02

Two months had passed since the nameless child had been taken in by the Mon'draiggs. At first, the days felt longer to him as he was still unsure of how to act or what to do inside his new home. The manor was quieter than he expected, with far fewer people coming and going—a stark contrast to his old home. Although he was used to solitude, to loneliness, to the silence of his old life, the sudden warmth he felt from the presence of Cynthia and Alcor were things he struggled to understand.

He wasn't used to the way Cynthia insisted on eating together, her cheerful chatter filling the once-quiet dining room. At first, he hesitated at every meal, unsure of where to sit, how to act, or what to say. His appetite was small, but he forced himself to eat, not wanting to draw attention. Still, he found himself sneaking glances at the others at the table, unaccustomed to dining with so many people and wondering if he was truly welcome.

Cynthia noticed. She saw the way he picked at his food, the way his eyes searched for something that wasn't there. She watched him retreat into himself, always looking for lessons that no one had given him. He would wander the halls, searching for a library that didn't exist, a tutor that wouldn't come. When she asked him what he was looking for, he would only mumble about his studies, about needing to improve, and about how he didn't want to be a burden.

Concerned, Cynthia tried to draw him out, to engage him in conversation or to get him to join her in the garden, but he always found an excuse to decline. The idea of leisure was foreign to him—his life had been defined by structure and discipline, and now, without it, he felt lost. The absence of lessons made him restless, as if every idle moment was a failure. He couldn't understand why Cynthia would spend her time planting flowers or why Alcor would read books that seemed to hold no practical value.

In the evenings, the manor grew quieter. Not because people were away, but quite the opposite. They would gather in the living room, each doing as they pleased in comfortable silence, which confused the boy even further. He didn't understand why they did this, nor could he find a reason for why he was always forced to join. He often sat beside Cynthia, staring into the flames of the fireplace, struggling to find reason in the warmth he felt.

One morning, Cynthia hummed a gentle tune as she made her way into the kitchen to start preparing breakfast for her family. To her surprise, someone had already beaten her to it. The young boy was quietly sitting on a chair, cracking eggs into a bowl before mixing them slowly.

"Good morning, Auntie," he greeted her the moment he noticed her presence, then carefully went back to mixing the eggs. Cynthia's eyes softened, happy to see that the young boy was beginning to change.

Since then, the boy began to slowly open up. He still rose early, as he had been taught, but instead of rushing to a lesson that no longer existed, he would find himself in the kitchen, helping Cynthia with breakfast. It wasn't much in his eyes, just doing what he could, but it was enough to make him feel… something. He didn't know what it was, but it was there, faint and unfamiliar.

One evening, when the family gathered in the living room, everyone expected the boy to sit beside Cynthia and stare quietly into the flames, as usual. But to their surprise, he walked up to Alcor and sat beside him, peeking into the novel he had in hand. No one said anything, not wanting to disrupt the moment, but everyone was pleased that the boy was starting to heal.

On the morning of the third month, as the family quietly ate breakfast, the young boy stared at Alcor for a while, making the man uncomfortable. Cynthia noticed and decided to let them be, hoping they would finally interact.

"Did you need something?" Alcor asked, no longer able to endure the awkwardness of being stared at.

The child flinched and looked away, mumbling an apology, but then raised his head to meet Alcor's gaze. "U-Uncle, I want to learn how to fight," he said, causing everyone at the table to stop and look at Alcor for his response.

Alcor raised an eyebrow at the boy's words and leaned back in his chair. "And why do you want to do that?"

"Sweetie, do you still feel the need to fill your schedule like before?" Cynthia asked, concern etched on her face.

The boy shook his head, standing on his chair with clenched fists. "I want to learn because I want to prove my old family wrong. I want to get stronger, like Uncle!" he shouted. Even though he hadn't seen Alcor fight, the boy knew he was strong. He had the same air as his mother and the old man from his previous life.

Alcor stared at him, his expression darkening as the boy's words sunk in. With a dismissive huff, he stood and turned his back. "You? Fight? Don't make me laugh. You're smart, kid, but there's no way you'll get strong. So why not accept that and just write books like the ones we read?"

"Alcor!" Cynthia cried out, horrified at his words.

"What, Cynthia? You want the kid to die out there?"

"That's no—"

"He has to face the truth," Alcor interrupted. "It'll be better for him." He shrugged and walked off. Cynthia glanced at the boy, who stared at Alcor's retreating figure with the same expression he wore the day he arrived. He couldn't understand why his uncle had suddenly turned cold, nor could he grasp the words his aunt used to try and comfort him.

But he wanted to know why.