grave. For a moment, he just stared, his breath uneven, his throat tight with words he wasn’t ready to speak.
Then, finally, he forced a smile—but it was bitter, jagged, the kind that could never reach his eyes.
"...Sofia..." His voice cracked, and he quickly cleared his throat, forcing the words out more firmly. "I brought you flowers. You always loved them, remember? Said they were the only thing softer than my hands."
A shaky laugh escaped him, but it quickly died into silence. He lowered his head, his bangs shadowing his eyes.
"It’s... funny. When I think back to us, it almost feels like a dream. Our story was so short—too short. Like a spark that never had the chance to grow into a flame." He let out a shaky exhale, clutching his fists. "And yet... it meant everything to me."
His voice quivered as he continued, each word more painful than the last.
"You should’ve been here, Sofia. With Kaelen, Ethan, Guinevere... with me. You should’ve seen how much we’ve grown, how much we’ve fought. But instead, you’re here... lying beneath cold earth while I..." He paused, his throat closing up. "...while I keep going without you."
Morris pressed his palm flat against the gravestone, as though trying to bridge the gap between them. His vision blurred as tears gathered in his eyes, and despite his efforts to hold them back, they spilled freely down his cheeks.
"I loved you," he whispered hoarsely, his shoulders trembling. "More than I ever admitted, more than I ever showed. And yet, all I’m left with now is this—flowers and tears in the middle of the night."
His knees buckled slightly as he sank lower, his forehead resting against the cold stone. The dam inside him finally broke, and deep, ragged sobs tore out of his chest. He wept openly, clutching the gravestone as though afraid it would slip away, as though by holding on tightly enough, he could pull Sofia back from the shadows of death.
"You were more than a friend," he cried, his voice breaking. "You were my light, Sofia. And now that light is gone."
The cemetery swallowed his cries, carrying them into the stillness of the night. There was no one else to hear, no one else to comfort him. Only the pale moonlight, the whispering wind, and the silent gravestone that bore the name of the girl he had loved.
For a long while, Morris stayed there, broken and vulnerable, pouring out the grief he never let anyone else see. When his tears finally slowed, he lifted his head, his face streaked with wetness but his eyes burning with quiet resolve.
"...I’ll carry you with me," he whispered, his fingers tracing Sofia’s name. "In every fight, in every step I take forward. You’ll always be there, Sofia. Always."
With that, Morris rose shakily to his feet, casting one last lingering glance at the grave before turning back toward the gates. His shadow stretched long across the cemetery path, swallowed gradually by the night.
But behind him, at the base of Sofia’s grave, the lilies swayed gently in the breeze, as though touched by an unseen hand.