The Bigshot's Superstar Wife - Chapter 62

Chapter 62: Farewell (Special Chapter)

Alishiera’s smile was faint but full of warmth and tenderness.

“You are my home, Devancier. Wherever you go, whatever happens, you’ll always be my home.” Her breath shuddered as her body grew weaker. “Don’t forget that.”

The sky above them had started to change, the sun sinking slowly beneath the horizon, painting the sky with shades of orange and pink.

Alishiera’s eyes fluttered closed, and for a moment, Devancier thought he had lost her.

But then, she opened her eyes just enough to meet his gaze one last time, her voice barely a whisper.

“I love you… always.”

And with that, her hand slipped from his, and the life that had once burned so brightly within her faded into nothingness.

The breath that had sustained her, the heartbeat that had kept her alive, stilled forever.

Devancier felt the weight of her death settles over him like a blanket of cold grief. His soul felt empty, and his heart was shattered.

He could not stop the tears, could not stop the sobs that wracked his body as he held her lifeless form in his arms.

The sun dipped below the horizon, leaving the world bathed in the soft glow of twilight. Alishiera, his love, his heart, was gone.

And yet, in that moment, as he gazed at the sky she had always loved, he realized something.

She had given everything for them. For him. For their children. For the empire. And though she was gone, her love would live on.

As the stars began to twinkle in the sky, Devancier made a vow to her memory.

He would carry on. For her. For their children. And for the empire she had sacrificed everything to protect.

“You are my home, Alishiera,” he whispered, his voice filled with both grief and a quiet promise. “And I will always carry you with me.”

Devancier’s journey back to the empire was long and lonely. The weight of Alishiera’s ashes, carefully secured in an ornate urn, sat heavily in his arms.

The swords, Arthivian and Elsienflora, lay beside him in the carriage, her sword, Elsienflora, now dormant and silent after healing him in his darkest hour.

He couldn’t fathom how it had worked, but when Alishiera had slipped away, her sword had somehow given him a gift, a final act of love.

The once-struggling, broken man who had been on the brink of losing everything was now physically whole, his wounds healed as though they had never been there.

But the emotional scars, the grief, and the hollowness that gnawed at his heart were beyond any healing.

He didn’t know how he had continued on after her death. It was as if her spirit, her love, still held him in place, guiding him.

Yet every step felt like a betrayal, as if moving forward meant leaving her behind, forgetting the promises they had made, the life they had dreamed of.

How could he return home without her?

How could he face their children, knowing they would never see again the woman who had given them life, who had sacrificed everything for them?

How could he stand before them and pretend that everything was alright when his soul was still shattered by her loss?

The days stretched into weeks, and when he finally arrived at the gates of the empire, a quiet, somber silence had fallen over the land.

The people greeted him with respect, but there was no joy in their voices, no celebrations.

They had heard of the war’s end, of the great victory, but they did not know the cost, the price that had been paid for peace.

Devancier carried that burden alone.

His heart was heavy with loss, his mind filled with the memory of his wife, he walked through the familiar streets, each step feeling like a painful reminder of what he had lost.

When he arrived at the palace, he was met by his son, the crown prince, now seven years old.

The boy’s eyes, a mix of his mother’s gentle spirit and his father’s fierce determination, were wide with curiosity and concern.

He had been told of his father’s return, but nothing could prepare him for the sight of his father carrying the urn. The child hesitated, not understanding the weight of the moment.

“Father?” His small voice trembled, and Devancier looked down at him, the pain in his chest growing with each passing second.

How could he explain to this innocent child that his mother was gone? How could he make him understand that the woman who had given him life would never return?

Devancier knelt down slowly, his knees creaking in protest, but he ignored the discomfort. He had to hold it together for his children, at least for their sake.

He gently placed the urn on the ground and took his son’s hands in his. “Your mother…” he began, his voice hoarse. “Your mother is gone.”

The boy’s face remained expressionless for a moment, as though he didn’t fully understand the weight of his father’s words.

But then, a single tear slipped down his cheek, and he clung to his father’s side, his tiny body shaking with sobs.

Devancier’s heart broke as he held his son. “I’m sorry, my son,” he whispered, kissing the top of the boy’s head. “I’m so sorry.”

His daughter, who had been playing in the background, ran to them when she heard the sorrowful exchange.

At seven years old, she was already wise beyond her years. Her eyes were like Alishiera’s, full of compassion and understanding.

She knew what the urn meant, even if she didn’t understand the full implications of her mother’s death.

She stood silently beside her father and brother, her hand resting on her brother’s back.

Devancier took a deep breath, wiping his face. He had never been good with words, especially not when it came to matters of the heart.

But this was his family, and he had to be strong for them now.

“Your mother,” he said, “she gave everything for you, for this empire. She was our light, our protector, and now it’s our turn to carry on her legacy.”

His daughter looked up at him, her eyes filled with quiet determination. “We’ll make her proud, Father,” she said softly.