Elandor led them through the winding walkway toward the mansion, the path nestled between lush gardens bursting with color and life. Towering hedges stood on either side like proud sentinels, dotted with flowers in shades Ryan had never seen before—deep blues, fiery oranges, and soft pinks that danced lightly in the breeze. Fountains burbled softly from marble basins, and the air smelled faintly of citrus and mint.
Ryan savored every step. It was so calm, so clean, so vibrant that Dunlowe now seemed like a dull, muddy stain in comparison. He tried to memorize the way the vines curled around the stone arches, the way the sunlight dappled through the leaves above. He walked beside Mira, still caught up in the marvel of it all, while ahead of them, Elandor and Harwin walked together, speaking in low, relaxed tones.
Then, Elandor came to a stop.
Ryan looked ahead and saw a woman approaching them. She looked to be around Mira's age, maybe slightly older, but carried herself with such poise and elegance that time seemed not to touch her. Her dress was as breathtaking as the garden—layered, finely tailored, and trimmed with gold embroidery. It was the kind of outfit Ryan had only ever heard his mother mention in whispers—noble fashion, the sort reserved for royals and stories.
Beside her was a girl—his age, maybe a little younger—peeking out from behind the woman's skirt. She had dark eyes and light curls, her face partially hidden, studying the strangers at her father's side.
Then she caught Ryan's gaze.
And immediately ducked behind her mother again.
Ryan frowned.
What did I do? he thought. The way she looked at him—it was like he was some kind of monster. He felt a twinge of offense, a mix of confusion and hurt. Who even is she? Her reaction left a sour taste in his mouth.
As the woman reached them, the girl hesitated—then suddenly ran forward and threw her arms around Elandor. He crouched down and wrapped her in a hug.
"I missed you, Father!"
"I missed you too," Elandor said, voice soft. "I'm sorry I was away so long."
"You always say that," she mumbled, pouting.
"And I always mean it," he replied with a smile.
Mira watched the exchange with a quiet warmth in her eyes. She reached for Ryan's hand instinctively, holding it just for a moment. Maybe she was seeing a side of Elandor that made him more human—more like a father than a mage or merchant. It brought a rare softness to her face.
Then Elandor rose and turned toward the others.
"This is my wife, Lyra," he said.
Lyra smiled gracefully, her voice clear and welcoming. "We're honored to have you. Please, feel at home."
Ryan stepped forward and bowed his head with careful respect, just like Mira had taught him. "Thank you, Lady Lyra."
Lyra raised her brows in mild surprise. "Such lovely manners! Are you sure you're not just a small gentleman disguised as a child?"
Ryan flushed slightly but smiled, earning a nod of approval from Lyra.
They began walking again, the mansion rising ahead of them like a castle from a dream.
Ryan was still feeling off, though. Elandor's daughter—Elira, as he overheard—had greeted Harwin and Mira with a shy nod after some nudging from her father. But not him. Not even a glance. She hadn't said a word until Elandor told her to. Her silence left a bitter chill that didn't quite match the warmth of the day.
He tried to shake it off. Maybe she's just shy. Still, he couldn't help the sting.
As the mansion drew closer, all such thoughts were quickly swallowed by awe.
The structure was grander than anything Ryan had imagined—built of pale, glimmering stone with wide steps leading to enormous doors carved with intricate sigils. Balconies wrapped around the upper levels, and crystal-tipped lanterns hovered above like silent watchmen. It shimmered faintly in the sun, as if it held enchantments woven into its walls.
The moment the doors opened, Ryan's eyes widened even more.
The interior gleamed with polished floors and high ceilings painted with celestial murals. Floating lights drifted gently through the air, casting soft hues across walls lined with books, portraits, and objects he couldn't even name. Everything was too beautiful, too perfect.
Was this magic? Or just... money? Or both? Whatever it was, it was incredible.
As he stared in wonder, he heard Lyra's voice behind him.
"Do you like it, Ryan?"
He turned quickly and nodded. "It's amazing," he said honestly. "Thank you for letting us stay here."
His voice was steady. Sincere.
Lyra smiled at that. "And how old are you, dear?"
"Nine," he replied.
"Nine?" She feigned shock, placing a hand on her chest. "I thought you were at least fifty, with manners like that."
Ryan laughed awkwardly, not knowing how to respond.
Lyra winked. "Go get settled, old man. I'll have some food arranged."
Ryan gave a polite nod and turned to find his mother, who was already being guided by a soft-spoken butler down a long hallway.
It had been a long day.
Exhausting, overwhelming, and completely unlike anything Ryan had ever experienced.
Now, lying alone in his room—his room, a space larger than the Rustwood's entire cellar—he could finally breathe. The soft mattress beneath him felt like a cloud. The lanterns on the walls hummed gently, glowing with a warmth that reminded him of fireflies. Everything was quiet.
And for the first time, truly safe.
But Ryan's mind was far from quiet.
He stared at the carved ceiling above him, hands folded behind his head, and let his thoughts drift.
There was so much to do.
He wasn't content just being safe. He didn't want to be ordinary—not here, not in a place like this. Not after seeing someone like Elandor. A man who commanded oceans, who moved with purpose, who had the power to protect and the respect of everyone he met.
I want that, Ryan thought. I want to be someone who matters.
But that road would be long. Hard. A grind.
The first step? Learning to read and write.
His spoken Common had improved a lot over the last two weeks—he could now understand most things and respond in simple sentences—but without reading, without writing, he was still chained.
Luckily, that would change soon.
Earlier that evening, Lyra and Elandor had sat with Harwin and Mira in the estate's sunroom. After some gentle insistence, they convinced them to stay—not as guests, but as trusted help. Mira had hesitated, not wanting to feel like a burden. But Elandor had praised her cooking so thoroughly that even Lyra had insisted she take over the estate kitchen. Harwin, too, was offered honest work—overseeing the nearby wheat fields that bordered the estate's far edge.
Elandor had said it plainly: "It would be better for Ryan if you stayed. He can begin his early schooling alongside Elira."
That had sealed the decision.
They would stay.
Elandor had offered them a monthly salary too—70 silver embers for Harwin, and 50 for Mira. At first, it meant nothing to them. Zeronthal didn't have minted coins or proper currency—just battered pieces of bronze and silver for taxes and trade.
So Elandor explained.
The smallest unit in Caelondia was the Copper Flare—worth enough for two loaves of bread. hundred flares made a Silver Ember, and hundred embers made a Gold Pyra. Gold was rare, not usually used for daily trade, and more for land, large investments, or storing wealth.
That meant Elandor was offering them far more than fair pay—plus food and housing.
They could save for land. Maybe even buy their own farm one day.
The numbers still danced in Ryan's head, but the meaning was clear: they had a future now. A real one.
And for him… school would start tomorrow.
He would be learning from Elira's tutor—a young woman who visited daily to give her private lessons. Starting tomorrow, she would be his teacher too.
He couldn't wait.
He rolled over and reached for the familiar shape at the edge of the table—the book. His book.
His fingers brushed over the leather cover. He opened it again, flipping slowly through the drawings. He still couldn't read the words—but he would. Soon.
For the first time since he found it, he didn't hide it under a floorboard or wrap it in cloth. He placed it proudly beside his bed.
In the morning, his real journey would begin.
And just like Elandor said… he'd be watching the wonders Ryan would bring.
Ryan didn't fully understand what that meant yet.
But he intended to find out.
That night, long after the rest of the estate had gone quiet, a single lamp still burned in the far wing of the mansion.
Elandor sat alone in his private library, surrounded by shelves that stretched floor to ceiling—lined with ancient tomes, scrolls wrapped in dragonhide, and texts penned in forgotten languages. His coat hung loosely over the back of the chair, sleeves rolled to the elbow, one hand supporting his chin as the other turned another weathered page.
Books lay open across the desk—on magical signatures, energy imprints, historic anomalies. Diagrams of mana flow, glyph alignments, and celestial convergence sprawled before him like a puzzle that refused to be solved.
He had been at it for hours.
So long that Lyra eventually pushed the door open, barefoot and half-wrapped in a night robe of silver silk.
She walked over quietly, ran her fingers through his hair, then leaned down and kissed him gently.
"You came back from across the sea," she murmured, "and still stay away from your wife."
Elandor smiled faintly, his fingers still resting on a line of runes. "You're far more dangerous, Lyra. I needed a break before I surrendered."
She rolled her eyes and blushed, laughing softly.
But then his smile faded.
"Did you notice the boy?" he asked quietly.
Lyra tilted her head. "Ryan? Of course. Bright boy. Speaks politely, carries himself well—almost like a noble, but kinder. He's wise for his age."
Elandor nodded slowly. "He's a charmer. Could win over just about anyone."
"But that's not why you're down here, is it?" she asked, voice lowering.
Elandor's expression turned serious, the flickering candlelight casting sharp lines across his face.
"No," he said. "It's what I felt from him. I've never seen anything like it. That boy is... leaking raw magical energy."
Lyra blinked. "Leaking?"
"Not pulsing. Not emitting. Leaking. Constantly. Like a shattered well that never runs dry. I tried to gauge it—I couldn't. I've seen mages, warlords, even Archons on the battlefield. But Ryan…"
He closed the book in front of him slowly.
"If that boy were to walk the wrong path… he could destroy the world. And he wouldn't even understand how."
Silence fell between them.
Lyra's awe deepened into stillness. She took a breath and sat on the edge of the table, suddenly seeing the boy in a different light.
"So that's why you insisted they stay."
Elandor nodded. "I won't lose that kind of light to darkness. Not him. His innocence is our first shield. And he'll need all of it."
Lyra gently placed a hand over his.
"Then we'll protect it… together"