After Adam and Luna had nearly dropped both their teacups—and their metaphorical jaws—they managed, barely, to recover. The silence lingered only a moment before the conversation resumed.
Thalion leaned back in his chair, eyes steady and thoughtful. Then, with deliberate care, he spoke.
"Adam, don't take this the wrong way, but Paladins… you're not like luminaries or acolytes. You don't exactly have anywhere to stay in Elysia, do you? And no coin to keep an inn indefinitely, since Paladins are usually more charitable than their stations allow."
The words weren't sharp, but matter-of-fact, softened by the faintest curve of his lips. Not mocking. Not pitying. If anything, it was approval—like he saw something in Adam worth respecting.
Adam opened his mouth, closed it again, then tried once more, only to falter. For the third time that day, no words came. His lips pressed together, and his head dipped, the faintest blush coloring his face. He knew what they were implying.
And then came what everyone had been expecting.
"You should stay here, with us! You saved Luna. You're practically family already!" Elenor declared, clapping her hands together with unrestrained glee. Her whole face lit up, her smile so wide it threatened to split her cheeks. To her, the matter was already settled. Adam was hers now—another child to fuss over, feed, and spoil rotten.
And she was right.
Because what other choice did he have?
Adam swallowed what pride he had left and forced his voice to work.
"I-I would like that very much… th-thank you…"
The words slipped out barely louder than a whisper, shaky and small. He sat with his hands folded neatly in his lap, shoulders drawn inward, eyes fixed stubbornly on his fingernails. His cheeks burned a furious red, his posture almost childlike.
Luna turned red herself, not from shyness but from second-hand embarrassment, stifling a laugh that threatened to bubble out anyway.
Elenor practically bounced in her seat, her hands flying up to cover her mouth before she blurted out, voice high with sheer delight:
"Oh, my sweet boy! Look at you—so polite, so shy! You're mine now, Adam. No arguments, no buts! I'm going to take such good care of you, just you wait!"
She leaned forward with an excited squeal, very nearly throwing her arms around him then and there, stopping only because he looked like he might faint under too much sudden affection.
Thalion's deep chuckle rumbled through the room.
"Welcome to the family, son. You'll fit right in. You've already saved Luna like she was your kin—think of this as a reward for that."
He said it so warmly, so simply, that it made the absurdity of gaining a nineteen-year-old son overnight feel utterly ordinary.
"Don't be shy, Adam. You saved my daughter—by elven custom, that makes you mine as surely as if you were born to me!", Elenor declared, clapping her hands together with radiant glee, as though she'd just revealed the simplest, happiest truth in the world.
Luna smirked, crossing her arms with casual defiance.
"Don't expect me to call you 'big brother' or anything, Adam," she teased, her tone sharp but not carrying the weight of protest.
Adam blinked. Once. Twice. A third time. His eyes stung as tears welled, unbidden, until his vision blurred.
He'd been accepted that easily?
Why?
The question swelled in his chest, but he didn't voice it. He didn't need to.
Instead—he smiled.
And it was not a timid smile. Not a forced courtesy. This one broke through him raw, trembling, unstoppable. His lips wavered at the corners, unsteady, but lifted anyway. His eyes, bright with unshed tears, softened as they met theirs. It wasn't perfect. It wasn't practiced. It was fragile, messy, utterly sincere.
It was the smile of someone who had been adrift for far too long and had, at last, found safe harbor.
For a moment, the room stilled.
Elenor squealed into her hands, kicking her feet like an overjoyed child. "Too precious! Far too adorable for your own good! Adam, you've no chance of escaping me now—I'm your mother, and that's final!"
Thalion's grin gentled into quiet pride, his gaze steady and approving.
Luna flushed scarlet, whipping her head away even as her ears twitched, betraying her.
Adam wiped his tears with the heel of his hand, still smiling through the tremor in his lips, and looked at them—his family now.
"I won't let you down," he said, voice thick but steady.
No one minded the tears. If anything, they made that smile shine all the brighter.
And thus, a family gained a new son.
After the emotional whirlwind of the day, Elenor had declared it was time for bed. Sunset had barely passed, and she assured Adam they didn't usually retire so early. But after the chaos that had unfolded, no one argued.
Adam certainly didn't. He was beyond exhausted.
Though, he mused, I doubt I'd have said no to Miss Elenor anyway.
He'd taken to calling her that, "Miss Elenor." He really should ask their family name at some point.
Now he lay in his new bed.
The guest room, permanently set aside for him, was simple but pleasant. The wood matched the trees of the forest outside, rich and dark like mahogany. The bed frame was sturdy and rustic, aged but seldom used, its headboard etched with trees and leaves layered in resin. A single carved trunk rose from the center, its branches curling outward as if cradling the frame itself.
The mattress was soft yet firm, lighter than any he'd slept on before. Pink sheets greeted him with quiet cheer—his favorite color.
Matching tables stood at either side, with a small set of chairs and a woolen rug completing the room. The walls, an off-white tinged with yellow, gave the space a warmth that made it feel larger than it was. Clever design, Adam thought—perhaps Elenor's touch, or Luna's. Thalion didn't strike him as the type to fuss over interiors.
He let the thought go and looked down at the clothes he now wore. At first, he had tried to refuse them, but Thalion insisted he had never worn them himself. They'd been a gift from someone attempting to curry favor—and failing. Adam, weary of the T-shirt and jeans he'd been transmigrated in, had accepted.
The robes were far more comfortable. White and flowing, lined with golden seams, they reminded him of paladins from light novels and anime. No insignia marked them, unlike the guards' uniforms. The gold trim was the same color as his hair—a coincidence Adam couldn't help but find amusing.
Then his gaze rose to the ceiling.
There, he found the most fantastical sight he had yet seen in this household.
Above him, pale pink leaves—like spun sugar frozen mid-bloom—spread across the false ceiling in a perfect circle. They shimmered faintly, as if catching unseen moonlight, and from their arrangement hung nothing at all.
Nothing, save for the chandelier that floated below them.
It hung suspended in midair, untethered by chain or cord, poised in silence like a jewel defying gravity. The leaves above it pulsed faintly, as though exerting some unseen pull, a delicate balance of magic and nature. The chandelier itself was a marvel: dozens of slender glass rods cascaded downward like frozen rain, most a deep verdant green, with a few gleaming platinum accents hidden like stars among the canopy. They caught and bent the light, scattering it into patterns that danced along the walls, as though the whole room were alive.
It should have been impossible, yet there it was—resting not on wood or metal, but on faith and enchantment.
Even if it hadn't floated, it would have been a wonder. Floating, it was otherworldly.
Would being the keyword.
Because the moment Adam stepped from the bath in his new clothes, the chandelier lost its crown. His long golden hair, clean and gleaming, framed features that seemed caught between youth and divinity.
Elenor had paused, caught off guard, before smoothing her surprise into a gentle smile. Luna lingered a moment longer than she intended in the doorway, eyes wide, then darted away with a flustered murmur. Thalion only offered a dry, knowing smile, as though he'd seen it all before.
Adam tilted his head. He wasn't blind to their reactions, but he'd grown accustomed to such stares since waking in this body. Still, he dismissed it. It's probably just the clothes, he told himself—though he didn't fully believe it.
Smiling faintly at the memory, he felt his eyes grow heavy. For the first time since entering this strange world, Adam allowed himself to sleep.
And then opened his eyes again.
He stood on swirling grey waves—or perhaps clouds—that crashed and folded into one another, endlessly shifting. Faint streaks of rainbow shimmer broke through, warping the air in disorienting patterns. Adam staggered, yet even off-balance he found he couldn't fall.
The horizon stretched in a clean line of color, while above him, a pure white sky glowed faintly through the grey. All around, the waves—ground, sky, and sides alike—spiraled toward a distant sphere of light, the only clear source of radiance in this dreamscape.
Despite its muted palette, the place was far from dull. Like storm clouds on a rainy day, the scene carried its own quiet beauty. Adam found himself smiling softly, oddly at peace.
The rainbow streaks aren't flowing toward it, he noted.
Then came the sound of footsteps. Slow, deliberate, drawing closer.
Adam turned toward the sound.
But saw no one