13. The Bodyguard

  Rosalina Valcazar was an outcast her entire life.

  Even in her own household.

  She was the youngest of seven children – born into poverty, struggle, and expectations to feed her entire family.

  While the eldest siblings had the opportunity to study, to seek out apprenticeships, to build their futures, she had none.

  She had to work to sustain her parents and siblings. That’s how it worked.

  So, by the time she turned sixteen, Rosalina had two choices: The Ostian brothels, or the blade.

  Ostia was a kingdom of war and mercenaries. The whole of Terra preferred to hire its warriors from the brutal training grounds of Ostia’s lawless lands, making the mercenary life one of the few viable paths for survival.

  So, the choice was simple.

  She picked up a sword.

  Being magicless didn’t help.

  Most of the top mercenaries in Ostia were mages – capable of turning battles in their favor with a flick of their fingers.

  She had no such advantage.

  Which meant she had to work a thousand times harder than anyone else. To reach the peak of human condition. To stay ahead of the curve.

  Rosalina made sure to keep up with Terra’s technological advances – learning everything she could about the new weapons being developed, the latest improvements, and even the smallest tricks that could bridge the gap between her and the magically gifted.

  She sharpened herself into a weapon of pure skill, relying on speed, precision, and strategy rather than raw power alone - though, she didn’t lack that either.

  And it worked. More times than it didn’t.

  When she turned eighteen, Terra’s most dangerous man noticed her.

  Ifrit. Kain Vortalis from Stulan.

  The man the entire world had feared.

  One of his top officers had scouted her. At first, Rosalina thought it was a joke – why would a man like Ifrit have any interest in a lowly Ostian scum like her?

  But it was the truth.

  And Ifrit tested her.

  He had personally assigned her a mission: to infiltrate an Ostian warlord’s stronghold alone, assassinate him, and escape undetected.

  It was suicide.

  But Rosalina, recognizing opportunity, bit her lip and pulled through.

  She barely survived. Bleeding, battered, every inch of her body screaming in pain after a gruesome one-on-one with the warlord – but she did it.

  And Ifrit was impressed.

  From that moment on, her path to becoming one of his top officers was clear.

  He had personally nicknamed her Rose – a name that stuck.

  Her family didn’t need for anything. She provided all the money they ever needed.

  It didn’t make her the favorite child, though. But, it didn’t matter…

  Or at least, until…the world decided to laugh at her that one time.

  It had been a good day.

  A successful mission. A huge payout. A satisfied Ifrit.

  She and her men were celebrating in one of Dalina’s rougher taverns – cheap drinks, loud laughter, music ringing in her ears.

  She let herself relax, just a little. To allow herself to enjoy the moment. To feel like she made something of herself. To think she was at the peak of the mountain.

  But when you reach the peak, the only thing left is the fall…

  A careless moment. A broken bottle. A piece of glass. A mistake.

  She didn’t even see it coming.

  One second, she was turning to respond to one of her men’s jokes – the next, a shard of glass had cut her eye.

  She stumbled backward, blood pouring down her face.

  The pain was immediate, but she was hardened enough to not notice it.

  The humiliation, on the other hand? Unescapable.

  She had fought hundreds of battles, survived impossible odds, and this was how she lost an eye?

  She couldn’t believe it.

  Even now, years later, she couldn’t recall exactly how it all happened.

  A tavern brawl? A drunken mistake? An idiot trying his luck?

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  It didn’t matter.

  She had lost her damn eye.

  And with it, she thought she had lost everything. She had been certain Ifrit would drop her.

  After all, out of her many famous skills and fortes, she was known as the Sharpshooter – bow, crossbow, even throwing daggers – Rosalina Valcazar didn’t miss.

  But after the incident? Without depth perception?

  She was practically useless in that regard. Dropping into a lower level at others as well.

  No one would hire a half-blind mercenary. No one would bet on a crippled marksman. Let alone someone like Ifrit.

  She had clawed her way up from the gutter – fought, bled, and earned her place among Ifrit’s best. And then, it was all over.

  Or so she thought.

  Because Ifrit had surprised her. He let her stay.

  At first, she had been grateful, unable to imagine a world where she had to explain to her parents how she was unable to sustain the family any longer.

  But looking back now? She wondered if she should’ve preferred it if he had just let her go. Because what followed was far worse.

  The first mission after her injury? Guard duty.

  Not guarding an important shipment, not a dangerous negotiation, not a possible assassination target, not even Ifrit himself – not like he needed any protection.

  No.

  She was watching over a storage warehouse in the slums district of Dalina hidden deep in its outskirts.

  A warehouse.

  Like some fresh recruit who couldn’t handle a real job.

  She thought it was a one-time thing. That Ifrit was testing her, waiting to see if she’d prove herself again.

  So, she endured it.

  But then?

  The next job was escort duty…for a merchant.

  Not a weapons dealer. Not a smuggler who Ifrit knew personally.

  Just a simple merchant. Nothing more, nothing less.

  It was humiliating.

  And when she returned, hoping for something – anything – to prove herself again, what did she get?

  Guard duty. Again.

  Not for a warehouse this time. No.

  For an accountant.

  Rosalina wasn’t stupid. She could read between the lines. Ifrit didn’t trust her anymore. Not in the ways that mattered.

  He still kept her around, still paid her well, still let her wear the badge of an officer. But he wouldn’t send her on anything that truly mattered.

  Because in his mind, she was no longer necessary. She was a gamble. A broken piece he could afford to lose, but was curious enough to keep.

  For someone like Rosalina, a pure-blooded Ostian who had crawled up from the lowest of the lows, pride was everything.

  Being reduced to nothing hurt her – physically.

  She wanted to leave. But Ostians valued loyalty above all else.

  And so, despite becoming a nobody, despite receiving countless offers from Ifrit’s enemies, she had refused to abandon him.

  She knew she needed to prove herself to her master, no matter how long it took.

  So, when Ifrit summoned her for a one-on-one meeting, completely out of the blue, Rosalina had hoped for the best.

  Maybe – finally, after all these degrading guard and escort missions – he had noticed her again.

  But then he told her he had a son.

  She couldn’t believe her ears, at first. But…it made sense.

  Why wouldn’t Ifrit want a heir? So what if he was just in his mid-twenties? He had an entire empire to lead. Thinking about the future was only natural. Powerful men secured legacies.

  But before she could even fully process the thought, Ifrit’s voice rang in her ears.

  He was giving her a new mission. One she could’ve never expected.

  Ifrit approached her slowly, the fires of his empty chamber swirling everywhere but where she stood.

  He leaned in and whispered in her ear. “You will be his shadow.”

  Rosalina’s fingers twitched.

  “You will guard him.” Ifrit continued, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Every second of his life. From the moment he wakes up until he sleeps, and even beyond that. You will not leave his side unless I said so.”

  She swallowed.

  “No one is to approach him unless I approved them beforehand.” His voice dropped lower, turning sharp, cutting like a knife. “No one is to harm him. And if they try…”

  He exhaled slowly.

  “You will kill them.”

  Her shoulders tensed.

  “You will follow him wherever he goes.” Ifrit’s voice remained steady, unwavering. “Even if he chooses to act independently, you will shield him from danger, from weakness, from anyone who wishes him ill.”

  His red eyes bore into her, unblinking.

  “And if they day comes when your life is required to keep him safe, Rose – “ He stepped away, his arms crossed behind his back. “- then you will give it.”

  Rosalina didn’t know what to say at first.

  On one hand, very few people even knew Ifrit had a son.

  The fact that he was trusting her with that information meant something. It had to.

  But on the other hand…He had reduced her even lower. To a babysitter role.

  A glorified nanny with a great sword she would never have to use – because who in his right mind would even try to cross Ifrit?

  She clenched her fists.

  Oh, if her parents had heard about this…They would have laughed in her face. They would have told her that, no matter how much gold she was being paid, she would have been better off selling her body in a brothel. Even that was more honorable than playing wet nurse to a crime lord’s whelp.

  But then Tristan Vortalis came into her world.

  She hated him at first.

  He was a baby – a newborn, small and fragile – but she still hated him.

  She hated what he represented - her failure. Her punishment. Her new reality.

  But quickly, she couldn’t feel that way anymore.

  It started with the smallest things.

  At first, she barely noticed.

  The way her gaze would linger whenever a servant held him too carelessly. The way she would step forward when he stumbled on his chubby little legs, catching herself just before she reached out. The way her ears would tune in to the slightest whimper from his crib.

  She worried about him, even when she told herself she didn’t.

  And Tristan? He tormented her. He had the gall to be amusing.

  Rosalina had assumed all children were stupid – loud, obnoxious, drooling little monkeys.

  But Tristan was smart. Too smart.

  At two years old, he could already speak in full sentences.

  ‘As expected of Ifrit’s spawn…’ She thought at the time.

  She had nicknamed him ‘Little Devil’ as a joke. Because if Ifrit was the Devil, then what else could his son be?

  And yet, somewhere along the way…she grew attached.

  She was there when he took his first steps.

  There when he first fell, scraped his knee, and didn’t cry – only stared at the blood in fascination.

  She was there when he first lied, stealing sweets from the kitchen.

  She was there when he first demanded she teach him how to fight with a sword, at the ridiculous age of four. His hands were so tiny, he could barely hold a wooden spoon, so a sword?

  She was there when he first asked about Ifrit – about why he wasn’t around. And she was there when he first realized Ifrit wouldn’t be a father to him. He couldn’t be.

  Without noticing, he had become a part of her world. She had begun to care.

  Not just as a protector. Not just as a bodyguard. Something deeper she couldn’t quite explain.

  She wanted to see what he would become. She wanted to be there when it happened.

  And if the whole world turned against him, she would cut it down, piece by piece, until only he remained.

  And even now, as Ifrit ordered his six-year-old son to learn how to Reave from supposedly the best Thread Reaver alive – a task unthinkable for a child his age, health-wise, skill-wise and morally – she knew he could do it.

  But she didn’t want him to.

  Not because she doubted him. Not because of his abilities – even magicless, Rosalina knew that Tristan could conquer the world. She could feel it.

  But because of his age. Because she cared. Deeply.

  Users of stolen magic always ended up as cripples. That’s why she never dared to use it.

  She had seen so many men and women go down that path.

  Brilliant warriors, strong people, ambitious as well – all ended up losing themselves for an extra bit of power.

  She didn’t want that for him.

  But the alternative? The alternative was death.

  Ifrit had no patience for weakness.

  If Tristan doesn’t prove that his magicless situation is just a minor setback, his own father would erase him without a second thought.

  And so, no matter what happens, she would be there.

  Always.

  And no matter what road the Little Devil chose – even if he one day turned against his own father – she would be there.

  She would give her life for him.