The dining room was rger than most would expect—spacious, elegant, yet warm. A long polished table stretched through the center, capable of seating five on each side. Hanging above it was a grand gss chandelier, dusted with crystal ornaments that shimmered subtly in the evening light. The table itself was den with dishes—enough food to feed a small gathering for hours.

  At one end sat a refined woman in her early thirties, striking in her stillness. Her face was sharp and symmetrical, the kind that draws attention even in silence. Silky brown hair framed her features, cascading over her shoulders like ribbons of dark honey. She wore a deep emerald neckce that shimmered against her skin, complementing her soft, casual gown of pale grey-green. Every movement she made—every gnce, every breath—carried a quiet grace, as if she were sculpted to fit perfectly into this room of wealth and restraint.

  Beside her sat a boy with striking white hair—his features unmistakably marked him as Oliver's kin. He watched the table with quiet curiosity, his small hands folded neatly on his p.

  "Damn, you haven't changed a bit since the academy, Ethan."

  The front doors creaked open as four figures entered. At the head of the group, two men were already exchanging jabs, their voices and ughter cutting through the calm like a familiar storm.

  Behind them trailed a small girl—no older than eight—clutching the hand of an elegant woman. At first gnce, she resembled the dy already seated at the table, but there was a quiet fierceness about her. It showed in her posture, the way she held her gaze—not cold, but unyielding. Perhaps it was that quiet authority that made the girl suddenly let go of her hand and dash toward the table, eyes wide at the sight of the feast.

  "Papa, are we having a party here?" she excimed, pure joy lighting up her face as she leapt into a seat.

  Losaile raised her fan to her lips, half-covering a smile."She always acts like this when she's happy."

  Across the table, the woman with silky brown hair ughed softly at the dispy, then gestured pyfully for the child beside her to come closer.

  The boy obeyed quietly, sitting beside her once more.

  "My name is Ashley, my dy," the woman said with a respectful nod, her voice calm but quiet. "Forgive me—I would have stood to greet you, but I suffer from a condition… I hope you won't mind."

  Amber looked at her for a moment, then beamed with warmth. With a practiced little bow, she grinned.

  "I'm Amber! Let's get along, Aunt Ashley!"

  Ashley blinked, then smiled—genuinely. From the bottom of her heart.

  She had grown used to nobles either pitying her or ignoring her altogether. At some point in her early thirties, she'd stopped attending gatherings altogether. The world of polished manners and cold gnces had no pce for someone like her.

  And yet here was this little girl—untouched by prejudice, by posture, by politics—smiling like the sun had never gone out.

  "You really are like your mother," Ashley said softly, her face glowing with a rare glimmer of hope.

  Before the moment could rest, the boy beside her sat up and blurted out:

  "I'm Olric! I'm nine years old. It's nice to meet you, Sir Ethan! I want to be a knight like you when I grow up!"

  His voice rang too loud in the stillness, full of boyish pride.

  Oliver leaned forward with a wince.

  "Oi, kid—Sir Ethan's not the only one here. Show some respect to everyone else at the table."

  He turned slightly and nodded in apology toward the other end.

  "Forgive him, Madame Losaile. He's still learning his manners."

  Even if Ethan didn't say a word, the subtle raise of his brows showed he'd been caught off guard. And maybe—just maybe—he was a little fttered.

  Oliver sighed as he pulled out a chair and sat down.

  "In any case, it's better if Lady Amber takes after her mother. Can't imagine her turning out as narrow-minded as…" He trailed off, leaving the rest unspoken.

  Ethan gave him a sharp gnce, disapproving but silent, and took the seat beside him.

  At the far end, the two elegant women had already slipped into quiet conversation, exchanging stories and ughter with the ease of old friends. It was clear—they had always been close.

  Amber slid into the chair beside Olric. He was surprisingly sturdy for his age, with the posture of someone trying hard to look older than he was. As she greeted him, their conversation quickly bloomed into pyful chatter—talking about tomorrow's pns, the garden paths, maybe even sparring with wooden swords.

  Outside, the cicadas sang into the fading dusk, their cries the only sound beyond the soft voices in the room.

  The atmosphere was warm and gentle, like a lull in a long journey. Time slipped past unnoticed, lost in the rare kind of peace that feels like it might st forever.

  As time slipped gently onward, the two children—tired from their ughter and chatter—were eventually led off to sleep.

  Back in the dining room, Oliver moved carefully, cradling his wife in his arms as he carried her from her chair. He stepped into the main room where the Greywhite couple was already seated. Upon seeing them, Losaile raised her fan, hiding her grin while making pyful gestures toward Ashley—who quickly caught on and flushed bright red.

  Oliver chuckled softly and lowered Ashley into one of the armchairs with care, brushing a strand of hair from her face before taking the seat beside her.

  The room around them was serene and elegant. At its heart stood a tall painting of the faceless Sun Goddess, rendered in warm golds and pale whites. Though her form radiated divinity, the absence of her face gave the piece an otherworldly stillness—mystical and haunting.

  "I still can't believe you painted that," Ethan said, eyeing the artwork with mild disbelief.

  "But maybe… consider giving her a face someday," he added with a smirk.

  Oliver leaned his head back, gncing toward his wife before replying, "I want to meet the Goddess first—before I dare imagine her face."

  Ethan nodded, his voice lower now. "We all do."

  The mood shifted subtly as the conversation turned.

  "Monsters are stirring again," Oliver said, his tone heavier. "There's talk that the wolf tribes are gathering. They aren't aggressive… not yet. But it could mean a divine wolf has awakened."

  Ethan sat up straighter, his brow narrowing. "So the stories were true. A lone wolf, one old enough to see centuries pass... That would expin the tribes forming packs. But leave it for now—they're deeper into Velmora's borders than ours. What concerns me more are the monkeys spotted near the northern pass."

  He took a measured sip of wine, setting the gss down with a quiet clink.

  "They're acting… differently. Like something's guiding them," he added.

  "They attacked one of the outposts and retreated without pressing. That's not instinct—that's tactics. It might mean another divine beast is behind them." Oliver leaned forward, elbows on knees.

  Nearby, Losaile and Ashley were still chatting—entirely ignoring their husbands' descent into politics.

  Ethan sighed, gncing at his wine. "I swear I came here for a vacation."

  Oliver chuckled. "You brought this on yourself, workaholic."

  Ethan smirked. "Guess I don't know how to switch off.".

  After a moment, Ethan looked toward the far window, eyes distant.

  "We should visit the Embrek Church tomorrow. It's been years. I wonder how old Father Lucen's gotten... and Rey—she must be a grown woman by now."

  Oliver smiled, the warmth of memory softening his expression.

  "They'll be gd to see you too, old friend."