Trampled and Broken (Completed Main Story) - Chapter 17
Her voice, hoarse from frequent coughing, carried a raspy, metallic edge.
At her reply, Aslan’s expression hardened further as he immediately asked,
“Why.”
“…Because I don’t think I have a reason to live.”
His face twisted with displeasure.
His brows furrowed deeply, nearly touching as if pressed together.
Hestia lowered her head like someone guilty, murmuring softly,
“My parents are gone… and I’m so lonely.”
Tears once again welled in Hestia’s eyes, spilling over and sliding down her cheeks.
Aslan looked down at her, his expression conflicted, before finally speaking abruptly.
“Live anyway. I’m still alive, aren’t I?”
Hestia sniffled indignantly and retorted through her tears at his utterly indifferent words.
It was a side of her no one else had ever seen.
“You and I… are different. When you return north, you can see your father again. But for me… there’s no way to meet my parents again. Except by dying.”
“Do you really think the late king and queen would say, ‘Well done,’ if you went to them like that?”
“……”
“Live. However you must. Keep your feet on this earth.”
“Hic… Huhuh. But there’s… there’s no reason.”
Her shoulders trembled faintly as she struggled to stop crying.
Aslan reached out as if to comfort her, but hesitated and clenched his hand before touching her.
Swallowing a deep sigh, he continued,
“If you need a reason to live, I’ll be that reason.”
“…What?”
Hestia fixed her tear-filled violet eyes on him.
With a face that looked oddly irritated, he stated bluntly,
“Live for me.”
Hestia’s pupils trembled.
Her heart began pounding wildly—kuh-kuh-kuh-kuh—at words she’d never once considered.
Meanwhile, Aslan swallowed another sigh.
How could he possibly convey that he meant every word with absolute sincerity?
Not knowing how, Aslan stubbornly repeated the same phrase several times.
“I worry about you, Princess. So live. If you die, I’ll be sad.”
If he kept saying it, maybe she’d be brainwashed into believing it.
He genuinely wished—more than anything—that Hestia would live.
“Make me the reason you live. Hold on like that.”
Gritting his teeth as he watched fresh tears fill her violet eyes again, he added,
“Then, someday, I’ll come for you.”
“You’ll… come for me?”
When she asked with disbelief written all over her face, Aslan nodded instantly, not even waiting for her question to end.
“Yes. Definitely.”
Those words were exactly what Hestia needed most.
A place she could run to.
Someone she could rely on.
Unable to hold back any longer, she bowed her head, and tears poured down.
Her voice choked and barely audible, she lifted her lips into a faint smile and whispered,
“You have to keep your promise, right?”
“Yes.”
Aslan nodded patiently, without the slightest hint of annoyance, answering the same question over and over.
.
.
.
After finally calming her tears, Hestia sniffled and asked,
“Don’t you miss your parents?”
Of course he did.
But Aslan couldn’t answer easily—he knew the late king and queen’s memorial day was just a few days away.
Misinterpreting his hesitation as something else, Hestia forced a bright smile onto her face and offered comforting words.
“I often hear news of Duke Kalati’s victories. He must be perfectly healthy and uninjured—that’s why the reports keep coming. So please wait just a little longer, my lord. You’ll surely see him again.”
Who was comforting whom, really?
Aslan’s lips turned pale as he bit back the urge to click his tongue in frustration.
‘You fool.’
One month before Hestia became a saint,
her parents—the king and queen—died in a carriage accident during an inspection tour.
At that time, travel between the north and south was still possible.
Though the weather had grown cold, it wasn’t yet unbearable.
Those with means had migrated south, but the poor couldn’t easily abandon their homes.
Thus, a considerable number of people remained in the north, prompting the royal couple to travel north to distribute relief grain and soothe the people’s hearts.
It was during this journey that their carriage overturned, and they passed away before anything could be done.
Simultaneously with the state funeral, Yorgos—the king’s younger brother—ascended the throne.
And Hestia’s position became extremely awkward.
She was the legitimate princess, only eleven years old.
Though morally Yorgos should have taken her in, he had no desire to do so—she offered no benefit to his reign.
Yet sending her straight to a convent would invite unbearable ridicule.
Thus, Hestia’s status became uncertain, and she nearly turned into a royal nuisance.
Then, on the thousandth day since the onset of winter—
on January 1, 1089—Hestia received a divine calling and awakened as a saint.
Since no saint had appeared in a long while, and given her emergence during the symbolic, ongoing ‘winter,’ everyone rejoiced.
It was quite fortunate for Yorgos as well.
His troublesome niece, whose living arrangements had given him headaches, finally had a purpose.
Moreover, he could claim considerable credit with the temple, greatly boosting his pride.
Thus, circumstances surrounding Hestia changed rapidly, like a river in flood—yet no one truly cared for her.
She stood at the center of everyone’s attention, yet remained isolated and lonely.
That was why.
“What I said earlier was sincere.”
Aslan, instead of answering her question about missing family, spoke unexpectedly.
“I’ll definitely come for you. But if, before that day, you ever feel like giving up everything…”
He drew in a deep breath.
“Come to Kalati.”
His golden eyes gazed steadily at the little girl, holding her within his resolve.
“I’ll become your family.”
It was a vow.
A promise to protect this small girl who had eased his own loneliness.
Startled by his unforeseen words, Hestia’s eyes widened briefly before softening into a gentle smile.
Realizing she’d taken his words merely as comfort, Aslan felt oddly compelled to whine—but instead, he emphasized once more,
“Anytime.”
Hestia didn’t answer; she simply smiled. To Aslan, that smile carried the faint scent of flowers.
.
.
.
From the day Hestia fell into the pond, the distance between her and Aslan closed instantly.
Outwardly, nothing seemed different, but inwardly, the psychological gap between them had grown remarkably small.
It was as if a tall wall separating them had crumbled in an instant.
They shared a bond deeper than friendship.
He understood her, and she knew him.
Though their time together was extremely brief, it held profound meaning for both, making their long waits willingly endured.
Through a series of events, Aslan and Hestia realized that emotional depth and connection aren’t measured by time.
Then, one day—
Hestia, slipping away from others’ eyes to visit Aslan’s palace again, urgently stretched out both hands before even greeting him.
“Aslan. Will you take this?”
Having dropped the formal title “my lord” and now calling him by name, she shyly offered him something.
It was a pressed flower, matching the color of her eyes exactly.
“…This is…”
“It’s a sweet pea.”
She’d dried the flower and embedded it in a wax tablet infused with fragrance.
“The stem was thick, so shaping it was hard… But I thought you’d like it, so I brought it. It might not look great, but among the ones I made, this turned out the best.”
“Wait.”
At her words, Aslan’s eyes slowly closed, then opened again.
“You thought I’d like it?”
His tone carried a hint of incredulity.
But Hestia didn’t flinch—she nodded firmly right away.
“You do like looking at flowers, don’t you?”
“…!”
His golden eyes widened momentarily.
Watching him with a bright, teasing smile, Hestia couldn’t hold back any longer and burst into a soft giggle.
Aslan cleared his throat awkwardly and glanced away, embarrassed.
“Who—who said I enjoy that sort of thing.”
His unusually mumbled reply was tinged with sheepishness.
Hestia watched him with an even brighter smile before adding cheerfully,
“Actually, fresh flowers are best to admire—I think so too. But still…”
Aslan kept staring at her gift without taking it.
So Hestia gently placed the pressed-flower wax tablet into his hands and continued her earlier thought.
“Isn’t it rather romantic to press memories or moments into a single petal and keep them forever?”
“Romantic…”
Aslan rolled the wax tablet in his palm, quietly repeating the word she’d used.
“When you look at a pressed flower, you can recall that moment anytime, right? With just this one bloom, you can return to that day whenever you wish.”
“……”
“Isn’t that true?”
Only then did his golden gaze fix firmly on her.
Like her hair swaying gently in the breeze…
his heart felt as if it swayed the same way.
No—it already had.
Long before the wind ever blew.
Why She Is Still Unmoved (Female-dominant)
One-line summary: He uses various methods to seek her affection, but she remains unmoved.
Synopsis:
Si Qingyu is a doctor who has saved countless lives and enjoys tranquility.
Luo Shaoxuan is ruthless, deeply scheming, and the top young master in the capital. He admires Si Qingyu.
Luo Shaoxuan: I want to be the only one in your eyes and heart.
Features a cold and calm female lead vs A noble and scheming male lead.
There will be both sweetness and torture towards the male after their marriage.
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