The days passed quickly, slipping into a rhythm that Klen was slowly growing used to. Every morning began before dawn, the mansion still cloaked in darkness and silence. He woke without hesitation, as if his body still remembered the harsh routine of his past life. But this was different. There were no shackles, no cold floors. Only the soft creak of the bed, the faint scent of polished wood, and a warm blanket neatly folded from the night before.
He moved through his room with care, dressing in the uniform laid out for him, folding his blanket and tidying the small space before slipping the key into the lock and stepping into the hallway. The mansion was still and calm at this hour, the flickering lanterns casting soft light across the polished floors.
The kitchen was already bustling. Steam rose from pots, knives chopped vegetables with rhythmic precision, and the scent of warm bread filled the air. Klen slipped in quietly, as he always did, bowing his head politely.
"Morning, lad," Marna, one of the older kitchen maids, greeted him with a warm smile. She set a plate of bread and eggs in front of him without needing to ask.
"Thank you," Klen said softly, sitting at the edge of a small table.
"Eat quickly now. It's going to be a busy day," she said, patting his shoulder before hurrying back to her work.
He ate quietly, watching the staff work. It was strange, being in a place where people moved with purpose but without fear. No one barked orders, no one lashed out. Everyone knew their role, and somehow, that calm efficiency made him feel safe.
His first duty was always to wake Lyra. He approached her door, his steps soundless on the carpet, and knocked lightly.
"Milady? It's morning," he said softly.
"Come in," came her drowsy voice.
He stepped inside. Lyra was sitting up in bed, her golden hair tousled, eyes half-closed. She blinked at him with a small smile.
"You're up so early again, Klen," she murmured, stretching her arms.
"It's my job," he replied simply, moving to pull the curtains open. Morning light poured in, washing the room in soft gold.
"You always say that," she teased, brushing her hair out of her face.
He stayed quiet, adjusting her desk and setting out the books she'd need for her lessons.
"You don't have to be so serious all the time," she added, her tone light but warm.
Klen glanced at her, unsure how to respond, then bowed his head. "…I'll try."
The morning passed quickly. Lyra attended her studies while Klen assisted, fetching books and papers when needed. After breakfast, Fole summoned him to the training hall.
"Stand straight," Fole said, his calm but firm tone echoing in the wide room. "Your stance is your foundation. Without it, you will fall."
Klen adjusted his footing as Fole corrected him, placing a wooden stick against his shoulders.
"Balance. Again."
The butler swung the stick, and Klen barely ducked in time. He stumbled but quickly regained his footing.
"Better," Fole said, his expression unreadable. "Again."
The drills were exhausting but familiar now. Klen was no stranger to hardship, but for the first time, his struggle felt like it had purpose. His reflexes were faster, his footing surer, and though his body still ached, there was strength where there used to be only weakness.
After the physical exercises, Fole knelt, extending his hand. A soft blue glow flickered in his palm.
"This is mana," he explained. "It flows within you. Focus. Find it."
Klen shut his eyes, concentrating. He could almost feel it—a faint hum beneath his skin, like warmth buried deep inside him. When he opened his eyes, a spark of light flickered faintly in his hand.
"I… did it," he whispered.
Fole's mouth curved slightly. "Good. That's enough for today."
Later that afternoon, after Lyra's lessons had ended, she insisted on going outside.
"You've been working all day. Come on, Klen," she said with a grin, tugging at his sleeve.
"I don't think I—"
"You're coming," she interrupted firmly.
Klen followed her out into the gardens. The air was warm, the scent of flowers filling the breeze as they walked along the stone paths. Lyra stopped now and then to point out her favorite flowers, her golden hair catching the sunlight.
"Do you like it here?" she asked suddenly, glancing back at him.
Klen blinked, unsure of how to answer. "It's… peaceful."
She smiled. "I'm glad. I wanted a friend, not just someone to work for me. Father doesn't really understand that."
"A… friend?" Klen repeated softly, surprised.
"Yes. I didn't ask for a servant," Lyra said firmly. "I asked for someone I could talk to. Someone my age. You don't have to bow to me all the time, you know."
He looked down, struggling to process her words. "…I don't know how to be a friend."
Lyra's smile softened. "Then I'll teach you. It's not hard. Just… talk to me. Tell me things. Like… what's your favorite flower?"
Klen glanced around, then pointed to a small patch of daisies growing by the path. "Those. I think."
"Daisies, huh?" Lyra said, smiling. "Simple but nice. I like roses best. They're pretty but tough."
They found a shady spot beneath a large tree, where a maid had left a small basket of snacks for them. Sitting side by side, Lyra chattered about the things she liked: books, flowers, the parts of the mansion she liked to sneak around in. Klen listened quietly, offering short answers when she asked him questions, but his shoulders began to relax.
For the first time, he didn't feel like he was being judged.
That night, Klen sat by the window in his small room, the moon casting silver light across the floor. He thought of the two girls he had once shared his suffering with—their frightened faces, their soft whispers in the dark. He hoped they were safe now, though a part of him doubted he'd ever see them again.
And then there was her—the shadow with black wings. She hadn't spoken since that night, but her presence was always there, quiet and heavy in the back of his mind. He didn't understand what she was or what she wanted, but she had changed something in him.
Klen sighed and pulled the blanket over himself. Despite the ache in his muscles and the ghosts of his past, there was warmth here. There was safety.
For the first time, he had a purpose. For the first time, he had someone who wanted him as more than a servant.
And for the first time, he allowed himself to close his eyes and drift into sleep without fear of tomorrow.