A Letter

It had been a few days since Nox and Torven began sharing meals after Nox's return to the mansion.

At first, their dinners were rather stiff, their conversations formal and limited mostly to the subject of Nox's leg condition. Initially, they met only for supper, then lunch as well, and now it seemed they were having all their meals together.

Nox would occasionally glance at Torven, who, despite his large hands, held his fork and knife with surprising grace, delicately slicing the meat on his plate.

For a moment, Nox thought he looked like some nobleman with impeccable manners. Torven likely sensed he was being watched but said nothing.

Finally, during one of their meals, Torven said to Nox, "I have something for you, it took a bit longer to arrive than I expected, my apologies," and handed him a small parcel wrapped in brown paper.

Nox looked at him, then at the mysterious package. He hesitated, unsure of proper etiquette, should he thank him first or unwrap it right away? He chose to thank him first, then slowly peeled the paper away.

Inside, he found fresh white stationery, a fountain pen, and a small bottle of ink. He looked back at Torven, as if to make sure it was really for him.

Torven met his gaze with those black eyes of his, eyes that now held a quiet gentleness, and nodded slightly.

Nox tried not to appear impolite, but all he could think about was escaping to his room and finally writing a letter to his family. Torven was still watching him, a faint glimmer of amusement in his eyes as he noticed Nox impatiently tapping his leg under the table. "Perhaps you'd like to finish our meal early today and return to your room?" he offered.

Nox was thrilled, though he did his best to maintain a composed expression. "Let me know when your letter is ready. I can even send a messenger tonight," Torven added.

After a moment, as if not wanting Nox to disappear before he could ask, Torven also said, "I hope it's not too soon, but if you don't mind... let's begin training tomorrow." Nox's eyes widened.

'Training?' he wondered. But he was already so excited by the thought of writing home that he just nodded quickly and slipped out the door.

Clutching Torven's gift to his chest, Nox hurried to his room. His heart was racing, finally, he would be able to write to his family. They must be so worried.

With trembling hands, Nox unwrapped the paper and filled the pen with ink. For a long moment, he sat frozen, unsure how to begin. But then, the words began to flow.

He started the letter with:

"Abram, Dad,

I'm still alive."

He wanted his family to know he was safe, that the Mark hadn't worsened, and that there was hope for Abram. He wrote a few details about Torven, about his time working as a mercenary and his travels with Gerhart.

In a few places, the letter bore heavy ink blots where his hand had trembled, and he pressed too hard.

He left out certain details, his encounter with Blint, and falling into the bear trap. He didn't want to worry them.

Memories of Blint still haunted him. Nox couldn't bear the thought of anyone knowing what had happened.

When he was finished, he set the pen aside and read the letter once more. Satisfied, he decided to find Torven and have it delivered on the same day. He hadn't even noticed that evening had fallen - it seemed he'd spent the entire afternoon in his room.

The manor was silent. So quiet, in fact, that Nox wondered for a moment if Torven was even still in the building. He didn't know exactly which bedroom was his and certainly didn't want to barge in.

For a fleeting second, he imagined Torven asleep, hair spread across a pillow, the tension gone from his face. 'Would his broad frame fill the entire bed?' Nox quickly scolded himself for such foolish thoughts, willing a rising blush away, and stepped into the drawing room.

As if summoned by his thoughts, there was Torven, dozing in an armchair. Nox hesitated. Should he wake him or let him rest? The firelight danced across Torven's skin, making it shimmer. His relaxed face looked more peaceful than usual. His neck, however, was tilted at an awkward angle. Nox wondered if he should wake him or slip a pillow beneath his head instead - but then shook himself out of it. He felt he was going mad.

He looked around and considered leaving the letter somewhere visible, perhaps on the table. But as soon as he looked back, he saw Torven's eyes open, gazing directly at him.

"Leave the letter," Torven said hoarsely. "I'll see to it being sent."

Still stunned, Nox nodded and quickly left the room. As he walked down the corridor, his thoughts spiraled.

'What am I doing? Have I already forgotten how this man once treated me? Where is my backbone? A few kind gestures and I'm at his feet?' He shook his head. 'I must be losing my mind.'

He wondered briefly whether Torven would read the letter, or respect the privacy of its contents, but he had no control over that.

'Perhaps I could trust him,' he thought, and with that, he returned to his room.

In his bed he replayed every moment spent with Torven, the cold distance, the rare kindness, the quiet strength behind those black eyes. Was this change real or just a fleeting mask?

Nox's fingers absentmindedly traced the edge of the stationery still resting on his bedside table, the gift feeling a bit heavier now, burdened with some unknown expectations.

His heart tugged between cautious hope and mistrust. Despite his doubts, he found himself looking forward to the next day's training, imagining the lessons Torven might teach him.

Somewhere in his dark heart, a faint ember of fragile trust began to glow.