By the end of week, Ryan could recognize all the symbols Seren had taught him—without a single mistake. Her calm, professional demeanor cracked for the first time that morning as she leaned back in her chair, genuinely surprised.
"You're something else," she said with a smile. "You might be the quickest learner I've ever had."
Ryan flushed slightly at the praise. Seren had trained children of nobility before—gifted ones. And though she never said it aloud, Ryan could tell she saw something different in him.
A prodigy, she had whispered once to Lyra when she thought he wasn't listening.
That wasn't to say Elira was any less brilliant. In fact, it was clear she carried her father's mind—sharp, composed, meticulous. But Ryan's pace… it was something else. Something even Seren hadn't expected.
His lessons had moved past single symbols now—into real words. Writing his name, simple greetings, structured questions. At first, he struggled. Combining sounds into full words wasn't easy, and grammar was a beast of its own. But the moment something clicked in his mind, Ryan was unstoppable. He practiced for hours, breaking only once a day—and even that was because Seren forced him to.
He wrote lines of words until his wrist ached, read simple passages Seren composed just for him, and recited sentences aloud in a voice clearer than when he first arrived. All while Elira sat beside him in near silence, reading her books, keeping her distance.
Ryan had stopped worrying about her.
2 months had passed. Two months of intense learning. Two months of Elira never saying more than a few words to him, never once looking him in the eye. Sometimes, he tried to guess what she was thinking—wondering if it was dislike, fear, or just plain shyness. But after a while, he gave up.
She was just Elandor's daughter.
If she didn't want to talk, then so be it.
He had too much to focus on anyway.
His days became a rhythm: breakfast, lessons in the library, dinner, study until exhaustion. Elandor checked on his progress every few days, always impressed by how far he'd come. Ryan was already reading short paragraphs, forming his own questions, and picking apart sentence structure as if he were born to it.
Seren adjusted the curriculum just to keep pace with him—matching his momentum, pushing him harder with every session. She never babied him, and Ryan respected her deeply for it. He began to think of her as something more than a teacher—perhaps the first true master he'd ever had.
Outside the library, the world kept moving.
Mira had all but taken over the kitchen, and in her free time, often sat in the garden with Lyra, laughing over spiced tea and sharing gossip. Lyra spoke of noble scandals, court tensions, and mysterious guests from distant lands. Mira shared her own stories—of burned stews, stubborn guests, and how Ryan used to nap in flour sacks. Slowly, the two women grew close. More than employer and servant. Almost like sisters.
Harwin, meanwhile, had become the quiet rock of Elandor's estate. He spent long days in the wheat fields, supervising workers with a calm efficiency that impressed even the Caelondian overseers. When Elandor joked about getting a full report from him one evening, Harwin only replied, "You hired a farmer. Don't blame me for farming."
Elandor laughed harder than anyone had expected.
As for Elandor himself, he was often busy—business meetings, estate matters, long hours spent behind closed doors studying something neither Ryan nor his parents understood. Sometimes, Ryan caught him staring at the horizon, lost in thought.
Ryan longed to ask him questions—about magic, Caelondia's history, the way the world really worked—but he knew he'd have to wait. Elandor was always there when it mattered.
And one day, Ryan promised, he would be someone worth giving answers to.
That day, Ryan found himself outside the estate walls for the first time since arriving in Valewind.
Seren had arranged a trip to the central market, insisting it was a necessary part of the learning process. Elira resisted, of course—tried to protest, tried to disappear behind doorways—but Seren didn't let her.
"You'll both learn more from one hour in the city than ten hours with parchments and books," she said firmly. "Besides, you need a break."
Ryan didn't argue. He suspected this was Seren's way of tricking him into taking time off. And while part of him still wanted to bury himself in grammar drills and reading practice, the other part—the one filled with wonder—was grateful.
The moment they entered the market, Ryan's focus shattered.
Valewind's heart beat with a rhythm completely unlike Dunlowe. The stone streets buzzed with life. Banners of gold and green fluttered in the wind. Stalls spilled into alleys, selling books, enchanted trinkets, fruit that glowed faintly, mechanical toys that clicked and danced without touch. People of all races moved freely—elves with silver hair, dwarves with heavy gauntlets, horned merchants, and robed mystics. It was a kaleidoscope of races, colors, and cultures.
Ryan tried his best to focus on the assignment: read everything he could—signboards, chalk markings, floating notices. Seren had given him that task as part of the lesson, and he didn't want to disappoint her.
But even as he read, he couldn't stop glancing around. The world was so alive.
He smiled to himself. Maybe taking a break was a good idea after all.
He silently thanked Seren for the "trap."
But then—everything changed.
He noticed Elira shrinking behind Seren more than usual. Her back stiffened, her hands curled into fists at her sides.
Ryan blinked, confused.
She wasn't looking at him this time. Her eyes were locked ahead, wide and afraid.
Following her gaze, Ryan saw them: a group of noble boys, maybe thirteen or fourteen of age, walking down the street in richly tailored coats, followed by attendants. They laughed loudly, pushing past others with the careless entitlement only the protected could afford.
Ryan didn't know who they were. But Elira did.
She wouldn't answer even if he asked. She didn't speak. She didn't move. Her expression had drained of color, and even Seren—normally composed—looked genuinely concerned.
Seren tried to talk to her, gently placing a hand on her shoulder. Elira didn't respond.
The trip ended there.
They returned to the estate in silence.
Elira went straight to her room. She didn't appear for lessons that afternoon. Not even Lyra could coax her out, and when she finally emerged to speak, it was only in whispers behind closed doors.
Ryan felt a knot form in his chest.
He didn't understand what had happened. But for the first time, he realized her silence around him might not be about him at all.
Still, there was nothing he could do. When Seren returned to the library, they resumed their lessons. Neither of them said what they were thinking. Both their minds were with Elira.
Elira didn't come to dinner that evening.
Ryan did. But it wasn't the same. The food tasted dull. The warmth of the dining hall didn't reach him. He kept glancing at the empty chair across the table.
Why do I feel this bad for someone who's never even spoken to me? he wondered.
Maybe… he had misunderstood her.
Maybe her fear wasn't rejection, but protection.
That night, Ryan sat quietly at his desk, turning the pages of the book again—his book. The one with the swirling symbols and glowing diagrams. His hope, his treasure, his mystery.
But weeks ago, when he could read Common, the truth sank in.
This book… wasn't written in Common.
His heart sank that time. He still couldn't read a single word.
But he didn't close it.
He left it open on the desk, beside his notes. Because even if he couldn't understand it yet, this book was still the reason he had made it this far. A reminder of the path ahead.
And a promise:
One day, I'll read these words. Every single one of them.
Until then, he would focus on what was in front of him.
One word at a time.