Ryan tugged at the collar of his tunic for the fifth time.
"This is too much," he mumbled.
The fabric was smooth, lined with gold thread and fastened with buttons that looked more like decorations than anything functional. He felt like a fancy doll. His boots were stiff, the sleeves were longer than he liked, and even his hair had been brushed into a neat part.
He turned to Mira with a pleading look. "Why do I have to wear this?"
She didn't answer at first—just looked at him, her eyes soft and shining. "Because you look wonderful," she said. "Like a noble boy. Lyra picked those clothes for you herself. You wouldn't want to make her feel bad, would you?"
Ryan sighed and gave up. Another challenge. Another test of will.
If I want to be like Elandor, he reminded himself, I need to do everything seriously. Even if the boots itch.
Still, he stole a glance at the tall mirror beside the dresser. He looked… sharp. Taller, even. He straightened his shoulders. Maybe this wasn't so bad.
Mira stepped in and kissed his forehead. "Now go. First impressions matter."
He waited in one of the estate's libraries—though calling it a library felt like an understatement.
It was enormous.
Books lined every wall, stretching to ceilings far above. Some were sealed behind glass, others stacked in open shelves, some bound in leather, others wrapped in silk. A staircase curved to an upper level, and soft sunlight filtered through a dome of enchanted glass.
Ryan looked around and wondered, How long would it take to read all of these? A lifetime? Maybe more.
Then he heard it—footsteps.
Two pairs. Soft. Measured.
He quickly stood up, took a deep breath, and faced the doorway.
A young woman entered, tall and poised, her blonde hair braided neatly, her blue eyes bright and curious. She looked to be in her early twenties, dressed in a sky-blue robe embroidered with silver edges.
Behind her, peeking in as usual, was Elira—half-hidden behind her tutor, her hands clasped in front of her.
Ryan bowed quickly, perhaps a bit too deeply.
"I'm Ryan. It's an honor to learn from you, ma'am."
The woman laughed lightly. "No need for all that, dear. You can call me Seren. And relax, I'm not here to knight you."
Ryan flushed slightly and gave a sheepish smile, nodding. "Yes, Miss Seren—uh, Seren."
"Better," she said, motioning to the two chairs arranged at the table.
Ryan sat as instructed, eager and upright.
Elira, however, stayed planted behind her tutor, stiff as a branch.
"Come on now," Seren said gently. "He's not going to bite. Sit beside him."
Elira hesitated—then obeyed. She sat silently without a glance in Ryan's direction.
Ryan glanced once, confused. Why does she act like I'm dangerous? he thought. What did I even do?
But he didn't dwell on it. Not today. Today was about learning.
So he cleared his mind, focused on the books, the quills, the parchment—and the path ahead.
The lesson began with the very basics—symbols and the sounds they represented.
Seren sat across from Ryan, dipping a narrow quill into a silver-inked inkwell. Her strokes were swift yet graceful as she marked each symbol on the parchment before them. The script flowed in elegant curves, each letter distinct, each line humming with meaning he couldn't yet grasp.
"This is ah," she said, pointing to the first symbol. "Like the beginning of apple."
She moved to the next. "This one is eh. And this… ohh."
Ryan leaned forward, eyes sharp, absorbing every flick of the quill. But even so, the letters blurred together in his mind. The curves twisted, the angles danced, and every time he thought he had one pinned down, another took its place.
He gritted his teeth. Why can't I remember them all?
Seren noticed.
"Take it easy, Ryan," she said gently. "This isn't a race. You're not meant to master them in one day."
He nodded, a little embarrassed. But he understood. Magic might come later—but language was the gate he had to open first.
So he slowed down. Focused.
As Seren wrote each symbol again, this time more spaced out, Ryan repeated the sound out loud. His tongue stumbled at first, but slowly, with each repetition, he began to mimic the rhythm. His fingers copied the shapes in the air before he dared put ink to parchment.
From time to time, Seren would pause to correct his hand or adjust the angle of his wrist.
"You're doing fine," she said more than once.
Meanwhile, Elira sat beside him, silent and focused on her own book. She read with practiced ease, eyes gliding across the pages. Occasionally, she whispered a question to Seren—something advanced, something Ryan couldn't yet follow. Her voice was soft, barely above a whisper.
She still didn't look at him.
They worked through the symbols for most of the day, breaking only for light snacks and fresh water. The hours stretched, but Ryan never lost focus. Every sound he nailed brought a small thrill. Every mistake made him more determined.
By the end of the session, Seren set aside her quill.
"Let's test what you remember," she said with a warm smile. She pointed to each symbol randomly, asking Ryan to match them with the correct sound.
To her surprise—and Ryan's quiet pride—he named most of them correctly. Only a few tripped him up.
"You've done a very good job," she said. "More than I expected on the first day."
Ryan smiled, though inside, he still felt like he could've done better.
"Thank you," he said sincerely. "For teaching me."
Seren rose and nodded. "We'll build on this tomorrow."
Ryan stood as well, giving a short bow before stepping back. Elira, already closing her book, followed silently behind Seren as they left the library.
Ryan remained for a moment longer, looking at the ink-stained parchment before him.
It was a small start.
But it was his.
After the lesson ended, Ryan carefully gathered the parchment sheets and carried them back to his room as if they were treasure. He placed them neatly on his desk—lined, ordered, untouched by smudges. He glanced at them once more before freshening up, his mind still echoing with the sounds and strokes of the day.
His mother had told him earlier that dinner tonight was special—Elandor had personally requested his presence. So, despite his exhaustion, Ryan dressed again in the same fine outfit Lyra had chosen for him. It still felt strange, but he wore it with purpose this time.
I want her to know I'm grateful.
By the time he reached the dining hall, everyone was already seated. The long table was set with silver cutlery and delicate glassware, and warm light from hovering lanterns bathed the room in gold.
His parents sat comfortably, chatting softly with Lyra. For a moment, Ryan simply stood and watched them. Mira laughed—an open, light sound he hadn't heard in years. Harwin, though quiet as always, looked relaxed. Like he belonged.
It felt like home.
Ryan stepped forward and bowed politely. "Good evening, Lady Lyra. Lord Elandor."
Lyra smiled warmly. "Good evening, Ryan. Come, take your seat."
As soon as he sat, the food was served—plates of roasted meat, soft bread, steamed vegetables, and rich sauce poured with care. The aroma alone was enough to pull him into the present.
Elandor waited until they were all settled before turning to Ryan.
"So… tell me. How was your first lesson?"
Ryan sat a little straighter, speaking clearly. He reported everything—from the basic sounds to his initial struggles and how Seren had guided him through. He even shared his own thoughts—on what helped him learn faster, and where he needed more practice.
Elandor listened carefully, nodding with quiet approval.
Lyra looked delighted. "That's more progress than I expected in a single day."
Mira and Harwin exchanged a look—quietly proud, even if unsure how to say it.
"He didn't even flinch when he stumbled," Harwin added gruffly. "Just kept going. That's the part I liked."
They laughed softly, and the conversation continued with warmth.
When the meal was finished, Ryan stood and politely excused himself. He thanked Lyra again for the clothing, then turned in for the night.
Back in his room, he lit a single lamp and sat beside the desk.
The parchments waited for him—symbols and sounds drawn in smooth black ink.
He read them over and over, tracing each line with his fingers, whispering each sound until his voice cracked and his eyes began to close on their own.
With a tired sigh, he rested his head on the pillow.
His last thought before sleep was a quiet promise to himself:
I'll be better tomorrow.