CHAPTER 12 — The Harewyn Lord
Walking through the gates of the Harewyn estate felt like stepping into a world carved from wealth and winter itself.
The outer courtyard was paved with pale marble tiles veined in silver, each stone glowing faintly beneath rune-lanterns shaped like hanging icicles. Snow fell softly above us, but none of it touched the ground — drifting upward at the last second as if bowing respectfully to the estate's magic.
Everything here was pristine. Everything had its place and was intentional. It was beautiful.
Isabelle walked a few steps ahead of me, posture straight, her steps silent despite the stone walkway. Her attendants trailed behind her in perfect formation, their eyes occasionally flicking to me with suspicion or, in the case of one, faint annoyance.
We passed tall ornamental pines dusted with frost, carved statues of proud harefolk warriors, and fountains frozen in sculpted arcs of shimmering ice.
A pair of armored guards stood at the entrance to the main castle hall. Both bowed as Isabelle approached.
"Lady Isabelle," they greeted. Neither spared me more than a glance — polite, but confused.
She nodded in acknowledgment but didn't slow. I followed her through doors so tall I felt ten again.
The interior hit harder than the outside.
Crystal chandeliers hung from high vaulted ceilings, each glowing with a cool blue flame. Pillars of polished stone lined the halls, carved with scenes of winter hunts and moonlit ceremonies. Servants — maids in crisp uniforms and butlers in silver-trimmed coats — moved about quietly.
Every single one stopped and bowed the moment Isabelle passed.
And then, after she walked by, every set of eyes flicked to me.
Not hostile — just curious, confused.
Who was I? Why was I following their princess?
Isabelle led me up a wide sweeping staircase that curved like a frozen wave. Guards stood at every landing; they bowed to her, stared through me.
My grip tightened on the satchel.
I'd never been somewhere this fancy, in this life or my last.
Eventually she stopped in front of a pair of tall wooden doors carved with the symbol of the Harewyn clan — a silver hare surrounded by frost petals.
She knocked once.
A deep voice responded, "Enter."
She opened the door and stepped inside. I followed after a small pause.
The office was warm — different from the cold halls. A large fireplace crackled to the left, filling the air with the pleasant smell of burning pine. To the right, a full wall of bookshelves stretched from floor to ceiling, packed with tomes whose spines shone in colors of deep blue, storm grey, and winter white.
Directly across from us sat a broad wooden desk positioned before a tall window. Sunlight spilled across the polished surface and illuminated the man sitting behind it.
He was… imposing, in a dignified way.
Tall even while seated, shoulders broad, posture straight. His hair was blond but streaked with dignified grey, brushed back neatly. His jaw was strong, his features sharp, and his eyes—an icy blue—held the calm of a ruler who controlled more than just a household.
A king in everything but title. But the thing that kept drawing my eyes were a pair of rabbit ears on the top his head.
His expression lifted the moment Isabelle stepped in.
"Isabelle," he said warmly. "I thought you were heading to the market district today. What brings you back so soon?"
Isabelle dipped her head respectfully.
"I was in the market district, Father. But I found something… interesting."
She turned slightly and gestured toward me.
"This boy. He carries a letter from Lord Garron."
The change in him was immediate.
The warmth vanished. His posture straightened. His gaze sharpened from fatherly to authoritative, piercing me like a spear of frost.
"From Garron?" he repeated, voice low. "Let me see it."
I swallowed, stepped forward, and pulled out the sealed letter with both hands.
"Yes, Lord Harewyn. I was told to deliver this to you personally."
He reached out, took the envelope, and broke the seal with one fluid motion. The room fell silent as he read.
His eyes traced each line slowly.
Occasionally he paused to glance up at me — staring as if he were comparing the words on the page to the reality standing before him.
Minutes passed.
Finally he exhaled, leaned back slightly, and closed his eyes for a long moment.
Then he set the letter down gently.
"So your name is Kyree."
I nodded once, staying quiet. Better to let him lead the conversation.
His eyes flicked over me again — my silver-white hair, my elf-like ears, the robe I still wore from Garron.
Then he asked the question I'd been expecting since the moment I entered:
"Garron writes that you are a newborn Snowhare." His brow lowered. "But you appear as an elf. Did your evolution change your appearance… or are you hiding something?"
His tone wasn't accusing.
Just… waiting.
Measured.
I hesitated only a second before sighing internally and reaching for the ring with my mind.
A subtle ripple of mana brushed over my skin.
The illusion fell.
A gentle breeze seemed to sweep past me as the false image dissolved. My true form settled into place — the twin rabbit ears lifting, the faint tint returning to my aura signifying my race, my presence shifting.
Isabelle gasped softly.
Lord Harewyn's brows drew together—not in anger, but in surprise.
Then he leaned forward slightly.
"Kyree… just so I understand correctly." His voice was quieter now, but heavier. "You are less than a week old. And you simply woke in the Coldwood Forest… alone?"
I hesitated.
Should I mention reincarnation? Definitely not. Not yet.
So I nodded.
"Yes. I woke up there a few days ago. I don't remember anything before that."
The silence thickened.
He studied me another moment, expression unreadable.
Then he drew a slow breath and stood.
"I assume you've only just arrived in the city."
"Yes, my lord."
"Then you will stay here tonight." His tone brooked no argument. "The inns near the districts fill quickly, and you have no coin. It would be irresponsible to send a child like you back outside."
Isabelle's eyes widened a fraction — clearly she hadn't expected him to offer that so easily.
He lifted a small silver bell from his desk and rang it once.
A maid appeared almost instantly — a woman in her thirties with soft black hair and a pair of snow-white rabbit ears. She bowed deeply.
"My lord."
"Prepare a guest room for Kyree," he instructed. "Inform the kitchens to prepare an additional setting for dinner."
"Yes, my lord." She turned to me and bowed again. "Young master, if you'll follow me, I'll take you to your room."
I glanced at Lord Harewyn.
He gave a small nod.
"We will speak further after dinner."
Message received.
I dipped my head respectfully and followed the maid to the doorway.
"You can call me Kyree," I told her as we stepped out. "No need for the young master stuff."
"Yes, young master Kyree," she replied politely.
"No—just Kyree. Drop the 'young master.'"
"But young master Kyree, I—"
"I said—"
The door closed behind me before I could finish.
*****
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Inside the Office
The room fell quiet after the boy, Kyree left, the faint crackle of the fireplace filling the silence.
Isabelle turned to her father, waiting.
Lord Harewyn remained standing for a moment, staring at the closed door, then returned to his desk. He rested his palms on the surface and bowed his head slightly, thinking.
Finally Isabelle broke the silence.
"Father?" she asked. "What was that about?"
Her father didn't answer right away.
She continued, voice thoughtful:
"I don't understand what's going on? I am confused. Is he truly a Snowhare? He hid his race and looked like an elf until now. And what connection does he have to Lord Garron? The guardian of the Coldwood Forest doesn't simply hand letters to strangers to act as courier."
Lord Harewyn exhaled slowly and turned toward the window, gazing out at the snow-covered city below.
His voice, when he spoke, was quiet. But firm.
"Watch him closely, Isabelle."
She blinked.
"Why? What's going on father? Do you distrust him?"
"No." He paused. "Not distrust. But I believe he is not… ordinary. Garron would never send someone here without purpose."
Isabelle's brows knit slightly as she considered that.
A boy from nowhere. A newborn with the eyes of someone older. A Snowhare with the power to hide his aura, and appear like an elf. And now, he's staying here, in their home.
She looked back toward the door — toward the boy who had just walked out of it.
"…Who are you, Kyree?" she whispered.
Her father didn't answer. He didn't know either.
But both of them felt it:
Kyree was going to change something.
Something important.
Something soon.