The soft clatter of dishes drifted in from downstairs.
Helya opened her eyes. The remnants of last night's dream still lingered in the corners of her mind. She sat up slowly, wrapped a shawl around her shoulders, and descended the wooden stairs.
At the dining table, Cael had already laid out breakfast for two. Today, he wasn't in uniform—just a simple dark gray shirt with the sleeves rolled up. The sharp lines of his figure remained, but without the usual military distance.
"Did you sleep well?" he asked, glancing at her with that calm, quiet voice.
Helya nodded and joined him.
The meal was simple but warm. Neither of them spoke much during breakfast; the silence was peaceful, broken only by the faint sound of birdsong outside the window.
After they finished, Cael stood, draping his jacket over one arm.
"I was thinking of stepping out for a bit. Some fresh air might be good," he said. "Would you like to come along?"
Helya looked at him for a second, then smiled faintly. "Actually, I wouldn't mind that."
There was no grand invitation, no dramatic flair. Just something… natural.
They left the villa, Cael driving through the quieter streets of the old district. The scenery shifted from sleek towers to cobblestone lanes, worn homes, and tidy stone fences.
"This was where my grandmother used to live," Cael said, eyes fixed on the road ahead. His tone was even, but something in it sounded distant—guarded.
They stepped out in front of a modest house. It was quiet, but the garden was still tended. Someone had been looking after it.
Inside, the space was untouched by time—modest furniture, a shelf of faded books, and old photographs yellowing in frames. A small collection of hyacinths sat in the corner, blooming with gentle, unassuming grace.
Helya paused near an aged armchair, her fingers brushing the carved wooden armrest. She looked toward Cael, voice soft but sincere. "It's warmer than I imagined. Your childhood home."
Cael didn't respond right away. He stood by the window where sunlight filtered through sheer curtains, his gaze on a photo of himself as a boy—grinning beside his late grandmother.
"I haven't brought anyone here in years," he said quietly.
Helya turned to him. For the first time, she sensed something beneath the commander's guarded exterior—a sliver of vulnerability left untouched by time or war.
They lingered on the small balcony, surrounded by the sweet scent of hyacinths. The wind stirred the leaves, soft and familiar.
"Thank you for bringing me here," she murmured.
Cael offered a small smile. "You're my fiancée, aren't you? At least… that's how the world sees it."
He didn't say more. But Helya could feel it—the weight behind those words, the complexity he hadn't voiced.
By the time they left, the sun was beginning to set, casting long shadows behind them. The quiet between them remained, but it was no longer distance.
It was something else. Something growing.