The warm scent of roasted chicken drifted toward her, rich with herbs and butter and something faintly sweet. Aurora moved slowly, reaching for the silver tongs like she expected them to vanish midair. But no one stopped her. No one said a word.
She placed a small piece on her plate, cut off a bite, and tasted it.
Her eyes widened.
She chewed slowly, trying not to react too much — but it was impossible not to notice how tender it was, how it melted into flavor the way food never had before. Real food. Good food.
She didn't even look up until someone spoke.
"I'm Aeren," said the eldest, his voice even but not cold. "Seventeen. Supposed to act like I have everything under control."
Aurora blinked.
Then the second one leaned in with a grin. "Lucien. Fifteen. I'm the reason Aeren doesn't have everything under control."
"Lucien," Aeren said flatly.
"See?" Lucien added with a smirk.
The youngest gave a shy wave. "I'm Tavian. Fourteen. I like books. And tea. And I guess now I have a sister, which is… cool."
Aurora looked between them, hands still folded in her lap.
Her voice was soft, careful. "Nice to meet you. I, um… I'll try not to be a problem."
Lucien tilted his head. "Why not?"
Aurora hesitated. "…What?"
Tavian smiled gently. "We're saying you can be. If you want. Big problem, small problem, no problem — doesn't matter."
"We'll still take care of you," Aeren added. "That's what brothers are for."
Aurora stared at them.
She didn't know what to say.
She'd spent years trying not to be noticed. Trying not to get in trouble. Trying not to give anyone an excuse to send her back, punish her, forget her.
And now—
They were telling her it wouldn't matter?
That they'd stay?
Even if she was difficult?
"…Okay," she whispered.
She looked down at her plate again. Took another bite of chicken.
And for the first time, it didn't feel like she was eating in someone else's place.
It felt like she was exactly where she was meant to be.
Aurora ate until her plate was clean.
Not rushed.
Not greedy.
Just… steady. Like her body had finally realized no one was going to yank the food away. There were so many flavors she didn't know the names of — roasted vegetables glazed with something sweet, warm bread with herbs pressed into the crust, meat that fell apart when she cut into it.
By the end, she wasn't hungry anymore.
But she kept her fork in her hand a little longer than needed.
Like she didn't want to leave the moment just yet.
When she finally set it down, Damien glanced over at her. There was still warmth in his eyes, but something else too — a quiet shift in his expression. Subtle. Serious.
He waited until the boys were talking amongst themselves, Lucien already arguing with Tavian about who'd eaten more.
Then he leaned in.
"Aurora," he said softly. "Would you walk with me a moment? There's something I need to speak to you about. Just us."
Her shoulders tensed slightly. Not from fear exactly — but from instinct.
Old muscle memory.
Being called aside had never meant anything good before.
Still, she nodded.
"…Alright," she said, standing slowly. "If you need me to."
Damien rose as well and gestured gently toward the side door. No pressure in his voice. No coldness. Just calm.
The kind of calm that made her stomach flutter anyway.
Because good kids say yes when adults ask to talk.
Good kids follow quietly.
And she was still trying to be a good kid.
Even if she had no idea what he was about to say.
The hallway was quiet as they walked.
Damien didn't say much, just offered a small nod to a passing servant and opened a tall door tucked near the end of the east wing. He held it open for her, then stepped in after.
Aurora crossed the threshold… and stopped.
The office wasn't what she expected.
No marble floors. No columns. No throne-like desk looming in the middle.
It felt more like a study than a lord's chamber. The walls were lined with tall bookshelves, most filled to the brim — not with dusty tomes for show, but with worn spines and stacked papers that looked used. There was a globe in one corner, its brass edges aged to a deep bronze, and a long table near the back window covered in neatly arranged documents, ink bottles, and a half-finished letter.
A thick rug covered most of the floor, warm blue threaded with subtle silver leaves. Two chairs sat across from a sturdy darkwood desk, their cushions slightly sunken with regular use.
And behind the desk stood one more chair — larger, yes, but not grand. The kind of chair someone actually worked in.
The fire in the hearth crackled softly, giving the room a golden warmth.
It didn't feel like a place made to impress.
It felt like a place where things mattered.
Damien walked past her and gestured to one of the chairs across from his desk.
"Please," he said. "Have a seat."
Aurora sat down carefully, her back straight, hands folded in her lap.
She didn't speak.
Damien didn't sit right away.
He walked behind the desk and rested his hands on its edge, watching her with the same steady calm he'd carried since they met. But there was something more now — not distance, not coldness… just weight. A gravity behind his eyes.
Aurora sat still, silent, fingers curled lightly in her lap.
Damien took a quiet breath.
"There's a story," he said slowly, "that you need to hear."
Aurora blinked, unsure what he meant.
He didn't rush. He lowered himself into his chair, folding his hands in front of him, gaze still fixed gently on her.
"This isn't a lesson," he added. "It's not history. It's not even about Silverwood."
He paused. Then:
"It's about you."
Her fingers tightened slightly. Not because she was scared — but because deep down, she'd always known there was something more. Something missing. Something no one at the orphanage ever talked about, because they didn't know.
Damien's voice remained even, but there was a quiet weight behind every word now.
"I don't tell you this to overwhelm you," he said. "I'm telling you because it's your right to know who you are — not just who the world tried to make you."
Aurora swallowed.
She didn't look away.
"Why now?" she asked quietly.
"Because," Damien said, "for the first time, you're safe enough to hear it."
Damien leaned back in his chair, the firelight catching in his eyes.
"I want our relationship to be built on truth," he said. "Not fear. Not confusion. And not some plan I've hidden behind your back."
Aurora kept her hands folded in her lap, but she was listening now — fully.
"If I had waited to tell you this," he continued, "if I'd held it back until later… you might've thought I only brought you here because of what I knew. That I only cared because of what you could become."
His voice dropped a little, softer. More grounded.
"I won't let you believe that. Not now. Not ever."
She blinked slowly, her gaze shifting from the fire to his face.
"I brought you here because I saw you," he said. "Not what the world might want you to be. Not a tool. Not a pet."
He leaned forward slightly, resting one hand on the edge of the desk, his eyes steady on hers.
"But I also recognized something… something I couldn't ignore."
He glanced toward her chest — toward the rosary.
"That rosary wasn't made for just anyone. And neither were you."
He let the words sit a moment.
Then added, almost gently:
"You are much more precious than you could ever have imagined, Aurora."
Her breath caught.
Not because she understood — not yet.
But because the way he said it didn't sound like flattery.
It sounded like truth.
Like something she needed to hear and didn't know she had been waiting for her whole life.
She looked at him, hesitant. "…Why?"
Damien gave a small, sad smile. Not for her — for what had been stolen from her.
"I'll tell you," he said. "All of it. From the beginning."
Damien's voice dropped slightly, the firelight catching the edge of his jaw as he leaned forward.
"You asked me before why the name Silverwood carries so much weight in the Empire."
Aurora nodded, still silent, still listening with everything she had.
"It's not because of politics," he said. "Not gold. Not armies."
He paused.
"It's because we are Dragonkin."
The words hung in the room like stone dropped in still water.
Aurora blinked. "You mean…"
"Yes," Damien said. "Our bloodline carries the legacy of dragons — not just in story, but in truth. We are descended from them. Spirit-bound. Flesh-woven. The fire doesn't burn us. The old magic recognizes us."
He didn't speak it like something to brag about.
He spoke it like something sacred.
"The Silverwood line was chosen — long ago — to protect the realms when others forgot what the world was made of. When kingdoms rose and fell chasing crowns, we listened to the land. We listened to the spirits. And when a child like you is born… one the spirits bless…"
He nodded once, slowly.
"We feel it in our bones. Like thunder before the storm. Like wings overhead before the sky changes."
He looked at her, steady and unwavering.
"You are one of the Blessed, Aurora. You were born to be loved by the world itself. And Silverwood — as Dragonkin — was always meant to find you."