The morning light spilled through the tall arched windows as Elowynn rose silently from her seat.
"Come. You should see where you'll be living now," she said without looking back.
I didn't have much of a choice.
Trailing a few steps behind her, I stepped into the cold, polished hallway lined with silver-trimmed portraits and stained glass that shimmered like living paintings when the sun hit just right.
"This estate spans a dozen courtyards and six buildings," she said, her voice even. "Constructed during the reign of the Third King of Cindral. Rebuilt twice since then."
She walked ahead of me with purpose, her stride elegant, boots barely making a sound against the marble floor.
I kept quiet, absorbing everything—the carved stone archways with stories etched into them, the trailing ivy across some inner windows, the faint hum of mana somewhere beneath the walls.
"This wing is where the scholars and spirit-binders once lived. All long gone now, of course.""Killed?" I asked."Mostly relocated. Some disbanded. A few tried to rebel. I had them reassigned to the grave."
I didn't know if she was joking, but I kept my mouth shut.
We passed a courtyard where strange, sword-shaped trees bent toward the center fountain, and small orbs of light danced lazily above the water's surface.
Serenya whispered in my thoughts.
"This land has memory. Echoes. Be careful what you step on, Ezekiel."
Elowynn turned slightly, eyes narrowing at me.
"You're quieter today."
"I'm still trying to wrap my head around the fact I'm not owned… but also kind of am."
"You're under my protection. A privilege not many get."
"Protection from what exactly?" I asked.
She stopped at the threshold of an open-air balcony. Below, I could see the outer sections of the estate—a training field, a greenhouse of glowing herbs, and a distant tower cloaked in mist.
"From the world," she replied simply."And maybe from yourself."
"Myself?" I echoed, caught off guard."What would I even do?"
Elowynn's expression didn't shift. Still unreadable. Still staring through me.
"Who knows what someone like you might cause… with the kind of knowledge you carry."
I tried to brush it off with a nervous half-laugh.
"It's not like I have the skills to use any of it."
She gave me a slow, expressionless blink — as if to say: that's not the point.
After a pause, she turned and continued walking along the balcony's edge, her tone now cool and clinical.
"The capital you're in now is called Cindral."
"Cindral?" I repeated, trailing a few steps behind.
"One of the oldest kingdoms still standing. It's been here since the Mourning of the World."
"The mourning of the world?"
"The beginning of time. When life first bloomed under the watch of the gods and goddesses.""A sacred land… allegedly."
I glanced around at the massive estate, the ancient engravings, the strange flora.
"So I landed in the most holy place?"
"Sacred, maybe. But in the land of Aetherfall—anything happens. Sacredness doesn't mean safety."
"Am I lucky, or not?"
"Lucky that you, a foreigner, weren't executed on sight after falling from the sky."
"…Fair point."
We walked a little further before she finally stopped again, her eyes scanning the far towers rising beyond the estate.
"Cindral's history is long and bloody. I won't bore you with it."
"That's a relief."
"What matters now," she said, "is your role."
"Role?"
"I'll be enrolling into Aetherfall Academy as a student. Admissions open this week."
"And what does that have to do with me?"
She turned and looked at me directly.
"You'll serve as my attendant."
"You mean servant."
"Correct."
"Why not use your actual servants?"
"They're too old. I need someone who doesn't look like a parent shadowing me around school."
"So… that's why you tried to buy a slave?"
"Yes. I have standards. I don't take just anyone."
"Didn't you already have a younger servant? That boy I saw?"
"He's a child. I won't have a kid thrown into Aetherfall's academic meat grinder just to pour tea."
"And yet I'm fine?"
"You're the same age as me. Seventeen, yes?"
I froze slightly.
"…Yes. How do you know that?"
"My spirit told me."
Right.Of course she has a spirit.Of course the spirit knows that.
I glanced upward.
"Hey Serenya, maybe next time don't give my entire resume to the aristocracy?"
Serenya's voice, dry as ever, hummed back.
"I'm surprised you thought anything about you was still private, Ezekiel."
We continued walking the length of the eastern wing. The estate was larger than most museums back in my world, and yet it moved like a machine.
The butlers in crisp uniforms glided past us with trays, scrolls, or baskets of fruits I couldn't name. The maids dusted fixtures I hadn't even noticed until they sparkled. No one looked tired. Just… practiced. Like this was another day in their perfectly composed lives.
I watched one butler balancing tea sets with one hand and giving instructions to a gardener with the other.
"They really don't stop, huh?" I muttered.
"They were raised not to," Elowynn said, not even turning her head.
"I heard Aetherfall Academy is the top academy in this kingdom," I said. "Why bring me of all people? I don't know anything about noble stuff… etiquette, court formalities, whatever they do up there."
"You won't be a student," she said plainly. "You'll be enrolled under a different system—as a student's attendant. They have provisions for people like you."
"So your family's well known, then?"
"One of the major houses of court. House Vaelcrest. Our name carries enough weight."
"Right… guess that helps."
She paused at a tall window that overlooked a massive training courtyard, where armed figures were practicing in silence.
"You'll be trained," she said. "My servants will show you what an attendant is expected to do. How to act. How to carry yourself."
"Sounds fun," I said with all the sarcasm I could fit into two words.
She turned her gaze on me again, expression as blank as ever.
"Also…"
"Also?" I braced.
"You'll be my sparring partner."
I blinked.
"Pardon?"
"No servant of mine will enter Aetherfall and be seen as weak. You'll be expected to at least look like you can handle yourself."
"But I don't have any aura or magical talent. I can't even manifest half the crap people here seem to do."
"That doesn't matter. You belong to me now. And because of that—your presence alone is already a threat to others."
I sighed.
"Great. Can't wait to get targeted just for existing."
"Exactly."
She resumed walking. I tried to match her pace even as the weight of everything settled in my stomach.
"And remember," she added, "you carry my name and reputation when you're by my side. If you stumble, I stumble."
"So… no pressure, huh."
No reply.
Just the click of her boots echoing in the marble corridor.
And so began the crash course in how to become a servant.
Mornings to afternoons were a gauntlet. A small squad of senior servants—each with terrifying memory and perfect posture—took turns drilling me on etiquette, gestures, posture, tone, how to bow, how to serve tea, how to exist properly in front of nobility without embarrassing anyone.
At least… they were patient.
They didn't sneer or insult me. Maybe because they knew I wasn't bred for this, or maybe because they'd been told I was "specially selected." Whatever the reason, they taught me with warm tones and reassuring nods, even when I knocked over a teapot or bowed like a glitchy robot.
The little boy servant, Daran, would occasionally sneak over to me during breaks, tugging my sleeve with bright eyes.
"Lady Elowynn is scary with strangers, but she's really kind," he whispered one afternoon as we sat under the shade of a grapevine wall. "She gave Mama her medicine when she was sick, even though it was expensive."
No wonder everyone worked so seamlessly around her. It wasn't fear that moved them—it was respect.
Unfortunately, respect didn't help when it came to the second half of my day.
Because after all that… I'd be dragged to the training yard.
It was hell.
Push-ups, footwork drills, dummy slashes, body conditioning. My legs felt like they were made of wet noodles after the first twenty minutes. I never trained seriously on Earth, aside from those occasional YouTube workouts I'd give up on halfway.
Here, the guard instructor—a stocky man with arms like iron and a face like carved stone—threw me around like a ragdoll. He barely had to move to flatten me.
And then came her.
Elowynn would appear in the late afternoon, hands behind her back, watching me struggle from the sidelines with all the emotional investment of a bored cat.
She didn't even draw her wooden sword.
She didn't need to.
The first few times we "sparred," I couldn't even stay standing long enough to land a single strike. I'd be on the ground before she made her second step forward—sometimes just from the pressure of her stance alone.
"No servant of mine will crumble in a duel."
"I'm not even your servant—I'm your unpaid trauma project," I grumbled once while flat on my back.
She didn't respond. Just turned, and walked off.
I was on the ground again.
Day three. My ribs ached. My arms trembled like jelly. My face had a nice blend of dirt and shame, and I had only four days left before entering the academy with Lady Elowynn.
I wanted to scream—or cry. Either would've helped.
A shadow stretched across me. I blinked through the haze of fatigue and saw one of the older servants approaching, a gentle expression on his weathered face. He knelt beside me and offered a cup of cool water.
"You seem troubled, young man," he said, his voice low and calm.
I took the cup and drank like a desert-starved mule. "If you mean getting ragdolled across this training yard like a chew toy, then yeah. Pretty troubled."
He gave a light chuckle, but then shook his head. "That's only part of it. I was referring to something… deeper."
I sat up, confused. "Deeper?"
"I was a physician, once," he said, eyes studying me with quiet focus. "A special kind of doctor. I could see things—not just the body, but patterns in the mind. And yours…" He paused, not unkindly. "Your thoughts seem... elsewhere."
I went quiet.
He wasn't wrong.
I'd been trying to keep it in—distract myself with the drills, the etiquette, the world-building... but every time I blinked, every time I was alone, I kept asking the same question:
What if I never go home?
I wasn't made for this. This world was too wide, too strange. Magic, spirits, nobles buying slaves, talking about war like it was a weather report... It was terrifying. It was exhausting. And I was starting to lose grip of what was real anymore.
"…You're right," I muttered.
"Would you share with me what weighs your heart?"
I hesitated.
Then spoke.
"I'm from somewhere else. Somewhere I understood. I knew its rules. I knew what things meant. I knew who I was," I said. "And now… I'm here. And nothing makes sense. I feel like I've been dumped in a place where I'm not meant to exist."
The old man nodded gently. "You do not feel like you belong."
"I don't. I feel like I'm… just surviving. Like I'm not really living."
He sighed softly. "What an unfortunate soul you are."
I chuckled bitterly. "I already knew that."
"But perhaps," he said, "fate has stored something greater for you. You see, even the most misplaced souls carry meaning. Sometimes we are cast adrift—swept from our homes, caught in strange tides—but even so, the ocean brings us to unexpected shores."
His words echoed something from a long, half-forgotten memory. I could almost hear my grandfather's voice...
"Ezekiel, everything—even the smallest thing—has a place. Even when life seems cruel or meaningless, there is something in it. We want to shape our destiny, yes, but sometimes... the world shapes us first. And we must survive until we can shape it back."
The memory hit like a soft hammer to the chest.
Something stirred in me. Not clarity. Not peace. But maybe a bit of warmth. Or courage.
"…Is that so?" I whispered.
The old man smiled. "Yes, young man. Be patient. You never know what the future holds—especially for one who now walks beside Lady Elowynn."