News of Erian soon reached Lucas’ ears as well.

Two days later, under the excuse of delivering fabrics, he came to Firefly Pavilion in person.

When he arrived, Erian was in the courtyard hanging freshly dyed silk threads to dry. Strands of crimson, emerald, sapphire, and gold swayed beneath the autumn wind upon long bamboo poles, their colors glowing brilliantly beneath the afternoon sun.

The young man stood beneath them, sorting the silk one bundle at a time with swift, practiced movements.

He never once glanced toward Lucas.

The lord remained standing at the entrance for a moment before finally stepping into the shop.

Caelith was seated inside, embroidering, when she saw him enter. She immediately set down the embroidery frame and rose gracefully to greet him.

"Greetings, Lord Ostenton."

"Miss Caelith." Lucas smiled warmly as he placed several bolts of fabric upon the table. "A new shipment just arrived. Take a look."

Caelith lowered her gaze to examine the cloth before nodding lightly. "The quality is excellent. How much do I owe you?"

"The payment is not urgent." Lucas seated himself leisurely beside the table. "I heard you recently took in a new worker?"

Caelith’s hand paused almost imperceptibly. "Yes. I found him by the roadside. He had nowhere else to go."

Lucas offered her a somewhat condescending smile. "You truly have a compassionate heart."

He paused briefly, his gaze drifting toward the courtyard entrance. "Still... for someone of unknown origins, it would be wise to remain cautious."

Caelith couldn’t help but roll her eyes. "You men worry too much. He’s only here to do labor." 𝑓𝑟ℯ𝘦𝓌𝘦𝘣𝑛𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓁.𝑐ℴ𝓂

Lucas nodded once and said nothing further.

After discussing fabrics for a while longer, he rose to take his leave, but when he reached the doorway, his steps slowed slightly.

Erian still stood in the courtyard with his back turned, organizing the hanging silk threads one bundle at a time.

Lucas watched him for a few more minutes, but then simply smiled and finally left.

***

That night, Caelith went to the rear courtyard to find Erian.

He sat beneath the tree holding a block of wood in his hands, carefully carving something into its surface. Moonlight washed over his profile, turning the quiet line of his face strangely gentle.

Caelith walked toward him slowly, peeking from behind his shoulder. "Did you see that man earlier today?"

Erian simply nodded.

"Does he know you?"

He shook his head.

"The way he looked at you wasn’t right," Caelith said quietly. "If he comes again in the future, please avoid him."

Erian’s carving hand suddenly paused. "Is he causing trouble for you?"

"No." Caelith shook her head softly. "He’s not important. But you..." Her gaze lingered on him. "You cannot afford to attract attention."

Erian offered her a light frown. Beneath the moonlight, there was unmistakable concern hidden within her eyes.

After a moment, he nodded. "Alright. I will do as you wish."

Caelith turned to leave, but his voice called her once more.

"Miss."

Erian rose to his feet and walked toward her. The lights illuminated him clearly now, revealing the youthful sharpness of his features beneath the shadows. He looked at her silently for a moment before continuing.

"If anyone asks, I’ll say I came here fleeing famine and war. I won’t mention the Grandien family."

Caelith offered him a small smile, though her heart stiffened with a painful pang.

He understood everything. He understood the need for secrecy. The need for caution. The fact that his very existence had become something that must remain hidden from the world.

At last, she nodded softly. "Thank you."

With that, she left.

Erian remained standing beneath the tree, watching her figure disappear through the doorway. The night wind stirred around him, yet he did not move.

In his hand, the piece of wood had slowly taken shape—a vague figure, half-finished, rough and sharp.

***

Over the following days, Lucas began appearing near Firefly Pavilion with increasing frequency.

At first, it was always by coincidence. He had business in the southern district and just happened to pass through this alley. He needed to meet someone in the eastern quarter and somehow happened to take this route again.

Even when going for tea, he would invariably choose the teahouse directly across from Firefly Pavilion.

The servants at the Ostenton estate were baffled. Why had their young master suddenly become so fond of this neighborhood?

Later, it was no longer merely passing by. He would sit beside the second-floor window of the teahouse with a pot of tea before him, remaining there for entire afternoons.

Across the bustling street, his gaze rested quietly upon the entrance of Firefly Pavilion.

He watched her come and go.

Watched her carry embroidered pieces outside while speaking softly with customers at the doorway. Sunlight would spill across her face whenever she smiled, and somehow she looked more radiant than the silks and embroidery surrounding her.

He watched her lower her head while arranging fabrics, a loose strand of hair slipping beside her cheek before she casually tucked it behind her ear.

Sometimes she would suddenly lift her head and glance toward the street.

He never knew what she was looking for. But he knew one thing very clearly—she was never looking for him.

One afternoon, Erian emerged from the courtyard and casually glanced toward the teahouse.

Lucas instinctively leaned backward into the shadows. For some reason, his heartbeat quickened. Even he did not understand what he feared.

A nameless drifter with an unknown past—what was there to fear from someone like that?

Yet the way Erian looked at people unsettled him deeply.

Eventually, Lucas began secretly investigating the young man’s background, but every man he sent out returned with the same answer.

Nothing could be found.

It was as though Erian had appeared out of thin air, his past erased into complete blankness.

Lucas frowned.

Someone who appeared from nowhere? In this world, no one simply appeared from nowhere.

. . .

That night, he lay awake upon his bed, unable to sleep no matter how many times he turned over.

Again and again, Caelith’s face surfaced within his mind.

Her smile when she looked at Rhaegar. The quiet image of her lowering her head to embroider inside the workshop. And the polite distance she always maintained with him––that restrained courtesy hurt far more than outright rejection ever could.

He suddenly remembered the very first time he had met her. Back then, she had still been selling embroidery in the marketplace, crouched quietly beside her stall with needle and silk in hand.

He had walked over and crouched down to look at her embroidery. She had lifted her head and glanced at him.

Only once.

Yet even now, he still remembered that single glance with painful clarity.

Lucas turned over restlessly and buried his face into the pillow.

He closed his eyes, but sleep refused to come.

Outside the window, moonlight spilled across the bed in pale silver sheets, cold as frost upon winter stone.

After a long moment, he opened his eyes again and stared silently at that light.

And once more, her face appeared within his thoughts.

When Caelith smiled at Rhaegar, her eyes curved softly, bright with warmth and tenderness.

She had never smiled at him like that. Not once. Never.

His fingers tightened around the pillow beneath him.

***

That afternoon, Lucas came again. This time, he did not enter the shop immediately. Instead, he walked directly toward the rear courtyard.

The courtyard gate had been left slightly ajar. He pushed it open and stepped inside.

Erian was chopping firewood.

The axe rose. Then fell. The log split cleanly into two halves with a sharp crack.

Erian bent down, gathered the split wood, stacked it neatly beside him, then reached calmly for another piece.

Every movement was efficient. Steady. Rhythmic.

Lucas stood several steps away, silently watching his back.

"What is this young man’s name?"

Erian’s hand paused midair, but he did not turn around.

Then, the axe rose once more. Fell again.

Lucas stepped closer with a faint smile still lingering on his face. "I heard Miss Caelith took you in. Where did you work before this?"

Erian still did not answer. The axe struck downward again. Another log split apart.

For the briefest instant, the smile on Lucas’ face faltered.

He opened his mouth to continue, when––

"Lord Otenton."

A voice sounded from behind him, and Lucas turned around immediately.

Caelith stood at the doorway watching him. Her expression appeared calm enough, yet something within her gaze made his heart tighten unexpectedly.

"Is something the matter?"

At once, Lucas’ gentle smile returned flawlessly to his face.

"I happened to pass by and thought I might trouble you for a cup of tea."

Caelith looked at him quietly before stepping aside. "Come in, then."

She instructed Yvaine to prepare tea while gesturing for the living room table.

Lucas entered the room and sat down as though nothing unusual had happened.

Caelith sat across from him with her embroidery frame resting in her lap, stitching carefully one thread at a time.

The room was very quiet.

As Lucas drank his tea, his gaze drifted repeatedly toward her hands. They were pale and delicate, gentle fingers holding the embroidery needle with graceful precision.

Beautiful hands.

He remembered those hands saving his father’s life.

And he also remembered... Those hands had never once reached for him.