The morning began as it always did. Klen rose before the first light of dawn, the mansion's halls still hushed in their quiet slumber. He dressed in his uniform, folded his blanket neatly, and stepped into the corridor with practiced precision. His first duties were familiar now—straightening Lyra's room, preparing her desk for studies, and making sure the morning's tasks were ready before the house fully woke.
Later, he made his way to the training hall, where Fole awaited him.
"Your stance," the butler said, his calm voice carrying authority as he tapped Klen's foot with a wooden rod. "It's slipping. Wider."
Klen adjusted, his body already aching from the early drills. The hall rang with the sharp crack of wooden weapons striking, the sound echoing off polished stone. Fole circled him with the grace of a man long practiced, pushing Klen through footwork and sparring exercises. Each strike was a test, and though Klen stumbled more often than not, there were moments—fleeting, but real—where his movements were steady, his balance sure.
"Again," Fole said.
Sweat ran down Klen's brow, but he nodded. He was no longer the frail boy who once struggled to stand upright. His body was learning. Slowly, painfully, but surely.
When the training finally ended, Fole set aside the wooden rod. "Enough for now. Prepare yourself. You'll be joining Milady in Aldercrest today."
Klen blinked, his chest still heaving from exertion. "Aldercrest?"
"The city," Fole replied simply. "Your duties extend beyond these halls."
There was no question of refusal. Klen only bowed his head, silently acknowledging the command.
The mansion gates opened, and for the first time since he had arrived, Klen stepped beyond them. The road wound down into the bustling heart of Aldercrest, and the sheer noise struck him like a wave.
Vendors called out their prices in booming voices, their stalls overflowing with fruits, fabrics, and polished trinkets that glinted in the sun. Carts rattled over cobblestone streets, pulled by snorting horses. The air was thick with the mingled scents of spices, roasted meat, and the sharp tang of smoke from nearby forges. Children darted between legs and wagons, their laughter mixing with the cries of merchants and the clang of hammers on metal.
Klen's steps slowed for just a moment, the world pressing in on him. It was too alive, too much at once compared to the order and quiet of the mansion. But he forced himself forward, keeping close to Lyra as she walked ahead, her eyes wide with excitement.
"Look!" she said, pointing eagerly at a stall lined with polished hairpins, their jeweled tips glimmering in the light. "Aren't they beautiful?"
Fole followed a step behind, his sharp gaze scanning the crowd. He said nothing, but his presence was enough to part the flow of people around them.
Lyra moved quickly from stall to stall, her golden hair catching the light as she leaned close to examine wares. "And these! They smell amazing!" She leaned over a display of baked goods, the scent of warm bread and sugar drifting into the air.
The vendor, a cheerful man with flour-dusted hands, smiled broadly. "Fresh pastries, miss! Best in Aldercrest!"
"I'll take one," Lyra said without hesitation, placing a few coins on the counter. She took a bite, her eyes lighting up at the taste. Then, without pause, she turned and held the rest out to Klen.
"Here. Friends should share."
Klen stared at the offering, uncertain. "I…"
Lyra tilted her head. "Go on. Don't be shy."
Slowly, Klen reached out and took it. The pastry was warm in his hand, soft and sweet. He bit into it cautiously, the sugar and spice bursting on his tongue. It was unlike anything he had ever eaten, and for a brief moment, his chest tightened with something he couldn't name.
As he chewed, his thoughts turned inward. He wished—quietly, silently—that the two girls he had once known might one day taste something like this too, safe and unafraid. The wish was wordless, but it weighed heavily in his chest.
Lyra's smile widened at his small nod of approval. "See? That wasn't so hard."
Their walk carried them to the wide square at the city's center. Music drifted through the air—a musician strumming a stringed instrument, his tune lively and bright. A pair of dancers twirled and spun, their colorful scarves trailing like ribbons. Children clapped along to the beat, and even the merchants paused, smiles tugging at their tired faces.
Lyra stopped to watch, clapping softly in rhythm. "Isn't it wonderful?" she asked, her voice filled with delight.
Klen stood beside her, his gray eyes fixed on the scene. The laughter, the music, the sheer brightness of it—it was all foreign to him, yet oddly soothing. He gave a small nod. "…Yes."
Lyra's face lit up. "Good. Then let's stay a little while."
For a moment, standing there among strangers, listening to the music, Klen felt something stir within him. The world was larger, livelier, and kinder than he had imagined.
By the time the sun dipped lower in the sky, Fole placed a hand lightly on Lyra's shoulder. "Milady, it's time to return."
Lyra pouted but nodded, turning back toward the streets that led to the mansion. Klen followed, his eyes lingering once more on the bustling stalls, the crowded alleys, the laughter echoing in the square.
As the gates of the mansion closed behind them, silence returned, wrapping the estate in its calm embrace. The noise and color of Aldercrest faded into memory, but the sweetness of the pastry, the music in the square, and the warmth of Lyra's smile lingered in Klen's mind.
For the first time, the world beyond the mansion no longer felt unreachable.