Sunlight, pale and diffuse, spilled through colored windows high above the dining hall, painting rainbows on polished obs floors. The great table was massive enough for an army—today, just seven nervous girls and a single, enigmatic master sat at it.
Eiden walked among them, his heavy black cloak trailing, each unconsciously regal. Every eye followed him, and every heart drummed with anxious awe. Yet when Clara or Lumia dared sneak a glance at their new lord's face, they saw only swirling mist beneath the deep hood—a pale vapor that obscured every detail. No matter how hard they tried, their gazes simply slid away, unable to glimpse so much as color of his eyes or curve of his lips.
Lumia, bold enough to speak asked quietly, "Forgive me, Lord Kleros, but… are you, perhaps, cursed? Your face... we cannot see it, as if it is being veiled by fog."
Eiden stiffened, suppressing a rush of panic. He quickly composed himself, letting his voice deepen into that same calm dominance that had carried him so far.
"It not a curse, but rather, a mark of this castle's sovereignty. Those who dwell under my protection need not bear the burden of my visage. There will come a time—when trust warrants—when the mist will lift."
The table fell silent, the girls glancing between one another with renewed curiosity. The explanation sounded both intimidating and poetic—a perfect continuation of his mysterious overlord persona.
Breakfast continued in a hush broken only by the clink of dishes and whispered gratitude. Eiden observed, quietly fascinated at how the girls worked together as though they'd grown up as sisters. Lumia directed a few gently, Clara made sure no one went without, and each movement rippled with the relief of survival.
Midway through the meal, Clara found courage to ask: "My lord… was that bell yesterday a warning? Is there danger here, even within these walls?"
Eiden's mind flashed to the Bounder in the deep and its haunting presence. He weighed his words, then answered truthfully,There are many echoes in these halls. Some, ancient sentinels. Some, reminders of what this place once was. You have nothing to fear if you remain by my side. The castle recognizes you as mine."
Lumia bowed her head, a subtle hope flickering in her eyes. "Then we will serve faithfully. No matter what."
A gentle calm fell. For a moment, Eiden felt the oddest thing—a sense of belonging he hadn't realized he missed.
But the meal could end, a faint ripple passed through the crystal at his side—a warning. Somewhere, at the edge of misty barrier outside, armored figures moved: scouts bearing the crest of Viscount Haze, swords at the ready, drawn by rumors of vanished prey.
From his seat at the head of the table, Eiden smiled, unreadable behind the eternal veil.
Let them come, he thought. This castle—and this lord—are not so easily challenged.
Eiden's gaze drifted from the table to the tall, colored windows, then back the girls as their breakfast ended in uneasy, grateful silence. The shift the crystal's aura—his silent alarm—reminded him that this fragile peace was only for now.
He leaned back, folding his gloved hands, letting the mists beneath his hood swirl with enigmatic slowness. When he spoke, his voice was softer but just as measured—a master inquisitor, not a peer.
"Tell me," he began, the words settle over the table like a velvet shroud, "it has been long since I've concerned myself with affairs beyond these walls. The world changes, sometimes quicker than we suppose. For my sake, and your own, recount for me what era lives outside these."
The girls exchanged looks, hesitant but a little emboldened by the note of curiosity—almost vulnerability—in Kleros's tone.
Lumia gathered herself and answered, "This is the 327th year of the Sapphire Calendar, lord. The Era of Queen Lirien." She glanced at the others, then, as if rehearsed perhaps each group of fugitives had their own secret protocols—added, "Mazuria remains the largest continent, ruled by a tapestry of kingdoms and principalities. My birthplace, Austel, lies to the west amidst the lakelands."
Clara, ever the practical one, spoke next, "We've passed through provinces held by Viscount Haze and Count Glaint. Both are lords of the human realm, sworn to the High Crown. The world is broad: there are eastern deserts, the cold Norran isles to the north, and southern jungles beyond the Broken Gulf. Some say the Fae still rule hidden edges."
Eiden nodded imperiously, his mind storing each name and fragment. "And what of the ways power? In days past, sword and sorcery both held dominion. Do such things still shape the fate of kings?"
Lumia answered carefully, "Magic circles still hold. There are Houses of Mages, sanctu for Blessed, martial orders, and the church—all vie for influence. Noble blood can awaken gifts… but also curses." Her voice trembled at the last word.
He allowed a trace of amusement to into his reply, "The more things change, the more they remain the same."
"Indeed, Lord Kleros," Clara said with a careful bow.
He let a moment stretch before asking, "Then, if you are to call this castle home, I ought to know each of you. Stand, one by one, and share the names by which are known."
It was neither suggestion nor threat. One by one, the girls obeyed.
First, Lumia, with dignified calm, "Lumia Vortelle."
Next, Clara, her chin up, "Clara Esder."
A quiet girl with pale gold eyes: "Sephra."
The tallest, voice low but strong: "Maiwen."
A slender, bookish girl: "Ysel."
Then, two who clung together shyly"I'm Faye."
"And I'm Rina…"
There were tremors of nerves beneath each voice, but also the flicker of pride—perhaps, for the first time in moons, each could say her name freely, in a safe place.
Eiden inclined his head as the finished, his manner unchanged. "Very good. The castle remembers a guest best when its master remembers them as well."
Maiwen, more curious than frightened, asked softly, "My lord… if you do not object, how long have you watched the world only as mist? How many winters have slipped past walls?"
Eiden let the quiet drag a heartbeat too long—a centuries-old habit of those who savor their own myth. When he replied, his voice was a pale gust of wind behind the veil.
"Long enough that the stones have forgotten the sun, and the sun has begun to wonder what became me. Days became years, and then years… only echoes. So I—and now, perhaps, I shall listen anew."
A hush fell, thick with awe and a twinge of unease at the ancient, ageless riddles they had just heard.
Outside, deep in the pearl mist, the scouts of Viscount Haze sharpened their whispers, approaching a boundary they could neither sense nor hope to cross.
To be continued...