Chapter 2: Tears Of Joy
The warm glow of chandeliers flickered across the grand dining hall, casting golden hues on polished marble and finely woven tapestries. The scent of roasted meat and spiced wine drifted through the air, a luxurious aroma that contrasted sharply with the cold, metallic stench of blood still fresh in his memory.
He sat stiffly at the long, lavishly decorated table, surrounded by half-brothers and sisters who barely acknowledged his presence except to bully him—until the first tear slid down his cheek, and then another. Although it was light, he could not stop the continuous downpour.
After all, this sight was one he never thought he would see again.
Silence fell. They all looked at him like he was either weird or fragile, such gazes he never thought he would ever appreciate seeing again, even if it had a hint of mockery underneath.
Then, a chuckle. And another.
"Why is he crying? Did the little prince finally realize he's useless?" One of his stepbrothers smirked, swirling his goblet of wine.
Another joined in, tapping a spoon against his plate. "Maybe he's sad that our father will never favor him, because he lacks the ability to awake a favorable bloodline...such trash!"
The words barely registered in Oliver's head. He was more focused on the wonder before him.
His hands trembled as he stared at them—young, smooth, untouched by time or torture. He could move his fingers freely, without the pain of broken joints. His breath hitched as he felt his face—no sagging skin, no sunken cheeks.
Through the reflection of the lightly decorated silver goblet before him he could see his face—A child's face.
He had returned.