Sikakama sat on the velvet sofa, facing Sir Aldric. His office was spacious and neatly arranged, the walls lined with a tall bookcase filled from end to end. To the side, near a large window, stood a heavy wooden desk where sunlight poured in, lighting the papers scattered across its surface.
"Sir, would it be possible for you to help me find work near Pendralice?" she asked.
"Everyone else has left, and I was the only one remaining. Time passed, and I haven't received a single invitation."
A faint, almost hidden smile touched Sir Aldric's features, and a dignified calm settled over his expression as he replied,
"You mustn't rush simply because everyone else has already found what they wanted. Perhaps your path requires a bit more patience. What is right for you will not pass you by."
Sikakama lowered her head in complete acceptance of his words; Sir Aldric always surpassed others in wisdom. Opposing him would have been nothing short of foolish — and she knew that well.
"But… if you are determined, I do know someone."
At those words, Sikakama lifted her head; hope had found its way to her, and Sir Aldric continued:"I have a friend who lives in Alderwyne—a quiet district not far from Pendralice, barely thirty minutes away. You could reach the city whenever you wish. And he can offer you a temporary home until you decide your next step."
A gentle smile settled across Sir Aldric's face as he saw the happiness flooding through her, especially when she began thanking him with quiet sincerity.
The academy seemed smaller from afar as Sikakama walked away from it. She paused, her travel bag in hand, taking one last look as memories of her first day resurfaced—the day she had stepped into this place for the very first time. And now, after three years that had passed like a single day, she was finally ready to take her first step beyond its walls.
Sikakama leaned against the cold glass of the train window, resting the side of her head against it as she tried to recall that face from her dream one last time. The rhythmic clatter of the wheels filled the carriage, her thoughts drifting—hazy and confused. The train was heading to Alderwyne, where Sir Aldric had found her a job.
The train groaned as it slowed. The station came into view, and with a small jump, she leapt onto the platform. Her boots touched the ground lightly, feeling the faint pulse beneath them.
She clutched her travel bag in one hand and stepped away from the platform, boots tapping lightly against the ground. She had arrived in Alderwyne, a fertile county lying southwest of Pendralice, stretching as a green refuge not far from the capital. Specifically, she was in the large village of Hawthorn, within the district of Billiham, home to around two thousand residents. Barely thirty miles away—about thirty to forty kilometers—it already felt like another world, quiet and open compared to the restless pulse of the city.
Hawthorn was a beautiful village, charming in its own unique way. The fields stretched wide and green, and small, tidy roads wound between quiet villages. The houses looked old yet carefully tended, with flowers by their doors and ivy climbing their walls. With a population that small, the place was naturally quiet. Everything felt peaceful—like a place where life moved slowly and politely.
It was easy to forget how close Pendralice was. The stillness here felt almost deliberate—everything neat, proper, and serene, as if even the wind had good manners. And with that calm came her purpose: she was on her way to meet the man Sir Aldric had sent her to.
Inside her, a tangle of emotions stirred — a blend of excitement and quiet fear for her first day serving as a knight. Even she could hardly believe it; a faint shiver ran through her body. Yet despite it all, she held on to her composure.
Questions stirred within her about the true nature of Corin. She had never met him before, and according to Sir Aldric, there seemed to be a friendship between them that had existed for ages. When had it begun? And where? Perhaps they had served together in their youth—or even attended the same academy.
Corin was the leader of a unit in Alderwyne, under the emblem of a bird—a cuckoo—proudly displayed on their badge, responsible for keeping the county safe and organized. His unit had a direct connection with the higher administration in Pendralice and coordinated with other units not directly affiliated with the city police, ensuring order and communication across the suburbs.
As she imagined what Corin might look like and what kind of man he truly was — perhaps stern and sharp, as someone of his rank might be — a sudden thought struck her: but wait… what if he changed his mind after seeing me? She moved forward, murmuring to herself like someone lost in a fog of thoughts, taking quick, measured steps as she tried to find answers to the questions piling up one after another.
She halted the endless stream of thoughts swirling in her mind and gripped the travel bag firmly.
"Everything will be all right," she whispered to herself.
Then she continued on her way.
As she walked through the tidy streets of Hawthorn, Sikakama couldn't help but wonder: were all the towns and villages in Alderwyne like this?
Corin was handsome and elegant, dressed in hunting clothes: a classic woolen hat, a short tweed jacket, and tight riding pants that fit over his tall leather boots. His leather gloves held the rifle with confidence, while his polished hair and sharp features caught the sunlight as he rode the horse.
He seemed younger, Sikakama thought — definitely younger than Sir Aldric. It was something unexpected. How old could he be? She guessed, and if she hadn't known that he was the same age as Sir Aldric, she might have assumed he was a young man—or perhaps a man in his mid-thirties. Yet she realized that her assumption of their equal age came only because of the way they seemed to share such a longstanding friendship.
A sharp crack echoed across the quiet Alderwyne Hills, the rifle's shot startling the birds and rolling over the gentle slopes.
The image of a white dove reflected in her eye as it fell from above, landing stiffly on the ground. Before her, Corin sat on his horse, holding his hunting rifle, his eyes tracking the bird carefully.
Hunting is still a popular pastime among many people, especially the wealthy. Most hunts target animals like foxes, for the sheer thrill of the chase, as well as deer and birds. It seems an enjoyable activity — the thrill of chasing an animal through the forest with a rifle, the prey struggling to escape while the hunter pursues it. Is this truly how humans find their amusement?
Or perhaps it satisfies a deeper instinct: the sense of dominance, knowing that a frightened creature can have its life taken at any moment or be set free again. It feeds humanity's craving for absolute power, the feeling that they control the world around them, ruling over the strongest beings in this world.
He looked at her and said,"It will be difficult, since you are a girl… but because you come from Sir Aldric, I will give you a chance."
One of his knights stepped forward. The challenge was simple: whoever acted first would win. Sikakama stood her ground. As he approached, she dodged him quickly with a light, swift movement and seized his hand, surprising Corin—his expression shifting in astonishment. She pushed his foot to make him stumble and twisted his arm behind his back.
Corin placed his hand under his chin, studying her for a moment, then nodded.
"Very well… I will accept you."
The wide, detached building stood with quiet refinement, its wooden-framed windows catching the sunlight. Above the massive door, made of solid oak, a curved glass arch welcomed visitors with a warm glow.
Corin's house was large and elegant, rising over multiple floors—so much so that Sikakama paused for a moment, staring in quiet awe. A neat garden surrounded it, with red and white roses blooming along the edges.
Yet the house sat apart from the village, distant from the clustered homes of the other villagers. A fringe of woodland partially encircled the property, giving it the feeling of being secluded in the open countryside, almost as if it existed in its own quiet world.
With a smooth, effortless motion, he slipped the travel bag from her hand. "Let me be your guide," he said with a small, reassuring smile as he stepped forward.
So quietly had he moved that Sikakama almost hadn't noticed him at her side. The precision in that single gesture made her wonder—briefly—about the kind of man Corin truly was, and what sort of past could teach someone to move with such silent ease. But the thought faded as quickly as it came.
She cast one last look at the house, drawing a steadying breath before following him.
Rising slightly above the ground, the stone steps waited—four broad slabs leading up to the oak door. Sikakama climbed them one by one, her boots brushing against the cool surface, while Corin walked ahead at an unhurried pace.
The moment Sikakama stepped inside, she found herself in a spacious drawing room: formal, refined, and arranged with such precision that every cushion and frame seemed placed with intention.
"Is that really okay?" Sikakama asked, a hint of hesitation in her voice.
"Of course," Corin replied with a warm smile. "I have plenty of empty rooms, so taking one won't be a problem at all. In fact, I'm glad to have a companion again—it's been a long time since I had someone around, living alone as I do."
Corin walked in front, while Sikakama followed behind. Along the walls hung photographs that clearly revealed his bond with Sir Aldric—a connection that went beyond ordinary friendship, almost like brotherhood. The images showed the time they had spent together and the deep trust and respect between them.
Her eyes fell on medals displayed in glass frames—honors for service, bravery, and years spent protecting the district. It was said that Mr. Corin had also served in the army during a harsh war. When had this war taken place?
They climbed the stairs to the first floor and arrived at the wooden door that led to Sikakama's bedroom. Corin gestured politely with a smile.
"This will be yours. You can take some rest after your journey."
Sikakama stepped into the room, her eyes widening. The space was spacious and beautiful, the furniture carefully arranged, sunlight pouring through the windows and bathing everything in a warm glow.
Sikakama made a polite bow and said, "Thank you," toward Corin, who was ascending the stairs.
Halfway up the stairs, still holding his rifle in both hands, Corin paused. His posture was relaxed but alert. "Don't worry about being formal—you've come on the recommendation of a friend, so make yourself comfortable," he said warmly, a gentle smile softening his words.
She moved to the bathroom and sank into the bathtub, water and rose petals swirling around her, the warmth easing the tension from her journey. Later, she collapsed onto the soft, inviting bed, wrapping herself in the smooth blanket. A small smile crossed her lips as she whispered, "Living in a place like this isn't so bad."
It was clear that while the house could impress, it existed mostly as a private sanctuary for a man who had long grown accustomed to his own company.
As Sikakama wandered through the house, she thought to herself, "Corin's house is so large… and almost entirely empty. There aren't any servants around. Maybe he enjoys solitude… perhaps it's something he's grown used to with age."
Corin's house carried the quiet dignity of a manor. The ground floor opened into spacious formal rooms: a drawing room for receiving visitors, a large living room, a dining hall where long polished tables reflected the glow of chandeliers, and even a music room whose grand piano stood like a silent witness to forgotten gatherings. There were also a bathroom and several guest rooms. The kitchen extended toward the back of the house, opening onto the rear garden.
The first floor housed the bedrooms, each with its own bathroom, including Corin's own chambers. Nearby was his study, and a large balcony overlooked the surroundings. The upper floors were mostly abandoned, their rooms locked and silent, echoing the hush of the house.
When Sikakama moved toward the kitchen, she noticed an abundance of fresh vegetables—far more than one person living alone would need. On a nearby wooden cutting board lay a freshly caught pigeon, its feathers still ruffled, waiting to be prepared.
"Does he like to eat pigeons?" she muttered to herself.
She waited for her first order from Corin, but it didn't excite her. All he asked was a simple tour of the area, and everything went smoothly. She took in the orderly rows of detached houses, each with its neatly tended garden and flowering hedges. The scent of roses and freshly cut grass mingled with the gentle breeze, and the air was calm, carrying only the soft rustle of leaves and grass as she sat quietly, observing the landscape around her—a refreshing contrast to the crowded streets of the city center.
During her stay, Sikakama noticed the maid, who followed a regular schedule. She arrived early in the morning, around six, before Corin woke up, to prepare breakfast and tidy the house.
Around midday, she prepared lunch and cleaned up afterward. In the afternoon, she made tea and set a light snack, as was customary. In the evening, she set the dinner table, cooked if needed, and washed the dishes once Corin had finished eating. By around eight o'clock, having completed her tasks, she quietly left.
Strangely, she was a deaf woman—had Corin hired her out of compassion, Sikakama wondered.
How could she hear her master's calls, or even the ringing of a bell? Yet, somehow, she always knew exactly when Corin needed her. It was as if she had memorized every detail of his daily routine: when he liked to eat, when he preferred his tea, and every little preference, as though she had served him for years and knew him better than anyone else.
Corin seemed alone in his large house, Sikakama thought, wondering if he ever felt lonely. Yet here he was, outside, surrounded by children, fully engaged with them. A tall wooden post stood in the center, like a mini gymnastic apparatus, and the children eagerly tried to practice flips over it. Corin was ready to catch any child who slipped, his hands steady and attentive. The children laughed and shouted, completely absorbed in the fun.
"Look at her!" one child shouted, pointing toward Sikakama.
Snapped out of her thoughts, Sikakama turned toward the child. Another one, eyes wide with excitement, called out, "Can you flip like Sir Corin?"
With a confident smile, Sikakama stepped forward, as if accepting his little challenge. She climbed the post carefully, the children watching her every move. Leaning back, she executed several backward flips in succession, each one smooth and precise. The children's mouths dropped in amazement.
As she neared the end, Corin prepared to catch her—but Sikakama let go, spinning gracefully through the air above him and landing lightly on the ground, arms outstretched.
The children erupted into cheers, gathering around her, their eyes shining with admiration.
"I want to learn flips like you!" shouted one child, while another clapped excitedly.
Corin smiled, watching them, his expression soft yet full of pride. The children's joy seemed to make the vast outdoor space feel lively and warm.
The children gathered around Mr. Corin, begging him to tell them one of his adventures from the war. One boy declared with childish confidence:
"If I had been grown back then, I would've joined and defeated all the enemies!"
Corin laughed and patted his head, saying:
"But little one, you weren't even born then. And war isn't a game. War is dreadful… it devours everything."
Silence fell for a moment. The children looked at him with eyes wide open to a world they had yet to understand, while Sikakama sat beside them, listening intently, as though his words had planted something deep within her.
A child shouted, "How did you become a strategic planner?"
Corin replied with a calm smile tugging at his lips, "Everyone starts out ordinary. I was just a low-ranking soldier once."
Another small child jumped up, his face alight with excitement.
"Tell us the rest of the soldier's story…"
All the other children eagerly nodded, their little faces urging him on to continue, while Sikakama looked on, puzzled by the story of this weary soldier that the children so eagerly wanted to hear.
A soft smile curved Corin's lips once more as he prepared to continue the tale. The children's eyes widened with excitement and curiosity.
"Snow was falling from above," he began, "covering everything in a beautiful white blanket — the ground, the trees, the crops… even the soldiers' faces. Winter had arrived."
His voice paused for a moment, then continued quietly, "The snow surrounded them from every side, and all the soldiers could do was wait for reinforcements. One day passed, then two, three, four… Days turned into weeks, and weeks into a whole month.
He closed his eyes for a moment, remembering.
The food they had carefully shared was gone, and his stomach wouldn't stop growling — his body had begun to devour itself.
He did nothing but lie on his back, watching the white flakes fall endlessly from a gray sky whose blue he could no longer see, too weakened by hunger and exhaustion to move. And his eyelids grew heavy, and the white around him slowly bled into black. When he opened them again, a bright light was shining on his face. His vision was blurry, his face frozen and numb. The snow had covered everything and He had survived.
He later learned that a group of hunters passing by had found him by chance and rescued him.
They had waited for nothing — no help ever came. No one else would have come. His friend had given him his coat before falling asleep beside him."
A child exclaimed with a bright smile, unable to contain his small body's excitement,
"And what happened to the soldier?"
Corin replied with a faint smile, "He was later honored… and promoted for his service."
Another child's small voice followed, filled with curiosity,
"And what about his friends?"
Corin's gaze softened, his tone dropping into a quiet sadness.
"The last thing he remembered was the snow gently covering their bodies as they drifted into a deep slumber. At least they wouldn't feel the cold anymore."
The smile that had always lingered on Corin's lips was gone.
They exchanged glances in silence amid the whispers and chatter of the children around them. They were the only two who truly understood what had happened.