These two were, of course, none other than Seraphine and her maidservant, Helen.
Both stood frozen by the doorway—but for entirely different reasons.
Helen's wide eyes glimmered with admiration and disbelief, her breath caught in her throat the moment her gaze landed on Dorian.
His poise, his aura, and that faint, confident smile—all of it struck her like a spell.
She had seen handsome men before, but none who radiated such effortless power and charm at once.
Seraphine, however, was frozen for a reason far more personal.
Her gaze shifted between her mother and the man seated across from her, her mind struggling to process what she was seeing.
Her mother—the ever-cold, untouchable elder of their clan—was sitting at a table, sipping tea and sharing a meal with a man.
Not just any man, but one who looked as though he belonged there.
"Is this real?" Seraphine wondered, her lips parting slightly in disbelief.
It felt as though the world had turned upside down.
Never once in her life had she seen her mother like this—so calm, so relaxed, almost… happy.
She had witnessed her mother meet with countless men before—powerful sect leaders, noble heirs, envoys from distant lands—but those encounters were always formal and fleeting.
Her mother would discuss alliances, exchange pleasantries, and then dismiss them with the same composed indifference that made her the woman everyone both respected and feared.
But this… this was nothing like that.
Little did Seraphine know that her mother's calm demeanor was nothing more than an act.
Valentina wasn't truly at ease—she was performing, crafting an illusion of familiarity and warmth with careful precision.
Every soft smile, every gentle word was part of a calculated effort to make Dorian's presence seem natural, even welcome.
This facade would serve a greater purpose: to pave a smooth path for Dorian's introduction not only to Seraphine but to the rest of the clan.
By appearing close to him, Valentina ensured that no one would question his sudden arrival.
Seraphine would have liked to linger in the shadows for a moment longer, to continue watching the impossible sight before her unfold—the mighty Valentina, her ever-distant mother, sitting calmly across from a man and sharing tea as if they were old friends.
Her heart was still struggling to catch up with what her eyes were seeing when her mother's voice, smooth and commanding as ever, shattered her daze.
"Come, Seraphine," Valentina called, her tone leaving no room for hesitation. "I'd like you to meet an old friend of mine."
Seraphine stiffened and swallowed hard.
Mother… has friends? The thought alone was enough to confuse her further.
Quickly collecting herself, she smoothed her robe and stepped forward with the grace expected of the daughter of a sect elder.
Her maidservant Helen followed closely behind, her curiosity poorly concealed.
"Yes, Mother," Seraphine answered softly.
Each step toward the table felt heavier than the last.
Her eyes, however, were not on Valentina—they were fixed on the man sitting across from her. Dorian.
The name would come later, but even without knowing it, Seraphine could already tell that this man was unlike anyone she had ever seen before.
There was something commanding yet strangely gentle about his presence, as though he carried the weight of countless stories behind those calm, knowing eyes.
"Daughter," Valentina began, turning her gaze toward her, "this is Dorian Axe. He's… an old friend of mine—from a life best forgotten."
Her words carried a subtle weight, a faint sadness even, that did not go unnoticed by either of them.
Valentina then looked toward Dorian.
"Dorian, meet my daughter, Seraphine."
Both now stood, and for a brief moment, time itself seemed to pause.
Valentina's sharp eyes flicked toward Dorian, searching, testing.
She knew how men tended to react to beauty, and her daughter had inherited much of her own.
Would Dorian's gaze lust after her daughter? Would that same flicker of unwanted desire he had for her also appear towards her daughter?
But it didn't.
Dorian looked at Seraphine with the calm, untroubled gaze of a man who had lived too long to be swayed by youthful charms.
To him, she was a child—a delicate bud yet to bloom, not someone to covet.
Valentina exhaled quietly in relief, the faintest trace of tension leaving her shoulders.
"Well, well, well," Dorian said with a warm chuckle, breaking the silence that had stretched between them.
"It's about time I finally meet your daughter, Val. She's as beautiful as you are."
Valentina's lips curved in a faint, guarded smile.
Seraphine, meanwhile, blushed lightly at the unexpected compliment, unsure how to respond.
She lowered her gaze politely, murmuring, "Thank you, Senior."
"Good name, too," Dorian added with a nod.
He reached into his coat, producing a small wooden box that looked simple at first glance but carried an undeniable air of mystery.
The grain of the wood was dark and smooth, engraved with faintly glowing patterns that seemed to shift subtly under the light.
"Here, Seraphine," he said, holding it out with one hand. "A little gift for our first meeting."
Seraphine hesitated, glancing at her mother for silent permission.
Valentina studied the box, her expression unreadable, before giving a slight nod.
Only then did Seraphine step forward and accept the gift with both hands.
The box was cold to the touch, heavier than it looked, and she could feel something faintly pulsing within—as if the object itself was alive.
"Thank you, Senior Dorian," she said softly, her curiosity barely hidden beneath her calm tone.
Valentina's gaze lingered on the box, and for the first time that day, there was uncertainty in her eyes.
She could not sense what was inside, and that alone unsettled her.
"What's inside?" Seraphine finally asked, her fingers tracing the delicate carvings that seemed to hum faintly under her touch.
Dorian smiled—a slow, knowing smile that reached his eyes.
"That," he said, his voice low and steady, "is something you'll come to understand in time. Gifts worth having are rarely meant to be opened too soon."
Helen's mouth parted slightly, and even Valentina's composure faltered for a fraction of a second.
There was meaning behind those words, layers of history and intention that only Dorian seemed to grasp.
A quiet tension filled the air—one that was not hostile, but heavy with curiosity and unspoken emotions.
Seraphine glanced at her mother, but Valentina's expression had already returned to its usual cold serenity.
"Thank you again, Senior," Seraphine said, bowing slightly.
"Good girl," Dorian replied softly, almost fondly, before turning his attention back to Valentina. "You've raised her well, Val. She carries your grace."
Valentina's eyes flickered for a moment—something unreadable crossing her face.
"Grace," she repeated quietly, almost to herself. "Perhaps."
Dorian chuckled, the sound warm and nostalgic. "Ah, still so modest after all these years."
Seraphine stood silently beside them, clutching the box in her hands, her heart full of questions she dared not ask.
For some reason, she could not shake the feeling that this man—this Dorian Axe—was far more than her mother's "old friend."