Night gradually fell, and the entire estate settled into a calm silence.
Cael stood at the end of the corridor, his fingers gently brushing the dark wooden door. He glanced back at Helya, his gaze softer than usual.
"I want to show you something."
"This isn't the rooftop again, is it?" she raised an eyebrow with a teasing smile.
He chuckled and shook his head. "No. I promise, no wind this time."
The door creaked open. A faint scent of old paper and polished wood floated out. It was a private library—tall, dark shelves lined with neatly arranged books. The lighting was gentle, and an old-fashioned chandelier on the ceiling cast a warm yellow glow across the room. In the center sat a long wooden table surrounded by worn leather chairs.
"This is… your home?" Helya asked, instinctively lowering her voice.
"Yes. It used to belong to my grandmother," Cael said as he stepped inside and drew back a heavy curtain. Behind it, a floor-to-ceiling window revealed the moonlit garden outside.
"She liked the quiet," he continued. "Always read in here. When I was a kid, she'd bring me along, and I'd pretend to be a commander or a mage, holding thick books like they were secret scrolls."
Helya wandered between the shelves, her fingertips trailing along the spines of aged volumes, as if brushing against fragments of time.
Suddenly, she paused before an old magical manual. The cover's patterns had faded, but its arcane structure was unmistakably from the Magic Kingdom.
"I've seen this before," she murmured.
"You studied in the Magic Kingdom?" Cael asked, voice calm, without pressing.
She turned with a soft smile, concealing the flicker in her eyes. "There was someone… like a sister to me. She read this book. I used to sneak glances when she wasn't looking."
Cael didn't pry. He simply looked at her in silence.
The warm light fell on her figure, and for a moment, she seemed like someone from a painting—quiet and distant.
"You never talk much about your past," he said at last.
"Neither do you," she replied, her smile gentle but evasive.
"Are you uneasy here?" he asked, pausing for a beat. "If it feels too restrictive, we can return earlier than planned."
"I don't dislike it here," she replied, settling into a chair near the table. "I'm just… not used to it yet."
"This room's yours whenever you want it," he said. "I know you're not as carefree as you seem."
She looked at him, and in her gaze was the faintest glimmer of trust—fragile, but real. She didn't answer. She simply nodded.
The pages of an old book fluttered nearby, whispering in a silence that spoke of something shifting.
The air between them had changed—not like the polite distance of the banquet, nor the tension of the battlefield.
This was something quieter. Something almost warm.