As the maids led Alexander to the chambers he would be living in for the time being, his eyes wandered around the halls filled with paintings. In the distance, he heard the maids whispering about the tragedy that had occurred.
"Did you hear? That's the only survivor of Valeshire," one maid said to the other.
"Such a shame to be all alone now," she replied softly.
The maid leading him couldn't help but feel a wave of sadness for Alexander. Poor kid, losing his whole village and his mother... from what the guards said, the scene was brutal, she thought to herself as she glanced back at him.
Alexander was still in a daze, hearing his mother's final words echo in his mind: Live, my son. Live.
How does one live with this despair, Mother? How could you leave me...? Alexander said silently to himself. Tears began to build up in his eyes, but just before they could fall, the maid's voice broke his train of thought.
"Mister Alexander, these will be your living quarters for the time being," the maid said while bowing.
Alexander replied slowly, "Th... thank... y-you."
Poor kid must be scarred for life, the maid thought as she walked away.
Alexander stepped into the room, still lost in thought about his village and his mother. Sitting on the bed, finally alone for the first time since waking up, the tears came flooding out. He buried his head in his hands as the memories returned like a crashing wave—his mother's final moments, the village engulfed in flames, the screams of the villagers echoing in his mind. It was too much for a child to handle.
---
The next morning, Alexander was awakened by a knock at the door. A young maid entered his room with a tray of food and a glass of water.
"Good morning, Mister Alexander. Lord Cedric sent me to deliver your meal. He said you might not have the appetite to eat, but you should try to get something in your system," the young maid said gently as she placed the tray on his bed.
Alexander said nothing, merely following her with his eyes.
"Lord Cedric also instructed me to inform you that you'll be joining him in his study later. He wants to clear up some missing details regarding the... incident," she added, clearly pitying him for being the only survivor of the massacre.
Alexander gave her a small nod of acknowledgment.
"We've also left a pair of fresh clothes for you in the bathing hall. You may go whenever you feel ready. That will be all—for now, I'll take my leave," she said, offering a slight bow before leaving the room.
He stared at the tray of food, his stomach growling at the sight of bread, eggs, and a bowl of soup. He realized he hadn't eaten since the day his village was destroyed. Lifting the tray onto his lap, he tore off a piece of bread and dipped it into the soup before taking a bite. Tears welled up in his eyes. Tastes like Mother's cooking... He wiped his tears away with his left palm. The stench from his body caught his attention next. I should finish and go bathe and clean myself, he thought.
He finished eating and headed towards the bathing hall. As he walked through the halls, he realized how quiet it was. He felt out of place. His eyes wandered once more to the paintings and lanterns that lined the corridors. When he finally arrived, he opened the large doors and was struck by the sheer magnitude and magnificence of the bathing hall.
It was a large, steaming pool. The thick fog made it impossible to see the far side of the room.
He walked closer, almost stumbling into the water. To his left, he noticed a long wooden bench stacked with folded towels. Next to it stood a shelf with neatly arranged clothing. Beside the shelf was a bucket for used garments. He undressed, tossing his ragged clothing into the bucket. A faint scent of lavender and something earthy lingered in the air. He followed the smell to a cabinet with a mirror, its surface fogged over. Wiping the mirror clean, he hardly recognized himself—his body and face were smeared with blood, his hair clinging to his cheeks.
Taking a sponge, he stepped into the pool. Dipping the sponge into the water, he began to scrub away the dirt and blood that clung to his skin. With every stroke, the water darkened, stained by the filth of tragedy. It was as if he were trying to scrub away the pain and memories along with the blood.
After finishing, he stepped out of the pool and walked toward the clothing that had been left for him.
He dried his body and put on the new set of clothes. The garments were simple—a pair of black fabric trousers, a white shirt, and a gray cloak bearing the crest of House Draymere. His fingers traced the crest, triggering a memory of the time he once asked his mother about House Draymere.
Just as he opened the door to leave, he was met by the young maid who had brought him breakfast.
"I hope the food and bathing hall were to your liking, Mister Alexander," she said with a polite bow. "Lord Cedric would like to meet with you now."