The days in the Morin mansion passed quickly at first, but soon they began to slow, settling into a rhythm that Klen had never known before. For the first time in his life, his mornings were not spent in fear, nor were his nights filled with hunger and cold.
Each day started before dawn. The mansion would still be quiet, the long hallways dimly lit by the soft glow of lanterns as he dressed in his neatly folded servant's uniform. The smooth fabric felt strange against his skin even after weeks of wearing it—too clean, too soft for someone like him. He folded his blanket, tidied his desk, and locked his door with a small click, following Fole's instructions to the letter.
When he reached the kitchen, he was always greeted by the same warm smell of fresh bread baking and broth simmering over the fire. The chefs worked efficiently, knives flashing, pots bubbling. At first, Klen had felt like a shadow here, unsure of his place among the busy staff. Now, they greeted him with quiet nods and kind smiles, as if he had always been part of the household.
"Morning, lad," said Marna, one of the older kitchen maids, setting a plate of eggs and bread in front of him.
"Thank you," Klen said softly, bowing his head.
She chuckled. "Polite as always. Eat up before it gets cold."
He ate quickly, never lingering. There was always work to do.
His first task was always to wake Lyra. The path to her room had become familiar, and his knock had become routine.
"Milady, it's morning," he called softly, his voice even and calm.
"Come in," her drowsy voice would answer.
He'd open the door to find her curled under her blanket, golden hair spilling over her pillow. She always blinked sleepily at him, and each morning her smile grew a little warmer.
"You're so serious," she teased one morning as he opened the curtains. "Most kids your age would hate waking up this early."
"I'm used to it," Klen said simply, smoothing her desk and setting out her books.
Lyra sat up, hugging her knees. "You don't talk much, do you?"
He paused. "…I don't know what to say."
She giggled softly, swinging her legs over the bed. "That's alright. You're good company, even if you're quiet."
Weeks went by, and Klen's work became second nature. He assisted Lyra during her studies, fetched her books and writing supplies, and followed her to meals with her father. The older man rarely spoke, his presence commanding even in silence. Klen always stood straight in his uniform, mindful of every movement under the man's sharp blue gaze.
Lyra, on the other hand, grew more comfortable with him each day. She started teasing him lightly when he forgot something small or praised him when he moved quickly to help. At first, her words had made him nervous—he wasn't used to anyone speaking kindly to him—but over time, he began to feel… at ease.
In the afternoons, Fole's training sessions began.
"Feet apart. Lower your stance," the butler instructed one day, his calm voice carrying authority. He tapped Klen's shoulder with a wooden stick, correcting his posture.
Klen followed the instruction, focusing hard.
"Better. Now—dodge."
The stick swung fast, and Klen barely managed to duck in time.
"Again," Fole said, his face unreadable.
Day after day, the drills repeated. At first, Klen stumbled often, his thin arms trembling as he tried to hold himself steady. But his body adapted. His balance improved, his reflexes sharpened, and his movements grew quicker.
"You're getting faster," Fole remarked after a few weeks.
Klen nodded, breathless. "I… have to be."
The butler's expression softened for just a moment before returning to its usual calm. "That's good. Determination will take you far."
Magic training was far harder. Fole demonstrated patiently, holding his palm out as a soft blue glow flickered to life.
"This is mana," he explained, his tone calm but firm. "It flows through all living things. To control it, you must first feel it."
He placed a hand lightly on Klen's chest. "Focus here. Feel the warmth. Draw it out."
Klen closed his eyes and tried, day after day, but nothing happened. Frustration gnawed at him.
"Patience," Fole said whenever Klen faltered. "Magic does not come to those who rush."
Then, one evening, after another exhausting session, Klen felt something. A faint hum beneath his skin, a thread of warmth running through his arm. He concentrated harder, his jaw tightening.
A small spark flickered in his palm.
"I… did it," Klen whispered, staring at the glow as if it were a miracle.
Fole allowed himself a rare smile. "Good. Remember that feeling. Hold onto it."
The training left Klen sore and exhausted, but he began to notice changes in himself. His once-slender frame held a little more strength, his movements were sharper, and though he still spoke little, he carried himself differently.
Lyra noticed too.
"You're different now," she said one afternoon as she sat at her desk, chin resting in her hands while Klen organized her study materials.
"Different?" he asked without looking up.
"You're stronger. And you don't look scared anymore." She smiled softly. "You might even look cool soon."
Klen froze at that, caught off guard, then quickly turned away to hide the faint flush on his cheeks. "…I'm just doing my job."
Lyra giggled at his reaction, her laughter soft and genuine.
By nightfall, Klen would finally return to his own room. He'd strip off his uniform, pull on a plain shirt and trousers, and collapse onto his bed. The moonlight would filter through his window, casting pale light across the floor, and he'd sit there for a while, staring out at the quiet gardens.
Sometimes his mind wandered back to the days in the slave trader's cell. The stench of damp stone, the weight of the collar around his neck, the sound of chains clinking whenever he moved—it all felt like a distant nightmare now.
But another memory always followed: the shadow with black wings, her calm voice whispering, "Got you at last."
He'd touch his white hair, still not used to its color. Something had changed inside him that night. Something was still changing.
For now, though, he had a place to belong. Work to do. People who didn't see him as worthless.
Pulling the blanket over himself, Klen closed his eyes. His body ached from training, but it was a good kind of pain—a pain that meant progress. And for the first time in his life, he went to sleep not fearing what tomorrow might bring.