The Fiancée I Lost

The instant the name reached his ears—Suncrest Clan—it hit Victor like a lightning bolt ripping through a tempest-darkened sky. Time fractured around him. For one lost heartbeat, the world receded, muted, as if he was hearing it from the depths of a deep, quiet well. Voices blended into a soft, meaningless hum. His own chest constricted, pulse stumbling, and a brief blaze of light flared at the rear of his brain, harsh and urgent. And then, nearly harshly, the hall around him disappeared.

He stood under an impossibly hot sky, filled with golden sunlight. The light poured over a great courtyard, each stone gleaming slick and reflecting the sun's radiance. Laughter coursed through the air, imbued with carefree, happy power. Two boys fought there, wooden swords smacking against each other in a rhythm that was both chaotic and harmonious. One of them was him—or at least the boy that he used to be, hidden deep down beneath the man that he had become. The other was not.

She was light itself, distilled into flesh and motion. Blonde hair cascaded down her shoulders, catching the sun in strands of unadulterated gold that seemed to dance with each movement. Her eyes burned amber, warm and gentle, a look that could temper even the harshest winter. Sasha Suncrest. The recall of her name vibrated within him like a known chord.

Her cry echoed out, teasing and clear, slicing across the sun-drenched patio. "You're too slow, Victor!"

The boy giggled, breathing in ragged gasps, sweat shining along the curve of his cheek, making it nearly radiant in the sunlight. "You're cheating again! You always go before I count!

She gave him a smile, a mischievous light one. "Then count quicker!" And she attacked again before he could answer, her wooden sword flashing through the air, light and free. The sound of their parry echoed in his chest as memories of easier times—of heat, of contact, of competition sweetened with something that was positively close to desire—flashed, drawing him further into the courtyard of his memory.

Before he could respond, she whirled on her heel and took off, her laughter echoing behind her like song. The golden light caught in her hair, sending shafts of light flashing in all directions—so alive, so tangible—that the immediate Victor felt his chest constrict.

He could feel the heat of that day right again. The scent of grass. The ring of her laughter reverberating as a dream he'd forgotten years ago but would never be able to lose.

The memory hit Victor harder than any sword. His chest convulsed, not out of agony, but out of the oppressive burden of something he hadn't experienced in years—nostalgia, woven together with regret.

"Suncrest Clan…" he whispered, his voice low, almost trembling. His eyes unfocused, drifting somewhere far beyond the hall. "I'd almost forgotten."

In the Lionheart Kingdom, the Suncrest Clan was one of the oldest and most prestigious noble families—old blood, vast riches, and an unwavering devotion to the Crown. When Victor was ten, they'd promised their only child, Sasha Suncrest, as his bride. On paper, it was a political union—a tie between two houses. But behind that protocol, there had been real affection.

His parents had hesitated at first, suspicious of such unions. But the Suncrests' candor, their unshakeable commitment, convinced them. The betrothal was marked with lavish feasts, divine blessings, and childlike promises taken in candlelit ceremonies—promises neither knew, yet both uttered with pure hearts.

He could still hear her laughter—soft, effervescent, always drawing him out of himself. She had the way of grasping his sleeve when she wanted something from him, her eyes shining with playful mischief. She'd sometimes sit next to him through his lessons, acting like she read the same books, nodding as if she got every single word just so she wouldn't have to leave his side.

Those days were plain. Untainted by obligation, untainted by the world's burden. They were two children in pursuit of sunlight.

Then came when everything started to fracture.

That was when the warmth started to dissolve. When innocence made way for something heavier—shadows moving into the crevices of a union that neither of them was prepared to lose.

His awakening in cultivation had been a failure. No amount of training, no matter how intense his effort was in trying to rouse his mana, the energy would not budge. The illustrious prince, born with all the blessings, now stood as the Empire's mute shame. No one dared make fun of him in person—he was, after all, still the heir—but in hushed tones, whispers crept along the palace corridors like venom.

And as his light faded, so did his trips to Sasha. Shame had a wicked habit of binding his feet. He told himself at first that he was busy, that he was too intent on training—but the real reason was easier. He couldn't stand the pity in her golden eyes.

Yet, Sasha came. Time and again, she'd appear at the courtyard, smiling past his icy excuses. But always, he had a reason to turn her away. One day, by the window, he witnessed her leaving—her head down, her feet slow and heavy. That picture cut deeper than any knife. For the first time, he saw how much he'd hurt her. He vowed to make it good the next time she arrived.

But she never returned.

He couldn't fault her. She was young, proud, and her heart had been hurt. Perhaps she waited for him to run after her, to talk—to attempt. But he didn't. His pride, his shame, his fear of appearing weak held him trapped in silence.

Eventually, hope disappeared. He ceased to wait for her knock, ceased to look at the garden where she used to appear. The world seemed smaller, darker. He retreated totally—avoiding everyone, immersed in remorse and regret.

And one day. Victor arrived to greet her.

The instant seemed so destiny-like, as if the world itself had held its breath to see him make that move. She was married to the man who had vowed to defend him

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