Chapter 9- A Step Forward

Shaky hands gripped the quill, dragging it across the parchment. The ink bled slightly into the fibers, the letters wobbly and uneven, varying wildly in size.

Noah's breath came out in short, quiet puffs as he tried to steady his fingers, his heartbeat pounding in his ears. The weight of the silence in the study pressed down on him, making every scratch of the quill against the paper seem deafening.

Across the polished mahogany desk, Mr. Wilson sat with perfect posture, his sharp eyes unwavering behind silver-rimmed spectacles. He was a man of order, both in manner and appearance.

Not a single strand of his neatly combed-back hair was out of place, and his well-trimmed mustache rested above lips that seldom curved into anything other than a thin, disapproving line.

Sunlight streamed through the window, striking the edge of his spectacles, casting a fleeting glint across the glass as he leaned forward slightly, briefly illuminating the sharp focus in his eyes.

The sight sent a knot of unease tightening in Noah's stomach. He could feel the weight of his tutor's gaze, assessing his every move, silently critiquing the way his fingers trembled or how his ink blotched in places it shouldn't.

Noah swallowed hard, forcing himself to complete the final sentence despite the unsteadiness of his hand. His breath came in uneven bursts, his shoulders tense and rigid as he carefully lifted the parchment with both hands.

For a moment, he faltered, his grip hesitant, fingers clinging to the paper as if it were his last tether to safety. Then, with quiet reluctance, he extended it toward Mr. Wilson, the weight of uncertainty making it difficult to let go.

The tutor took the parchment with a precise motion, smoothing it out between his fingers before lowering his gaze to read.

Silence.

Noah sat motionless, his hands gripping the edge of his seat as Mr. Wilson's sharp eyes scanned his work. The only sound in the room was the faint tapping of a single finger against the wooden desk, a slow and deliberate rhythm that echoed in Noah's head.

Tap… tap… tap…

Each pause between taps felt agonizingly long, stretching the silence until his throat went dry.

Then, at last, Mr. Wilson spoke.

"Very well," he said, his voice firm but measured. "There are still areas that require improvement… but I can see progress." He paused, adjusting his spectacles slightly as he examined Noah's work one last time, before nodding approvingly.

The words weren't exactly praise, but they weren't condemnation either.

Noah let out a quiet breath, though the tension in his shoulders refused to ease.

He knew he had a long way to go, but hearing that there was some improvement was enough to bring a faint sense of relief.

Mr. Wilson set the parchment aside with deliberate care, his gaze lingering on Noah for a long, contemplative moment. Finally, he gave a sharp nod. "Considering you were completely illiterate just weeks ago, this marks a significant step forward," he remarked, his tone measured but carrying an underlying note of approval.

"If you maintain this pace, passing the entrance exam will not be beyond reach."

Noah's lips parted slightly in surprise, the words lingering in his mind.

The entrance exam. It had loomed before him like an insurmountable wall when he first began, but now, hearing Mr. Wilson's words, a flicker of hope stirred within him. For the first time, the prospect didn't seem like an impossible feat.

The tutor gathered his materials, rising from his chair with practiced ease. The faint creak of wood echoed as he pushed back his seat. With a quick, efficient motion, he adjusted his coat and turned toward the door.

"The lesson is dismissed."

And with that, Mr. Wilson strode out of the study without another word.

Noah remained seated for a moment, his gaze fixed on the parchment before him, as if the words were still lingering in the air. His fingers felt stiff, still aching from the long hours spent gripping the quill.

With deliberate movements, he began to pack up his things. He placed the ink bottle and quill back into their proper places.

Noah took the stack of books from the table, the weight pressing into his hands as he lifted them with careful precision. With a quiet resolve, he steadied himself, adjusting his grip, ready to face the work ahead.

With deliberate steps, he made his way to the door. His movements were slow but steady, the soft thud of his footsteps echoing through the room, a rhythm of quiet determination.

Just as he reached for the handle, it creaked open before he could touch it.

Bell stood in the doorway, her bright green eyes shining with warmth. A cheerful smile spread across her face as she saw him. Uncle John had assigned her as Noah's personal maid, believing that his quiet nature would soften with someone lively and positive around him, helping him come out of his shell.

"Master Noah, please allow me to carry your books," she said, already reaching out to take them from him.

Noah hesitated, blinking up at her with wide crimson eyes filled with gratitude, before he obediently handed over the books. The maid let out a soft chuckle, the sight of Noah reminding her of a small, timid bunny. She took them with ease, adjusting their weight in her arms.

True to John's belief, Bell had been a great help to Noah. She was always patient and kind, never once treating him as a burden. In many ways, she reminded Noah of Aunt Mira, evoking a sense of familiarity. That same comforting presence radiated from Bell, easing the unease that often settled in Noah's chest.

On the way to the south wing, as they passed by the grand staircase, a commotion below caught their attention.

The entrance hall was buzzing with activity. Maids hurriedly moved about, carrying trunks and luggage, their footsteps quick and purposeful. The rustling of skirts and the clinking of metal added to the flurry of motion. Footmen were directing the loading of carriages, their voices sharp and efficient, organizing the chaos with practiced ease.

Noah tilted his head slightly in confusion, his gaze lingering on the luggage being carried out.

"Master Lucien and Lady Jane must be preparing to return to the academy soon," Bell observed, glancing at the scene below.

Noah blinked. "Academy?"

"Yes, the academy," Bell explained calmly, her tone soft yet encouraging. "It's where you'll meet new friends and colleagues, and together, you will study to become proper gentlemen and ladies."

Bell continues, her voice taking on a thoughtful quality, "It's not just about academics, mind you. There's discipline, etiquette, and the finer points of social grace too. Everything that will help you find your place in society." She smiled warmly, hoping to ease any lingering doubts.

Noah's crimson eyes widened slightly, a faint spark of anticipation lighting within them.

Bell chuckled at his reaction, a fond smile tugging at her lips. He truly was one of a kind. In all her years, she had never met a noble who was too pure and innocent. A part of her couldn't help but worry.

Still, she smiled at him. "I'm sure Master Noah will meet many wonderful people and form great friendships when the time comes." She reassured him gently. "You only need to wait a few more years until you're ten."

Noah's small hands clenched slightly at her words. "Mr. Wilson said I have to know everything in two years," he murmured, his soft voice carrying a hint of worry.

Bell tilted her head, her brows raising in mild surprise. "Two years?" she echoed before adjusting her tone to something more formal. "Master Noah, may I ask how old you are?"

Noah paused, lifting his hands and carefully counting on his fingers. His big crimson eyes were serious as he raised them again, his small hand holding up two fingers before adding more. "I'm eight," he finally answered.

Bell stared at him, lips parting slightly.

"Oh my, Master Noah!" she exclaimed, leaning closer. "Forgive me, I do not mean to offend, but how are you so small? You look no older than four!" Her voice held genuine concern.

She placed her hands gently on his small shoulders, her grip firm but kind. "Don't worry," she declared with determination, her emerald green eyes shining with resolve. "From now on, this humble servant will ensure you grow big and strong!"

Noah blinked at her in surprise before his lips curled into a small smile. He gave a quiet nod.

His world had always been engulfed in darkness.

Hollow and rotten.

But since arriving at Marcellus, everything had shifted. It was the first time he felt the softness of clean clothes that smelled fresh, the first time he had a room so vast it could house an entire neighborhood. For the first time, his stomach no longer twisted with hunger.

These were things he had never dreamed of, things he hadn't even known were possible. It was a world so foreign to him, so utterly different from the one he had lived in, it almost felt like a dream.

Now, he had a family. A family that, at least in his heart, seemed to care for him.

Or so he whispered to himself, desperately holding on to the fragile hope that these moments weren't just fleeting illusions but something real.