Chapter 5: Morbius

  As Morbius and I climbed into the carriage, leaving the cathedral behind, the quiet between us settled like a shroud. His red eyes fixed on me, unblinking, for what felt like an eternity. Ten minutes passed before I finally summoned the nerve to speak, but before I could open my mouth, Morbius’s cold voice sliced through the silence.

  “My Lord… no, Marquette. From the moment I first saw you as a child, I knew you would be trouble.” His tone was icy, but there was a faint, almost reluctant hint of admiration. “Of all the Marquettes I’ve served, you are by far the most rebellious. Even from your youngest days—especially as a teen—you were the only Marquette who ever snuck out of the estate to wander among commoners in the slums of Lian Yu. You are the only Marquette who has ever openly defied your father over a cause you believed in.”

  I turned to the window, trying to hide my expression as he continued.

  “At only fifteen, you became the youngest Bookkeeper in history. And you… were the only one foolish enough to fall in love. And then, of course, to lose it, taken from you by the Fallen.”

  His words hit a nerve. “Yeah? So what, Morbius? Why bring all this up now?”

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  For the first time, there was a flicker of something like emotion in Morbius’s eyes. “Because, Marquette,” he said, his voice softer, “you are the only one who ever treated me like a human being. You, who showed anger for others’ sake, not just your own. No other Marquette… has ever shown me genuine emotion.”

  I kept my gaze fixed on the window, fighting back any sign of weakness. But a memory drifted to the surface, of the first time I’d met Morbius. I was five years old. My father, cold as the family name, had just told me he wouldn’t be raising me—that the kingdom needed all his attention. I remember feeling lost, small.

  Back then, Morbius had knelt beside me, his red eyes intense but gentle, and placed a hand on my shoulder. Now, here he was again, reaching across the years that stretched between us. His crimson gaze softened, as if drawing strength from a hidden warmth.

  “You know,” he said quietly, “of all the Marquettes I’ve served, you are the only one I’ve raised as my own. When you took your seat at fifteen, I felt… proud. Proud in a way I imagine a father might be.”

  Despite my best efforts, tears began to fill my eyes. I tried to choke them back, but a few escaped anyway. “Are you serious, Morbius?”

  Without hesitation, Morbius leaned forward, wrapping me in an embrace. “I am always serious about you, my Lord,” he whispered. His voice was gentle, warmer than I had ever heard.

  The floodgates broke, and I cried harder, feeling the weight of years slip from my shoulders. Morbius quickly pulled out a handkerchief, dabbing at my tears with an efficiency and care that I never thought he’d show.

  Then, with a slight smirk, he reverted back to his usual tone. “My Lord, tears do not suit a noble.”

  I let out a small laugh, wiping the last of my tears. “I guess that softer side of yours couldn’t last forever.”

  He pulled away, tucking the handkerchief back into his pocket. Without another word, he turned to gaze out the window, and I joined him, both of us lost in our own thoughts as the carriage rolled toward our next destination.