The guest room's door shut behind Eldric with a soft click.
He followed Aidan through a narrow hallway lined with pale wood and oil lamps. The air smelled faintly of herbs—soothing at first, but laced with something heavier underneath. Something metallic. Grounded. Ancient.
"Your room should do," Aidan said without looking back. "If anything's missing, call for Addy."
Eldric only nodded. The way the hallway opened up, the subtle turn of a corner that led to another door, another bend—it made the house feel endless.
From the outside, it looked modest. But from within? It was a maze.
"How many buildings are here?" Eldric asked, eyes drifting to the large windows that framed a distant barn, a stone shed, and what looked like another mansion. Four in total—maybe more hidden by trees.
Aidan paused. "Four main ones. Not all are used now."
'Not all are used now,' Eldric repeated in his head, unsettled. For what, then, were they built? For who?
They reached a side exit, and Aidan led him out through a covered walkway. That's when Eldric saw it—an expanse of lush, vibrant flora blanketing the land behind the cabin. The garden was wild and orderly all at once. Like it had been trimmed by someone who loved chaos but craved control.
"You keep… a garden?" Eldric asked, uncertain if that word even fit.
"You could call it that." Aidan's voice was quiet.
The flowers didn't look like anything Eldric had seen back in the city. Or even in the forest. Gloriosa with red curling petals like flames, monkshood shaded in ghostly violet, belladonna draping over a wooden arch. And the foxgloves—standing like eerie sentinels, heads bowed.
Eldric's father—who had followed with careful steps—chuckled as he knelt beside a bloom shaped like a twisted star.
"This one's beautiful. I've seen it back in the capital—"
"Don't touch it," Aidan interrupted firmly. His tone didn't raise, but something in it rooted everyone in place. "It can react to skin."
Eldric's father pulled back quickly, eyes narrowing.
Aidan didn't look away from the flower.
"Some of these grow best near graves. They hold memories longer than people do," he said, half to himself.
Eldric remained silent, glancing over the garden's sprawl. The plants weren't just thriving—they were thriving for a reason.
There was meaning in every vine's direction, in every petal's placement. He could feel it, like a pulse under the soil.
He looked at Aidan then. Really looked.
'He's just a boy,' Eldric told himself. But the way Aidan carried himself—stern, unreadable, his posture both soft and commanding—it didn't match his age. He looked like someone who had chosen to carry something too heavy, alone.
'A mere mockery from someone like me is nothing,' Eldric admitted inwardly. 'Not compared to the insults he's probably endured. If my family had fallen like his… If we were forced into some backwater village like Gloria… could I stand tall like him?'
He glanced down at his little sister, dozing in his arms.
She stirred.
He gently adjusted the handkerchief from his pocket to shield her eyes—a bit wrinkled, not entirely clean, but soft enough.
"It's all right," he whispered into her ear. "Keep dreaming. This is just a dream."
A few steps ahead, the smell of woodsmoke drifted through the air.
In the kitchen, Adeena stood barefoot, humming. The rhythm of her song was unfamiliar—old, perhaps something passed through generations. She stirred a pot with one hand and crushed herbs with the other, moving like someone who had done this a thousand times.
Eldric blinked. Did noblewomen in the capital do chores like this?
Maybe during exile. Or perhaps she learned it from years working in a stranger's house—Dahlia's, if he remembered correctly.
"Your home… uh," Eldric began, hesitant.
Aidan glanced at him, eyebrow raised.
"In Central City. Is it… like this?"
"My home?" Aidan stared at the soil near his feet, lips tugging downward. "The main house? I don't know. Maybe bigger. Hard to remember now."
Eldric nodded slowly.
"I think this estate is about half the size of my aunt's residence," Aidan added. Eldric's jaw went slack.
"Or not. I don't quite recall. You could visit Wisteria sometime. I doubt my uncle would be as strict as my grandfather. You might be able to look around."
That tone—it wasn't pride. It was distant, like he was describing someone else's memories.
"They said your father was involved in rebellion," Eldric said quietly. "Is that why…?"
Aidan nodded. "They called it treason. But the real crime was being born a true heir."
To execute someone from a central bloodline was considered taboo. But if they weren't executed… what then? Lowered? Made into maids? Mistresses?
Or forgotten?
"Uh…" Eldric hesitated again. "Is it… common? For people in the capital to… you know, be involved with the same gender?"
Aidan blinked, then laughed—not unkindly.
"Depends on the family. Places, not in Wisteria but it happened quite a lot in Erlost " He shrugged. "But yes. Luckily, I'm here now, right?"
"it's more like entertainment and humiliation Sir Eldric. The last option for people who got nothing left," Aidan sighed.
He smiled faintly, then added, more seriously, "They can take me. But not my mother. Or my sister." Rememering the forces of strangers dragging his mother here and there when the house collapsed.
He and Adeena was twelve.
He knew his aunt is still upset with Naina so she stood by watching, helding us back the sister's eyes met. I don't know why the were watching each other instead of helping each other.
A pause.
"I'm sorry," Aidan murmured. "For coming to Gloria. We didn't mean to disrupt anything. This land wasn't ruled by us—it was under a vice. He left when everything collapsed."
They stopped at a small, sturdy structure not far from the cabin. It looked modest, tucked behind a shed.
"You'll stay here. Big spaces feel empty when you've lost too much," Aidan said. "I made it closer to the cabin, even if it slows things down. I can't risk mistakes. Not with the paper I'm working on."
Eldric glanced over. "Paper?"
But Aidan didn't answer. His gaze had shifted again—this time, toward the garden.
Eldric's father had returned to the flowerbeds, entranced again. His fingers reached toward a cluster of shimmering white buds.
Aidan caught his wrist.
"I can't afford another patient," he said. "And my mother… she doesn't do well with strangers."
Eldric watched the older man nod and step back, subdued.
The room Aidan had shown them was already clean—almost too clean, like someone had been preparing it long before they arrived.
"Your sister sometimes comes here," Aidan said.
Adeena appeared behind them, arms crossed. "She does. When I'm not around, this is where she stays."
"She sneaks her in," Aidan said, raising his hands in surrender.
"I do," Adeena confirmed proudly. "He's a good boy. He didn't even know she existed until today."
Aidan turned away with a sigh, tying his hair into a neat knot. Eldric caught a glint of gold in the strands.
'She noticed I cut it,' Aidan thought. 'But didn't say anything.'
Before they could continue, Adeena stopped Eldric and his father mid-step.
"I'm a good cook, you know?" she huffed. "Don't you see the smoke? The boiling pot? My brother sells medicine. Not poison."
She dragged them into the kitchen.
"If you're not going to eat, you can clean dishes. Or chop blocks. Or fetch water from the well."
Eldric found himself at the sink, rinsing vegetables. He followed her instructions with surprising ease. There was something grounding about it—mundane, real.
"Where's your mother?" he asked, finally.
"In the main house," Adeena replied, not missing a beat. "She might not like guests, but she's probably making something for you too." that immediate answer draws confusion upon Eldric as if she prepared that answer before he could ask.
'Is she reading my mind?' Eldric wondered.
A loud crash startled them. A barrel near the shed toppled over, water sloshing.
"Addy?" Aidan's voice rang out.
The wind picked up.
Cold. Too cold.
"Brother!" Adeena shouted, dropping the pot as another gust circled the garden like a whisper turned scream.
Then silence.
And the petals in the garden began to tremble. Adeena retreat when she saw her brother just trip over a barrel of water. She sighed, before that she checked Eldric reaction.
"well I don't thing that is a shocking thing" she left chuckling.
Eldric watched Aidan step toward the well after coming out of the treatment room, cleaning utensil in his hand. He's gliding step by child while humming as a child.
'Never thought cleaning would make someone that happy?'
Eldric crosses his arms walking toward the young lord. Quick decision, correct medicine to give, no hesitation "I'm sure he's done this before, he should take over Dmitri's" Eldric say it out loud.
"careful-" the tapeworm that was on the floor was wringling to Aidan, on a quick response that boy stepped on it gradually threw the squelching thing into a fire.
Aidan held out his hand casually, palm up—and the rope tied to the wooden barrel began to tremble, rising smoothly into the air as though pulled by invisible strings. The water sloshed inside, glowing faintly under the sun as the barrel floated toward a half-filled cistern.
Magic.
So that was how they were drawing water here.
"he's cleaning the mess I should help" He did see cleaning utensils were moving on its own through the little wave coming out from Aidan's body.
He came knew he couldn't help much, he's just curious to see something he never see throughout his life. A bit closer wouldn't hurt.
Puddles on the ground shimmered clean, almost too clean— Eldric frowned. Lately, the stream had tasted different. Slightly bitter, like metal. Maybe it was nothing, but… if this the same water I taste at the kitchen, it's fresh.
He didn't ask. After what Addy had done for them, and what Aidan had offered, it would be rude. Accusing someone of monopolizing fresh water while sleeping under their roof was the quickest way to be thrown back into the woods.
Still, the thought lingered.
As he turned to offer his help with the treatment room, he saw Aidan tugging at a thick coil of rope. It was tangled around a wooden support beam. He grunted softly, trying to pull it loose. The rope slipped, then rolled back, carving a red line into his palm. Again, and again, it refused to hold.
Eldric stepped forward. "You'll cut your hand. Let me hel—"
Then he froze.
The rope moved. On its own.
It slithered like a snake, coiling around Aidan's hand again. But this time, Aidan wasn't pulling.
He was guiding it—with a subtle gesture of his fingers and a faint whisper under his breath.
Eldric's breath caught in his throat.
A noble blood indeed… he really is Central born.
Where people like Aidan were born with magic, not taught. It was in their veins. It moved with their emotions, their instincts. And Aidan? He wasn't trying to impress anyone.
He just did it—as casually as breathing.
Eldric took a step back, suddenly seeing this quiet herbalist in a new light.
A garden of strange flora. A well drawn by will alone. A boy with a bleeding palm and power stitched into every move.
***
Somewhere far from the edge of the forest, past the stream that tasted faintly of iron and the fields that whispered rumors, the estate of House Raellen stood gleaming under the evening sun.
Warm water steamed up from a marble tub etched with gold. As its ripples settled, a woman emerged—bare skin glistening, her body perfumed by oils steeped in wild orchids and crushed magnolia petals.
Dahlia.
Adeena's grandmother-in-law by law, but not by blood. Still young when she married the Lord of the estate—young, beautiful, and cunning. Now, the estate was hers. And the comforts she had acquired? She would not let them go.
Never again.
Two maids rushed to wrap her in silks, soft and clinging. Another began to lather her damp hair with a mixture of coconut oil, fig milk, and something imported from across the Eastern Isles—argan, perhaps, or something rarer still. The scent that filled the room was intoxicating—floral, clean, almost unnaturally sweet.
"That girl," Dahlia murmured as she stared at her reflection, fingers sliding through her half-oiled hair. "Her hair is lovely."
She extended a pale hand, fingers flicking.
One of the maids rushed forward, placing a carved ivory pipe into her grasp.
The tobacco was dark and sticky—mixed with dried petals, a pinch of silverroot powder, and something Dahlia kept in a hidden tin locked in her drawer.
A single inhale sent a sharp burn up her nose and into her skull.
The smoke curled like silk from her lips.
"Would this knock her out?" she asked idly. "If Mary got her… could I still get a strand? Just a strand…"
She exhaled, lazily watching the spirals drift above her.
"I swear I saw a wig with that hair—where was it?" she muttered. Her voice sounded dreamy, detached.
The maid beside her didn't speak, just kept brushing her hair in long, reverent strokes.
Dahlia's eyes softened for a moment. But only a moment.
"I'm not letting her go," she said at last, voice firm despite the haze. "She will be part of this family."
The brush paused mid-stroke.
"She said it was taboo. That she wanted to free herself from noble life. Foolish girl." Dahlia waved her hand again, impatiently. "As if I were asking her to marry my son. I want her as my daughter. Can't she see that?"
Another breath of smoke. Slower this time.
"I married your grandfather, Adeena. I made this house a home. I'm the reason your name still opens doors. All I ask is that you come back. Sit at my table. Wear what I give you. Eat what I make. Obey me like a daughter should."
Her voice dropped to a whisper, but it shook with something darker.
"You're mine. Whether you want to be or not."
The wind stirred the gauzy curtains as the evening deepened. Outside, the lanterns of the Raellen estate flickered on one by one—golden fireflies against stone and ivy.
And Dahlia, still wrapped in scent and silk and smoke, smiled faintly at her own reflection.
The next time Adeena stepped foot in her presence, there would be no escape.