Night settled over the Vaelthorn estate like a velvet curtain, its silence broken only by the soft ticking of the grandfather clock and the occasional breeze brushing the curtains.
Kael lay in bed, his eyes half-open, but his thoughts wide awake.
His gaze wandered toward the small vase beside his bed—the delicate freesia Reinhardt had brought earlier that week. It had begun to wilt slightly, its once-bright yellow petals curling at the edges. Still, its fragrance lingered.
He didn't understand the man.
He didn't understand why he came so often, why he acted like he belonged in this room, in Kael's day, in his silence.
But something about the freesia, the way it had been placed gently by his pillow, tugged at a part of him he couldn't quite name.
Kael sat up slowly, careful not to make a sound.
Earlier that evening, while Robert had been preparing his bath, Kael had wrapped a portion of his dinner—the warm bread, a few slices of fruit, and soft meat stew—into a cloth napkin and placed it outside the balcony window.
He had done it quietly. Secretly.
For the man who never knocked. Who never asked.
A poor beggar, he thought. Maybe that's why he always came hungry.
But hours passed, and no one came.
Perhaps the balcony door was locked.
Perhaps the man had given up.
Curiosity tugged at him.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed and padded barefoot across the cold floor. His hand reached for the door latch. Click.
The balcony creaked softly as he stepped out into the night.
And there he was.
The man sat on the railing, as he always did, arms resting casually on his knees. His cloak fluttered gently in the breeze, and his dark hair shone faintly under the moonlight.
The food Kael had left was gone.
Reinhardt turned his head, his expression brightening the moment he saw Kael.
"Wanna have pillow talk?"
Kael said nothing. He didn't even blink.
The man smiled, tapping his stomach.
"Thanks for the food. You really didn't have to—but I appreciate it."
He stretched his arms over his head and let out a yawn.
"How was the garden?" he continued. "Didn't expect to see you there. You blend in pretty well with the flowers, you know." He chuckled softly. "Good thing Robert didn't see me. I'd be exiled from your balcony privileges."
Kael just stood there. His face was unreadable. His body still.
"The moon's bright tonight," Reinhardt said, tilting his head toward the sky. "Calm, isn't it?"
The clouds had parted above, revealing a moon so full it lit the balcony in soft silver glow.
The world felt suspended in time.
"You should get some sleep," Reinhardt added gently. "Don't forget my lunch tomorrow, okay?"
And with that, he stood, turned toward the edge of the balcony—
And vanished over the railing like a shadow disappearing into night.
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The days that followed began to take on a strange rhythm.
Reinhardt came and went like wind slipping through an open window—sometimes once a day, sometimes twice. Always when no one else was around. Always with that same unshakable smile.
He never introduced himself.
Never explained why he was there.
He simply spoke—about forests, about old legends, about the stars, about the taste of Kael's tea. His voice became a quiet thread in Kael's days.
And Kael… let him.
He didn't respond. Didn't question. But he no longer froze.
Reinhardt always brought something with him.
Flowers—violets, zinnias, marigolds. Wild fruits Kael didn't recognize. Sometimes even a rough, handwritten note with a bad drawing on it. They piled up beside Kael's bed like forgotten treasures.
And slowly, something began to shift.
Kael's eyes no longer followed Reinhardt with fear—but with quiet confusion.
A question building without words.
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That afternoon, the sun was high but softened by thin clouds. The garden was quiet.
Kael sat on a stone bench beneath an arching ivy trellis, his book resting open on his lap. The breeze danced through the leaves, casting flickers of light across the grass.
Robert had gone inside to fetch more tea.
And Kael saw it.
A silhouette.
Small. Moving just beyond the hedges.
It was a child.
A boy.
Kael stood immediately. His breath caught in his throat.
The figure walked calmly through the winding path of the garden. Silent. Barefoot.
Kael followed.
His steps quickened.
The boy didn't look back. Just kept walking, as if he knew the way—through paths Kael had never walked, between trees that hadn't been trimmed in years.
The sunlight dimmed.
The garden faded behind him.
And ahead—an old tower stood in the heart of the forgotten grove. Overgrown with moss, silent as bone.
The boy stepped through the cracked door.
Kael hesitated.
Then followed.
Inside, the stairwell coiled like a serpent. Damp stone walls lined with ivy. The air was heavy, thick with dust and forgotten time.
The boy climbed.
Kael followed.
Each step felt heavier. The air is tighter. As if gravity itself was pressing down on him.
But still, he climbed.
Up and up.
Until they reached the top.
The boy stood in front of a large, broken window. The sunlight spilled across his shoulders. He didn't turn.
Kael reached out. Something rising in his chest. Something cold.
"…Wait—"
The boy turned slightly.
And vanished.
Like mist.
Kael's breath hitched. His hand swung through empty air. His foot slipped on the worn stone floor.
The world tilted.
And he fell.
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Darkness.
Wind roared past his ears.
His limbs flailed.
He didn't scream.
He couldn't.
The tower, the trees, the sky above—all blurred together.
Then pain.
Crushing. Spreading.
His body hit the ground hard. A sharp crack echoed through the silence.
Everything pulsed.
He couldn't move.
His chest rose weakly.
His vision blurred.
Footsteps. Distant.
A voice.
"YOUNG MASTER!!"
Robert.
Kael's fingers twitched.
Then—
Darkness claimed him fully.