Night had already descended over the Valemortis mansion, bringing with it a silence different from the usual. The stars barely shone behind a thin mist, and the polished stone corridors were empty, except for the faint echo of distant footsteps. After dinner, the Marquess's retinue was settled in one of the east wings of the property, far from the main quarters.
Elyandra, however, did not head straight to her room; she had other plans in mind.
She glided through the corridors like an elegant shadow, her light and precise steps guiding her toward a destination she had chosen even before dessert was served. And, as she had foreseen, he was there. The boy who had most caught her attention throughout the day, alone, standing before an arched window in the winter garden corridor. He observed the overcast sky with an expression difficult to decipher—part serious, part calculation.
— Beautiful view, don't you think? — said Elyandra softly, just a few steps from him.
The boy did not startle. He only turned his face in her direction, without responding immediately.
— Are you lost? Perhaps you need help finding the way back to the Marquess? — she insisted, now approaching with a slight smile on her lips.
— I am not lost — he finally replied, his voice low and controlled. — Just... observing.
— I see. — Elyandra leaned against the windowsill beside him, tilting slightly. — Do you have a name, observer?
There was a pause far too long for such a simple question, the eyes of both focused on each other.
— Callen — he finally answered.
— Hm. A short name, would you be a commoner? No, something more mysterious. It would suit a spy. Or a renegade heir — she teased, but with a watchful eye on his reaction.
Callen did not smile, but his eyes showed a certain interest for an instant, as if that had provoked some thought.
— And are you always like this? — he asked, crossing his arms. — Invading others' space, forcing dialogue?
— Only when I'm bored. Or curious. — Elyandra shrugged. — And you are interesting enough to make me leave dessert early. Congratulations.
Callen arched an eyebrow, but said nothing more. Elyandra interpreted the silence as an invitation.
— Shall we walk? The mansion is large and full of places where no one hears what we say — she said, beginning to walk.
He hesitated for only a second before following her, but something called to him, a curious interest in how that would unfold.
The corridors stretched out in white marble and ancient tapestries. Elyandra spoke casually, as if she were just talking to an old friend. Callen, for his part, kept his answers short, but no longer sounded so rigid.
— And so, Callen... where do you come from?
— From a cold place — he answered, evasive.
— Cold like mountains or cold like Sunday mornings? — She spun on her own axis with a light laugh. — I bet on both.
— Maybe — he said, with a slight shrug.
Before long, they reached one of the outer areas. The garden, plunged into twilight and illuminated only by a few magical crystal lanterns, stretched before them like a living tapestry of shadows and dark vegetation.
Elyandra picked up a wooden training rapier, left by one of the servants in the small marble arena beside the courtyard.
— Do you like fencing? — she asked, taking the first elegant steps, the wooden blade drawing lines in the air with lightness.
— I have never practiced — he replied, now leaning against a pillar, watching.
— I like it. There is something... direct, yet still elegant. Like certain types of conversation. — She unleashed a fluid sequence of strikes against the air, her body moving as if she were dancing; despite being a novice in the practice, she still demonstrated a certain handling.
Callen watched her in silence, but not with disdain. His eyes analyzed, measured every movement, as if they wanted to understand more than the technique. His gaze wanted to decipher the person behind that wooden sword.
— You know... — Elyandra said between one strike and another. — You don't exactly seem afraid to me, much less submissive to your current situation.
— I can say you don't seem much like a child — he shot back, without hesitation.
She stopped, lowering the sword with a satisfied smile; the way he spoke was methodical and certain, a conversation that seemed to bear fruit, something she really liked; it was like acting on a stage.
— Very well observed.
The two stared at each other for a moment, the night breeze stirring Elyandra's white hair and Callen's dark brown locks.
The tension was different now. Not of hostility, but of mutual recognition. Two players who, although on different sides of the board, understood something between them, but there was no certain depth, just a mutual interest in a conversation that seemed more interesting than everything around.
Elyandra knew: Callen was not just an ordinary person, far from it.
After one more strike in the air, the girl rested the training blade on the stone wall, her eyes still fixed on Callen. The light mist of the garden enveloped the two like a subtle curtain, muffling sounds and amplifying silences.
Without losing her rhythm, she approached him naturally, stopping by his side, as if they were just two acquaintances enjoying the night air.
— So... a cold place — she repeated, like someone savoring the words. — Curious. Because your skin is too tanned for a country of blizzards, and your accent... well, you strive to sound neutral, but it's not enough; I know very well how a noble speaks, and you, Mr. Callen, communicate far too well to be just anyone.
Callen did not respond immediately. He just kept his eyes ahead, staring into the void as if it were more interesting than the girl beside him.
— As it happens, I am very good at deciphering lies — she continued, with a calm smile. — And even better at undoing silences. Which path do you prefer?
— You ask many questions — he retorted, dryly.
— You don't answer any. Which only leaves me more curious — she replied, leaning her back against the wall, facing him. — And you can't even imagine how dangerous it is to leave someone like me curious; I am quite insistent when I want to be.
Callen finally turned his face to look at her. There was a spark in his eyes of caution, a spark that clashed against the spark thrown by the girl's own gaze, perhaps even of irritation, but nothing that broke his composure. Still, Elyandra noticed the slight tightening of his jaw.
— I have nothing to hide — he said.
— Then why do you try to escape the conversation as if I were going to disarm you with words? — she laughed. — You seem to be somewhat trapped in a game. But... — Elyandra placed herself in front of him in a fluid step, intercepting the route by which he intended to leave. — ...I am very good at crafting scenarios and I love intriguing things; you are on my pedestal of interest at this moment.
Callen stopped, his body rigid. They were close now, close enough for him to see the analytical glow in her amethyst eyes with golden colors.
— Tell me, are you afraid of continuing this conversation? — Elyandra asked, in a neutral tone, without looking away. — Or are you just not used to people who see beyond what you pretend to be?
For an instant, the silence seemed too dense. The boy turned his eyes away, his breathing a bit deeper.
Elyandra softened her tone, without moving away:
— Why does the Marquess of Sorell keep you close? Are you a prisoner? A gift? A shield? Or just... a bomb waiting to explode, there are many possibilities? — She brought her hand to her chin thoughtfully, the smile of someone looking for a deduction.
She spoke with a serenity and tranquility almost paranormal; at no point did she become worked up or even raise her tone.
He clenched his fists for an instant. Then, without looking directly at her, he murmured:
— You won't stop, will you?
— Ah, finally — said Elyandra, with a smirk. — Verbal capitulation. But don't worry, I am complacent; we can negotiate your surrender, of course I want to be the one to take the advantage, I make that clear from the start.
She took a step to the side, opening the way.
— How about a game of chess? I promise not to play seriously... unless you play poorly.
Callen hesitated. His eyes returned to stare into hers, trying to measure how much of it was provocation and how much was invitation.
— Do you play well? — he asked.
— I wouldn't say I play well, but I am not insufficient either — she answered, like someone declaring an indisputable truth.
"After all, these archaic games are the only means of fun similar to the games of my last life," Elyandra thought with a certain ego and amusement on her shoulders.
— So, alright. — He nodded, almost resigned. — One match. Just one.
Elyandra gave a light twirl, satisfied.
— As in any practice, just one match is what we need to decide which of us is the best around here; I hope you entertain me plenty.
As they walked back to the interior of the mansion, Callen kept his eyes ahead, but his expression was no longer so impassive. Elyandra smiled to herself. She had already won the first match and the board hadn't even been set up yet.
The game room on the second floor of the mansion was vast, shrouded in soft shadows and filled with luxurious pieces arranged with precision. But there, under the golden light of the hanging chandelier, nothing was more important than the ebony and ivory board resting on the central table.
Elyandra settled gracefully, crossing her legs like a young aristocrat bored with the world, but hungry for a worthy challenge. Callen sat across from her, rigid as if he were about to sign a treaty, not play a game.
— White or black? — she asked, her eyes glittering.
— Black — he answered, calmly.
— As you prefer. — She smiled, touching the white rook and subtly repositioning it. — E1 to G1. Short castle.
Callen tilted his head. They were starting early with safeties; for the two present there, it was as if the game were not just fun; after all, a certain weight hung over each move, it was as if they analyzed every move with an almost supernatural safety.
— D7 to D6 — he announced. — Pirc Defense?
— Hm... bold. — Elyandra advanced her pawn from the C2 square to C4. — C4.
— Queen's... — he murmured, recognizing the structure of the strategy.
The pieces danced.
Knight to C3. Pawn to G6. Bishop to G5. Knight F6. Rook to C1.
Each movement was followed by a measured look, a tense pause, as if each one were carving destiny with wood and silence.
— You play in a very withdrawn way, perhaps a bit defensive — said Elyandra casually, while her queen moved from D1 to D2.
Callen looked at her for a moment, and then countered with the same coldness with which he moved his bishop to G7:
— And you speak like someone who needs to be heard... so as not to drown in her own silence, perhaps you like attention, I could say your ego is visible from afar.
The girl's gaze widened, her smile was undone for just a second and she returned to smiling; she loved that sensation of confrontation. — What a wrong way to see me — she answered. — That's not exactly how I function, I like challenges; overcoming them is, in a way, exciting. — She said with the purest truth stored inside her.
He moved his queen to D7.
Elyandra smiled sympathetically. She played knight to D5.
— And what about you? — she said, watching him. — A neutral name, manners far too refined for someone raised as some servant.
Callen did not respond immediately. His eyes did not move from the board while silence flowed between them.
— House Leonhart, of the Leonine Empire — he said, finally. — We are the third lineage below the Crown. The Marquess demanded guarantees of direct trade with our magical salt. In exchange... they sent a guarantee of good faith.
Elyandra did not feign surprise. She just adjusted her posture, with a dangerous glow in her eyes.
— So you were sold as currency... — she murmured, moving her rook to D3. — It doesn't seem like we are on such different sides of the coin then.
Callen advanced his knight to E4, pressing her center.
She felt the tension increase.
— You are quite valuable to him then — she said, calmly. — Perhaps a key.
— Or a piece — he returned.
— A precious piece. That can only be moved by third parties — she countered, firmly. — It doesn't seem very fair to me, not that I can say anything in my position — she pointed out while sliding her finger over the earring that was the mark of those who bore the ancient blood; Callen noticed it at that same moment.
For minutes, the board followed in absolute silence. Callen sacrificed a bishop. Elyandra traded queens. The balance tipped. They feinted with pawn movements. They locked diagonals. They stole columns.
When he promoted a pawn, she counter-attacked with a discovered check.
Callen retreated his king with elegance.
And then, Elyandra advanced her final rook from H1 to H8, protected by a knight at G6.
— Checkmate — she announced, her eyes glittering; it had been a while since she had had an exciting match like that one. — The walls have crumbled, the general has fallen, and the king... ah, the king tried to flee where there was no longer a path.
Callen remained silent, observing the board for long seconds while listening to the theatrical way the girl in front of him toyed upon winning.
— You played with me as if you were building a fortress — he commented.
— No — answered Elyandra, leaning slightly forward, resting her chin on her hands. — A fortress wouldn't be the right word, but rather an empire, impenetrable and stronger than any other; you were a good adversary, for a few moments I doubted my own strategies, the last person who made me sweat so much in a game was my father, and well... I still haven't managed to defeat him.
For an instant, the tension held, firm.
And then, something Elyandra did not expect occurred: Callen laughed.
Not an open guffaw. But a restrained, brief laugh, the kind that escapes even when one tries to hide it; it wasn't for finding something funny, it was like a laugh released into the air innocently.
She joined him, also laughing, a relaxed sound between the lines.
— We will never play just for sport again, will we? — He asked, looking at her as one who accepts a cold war.
— I never played for sport — she answered. — But maybe some day, we will play for something greater.
He stood up, adjusting the lapel of the formal uniform he wore, and said with a slight smile.
— If it is to lose, let it be to someone with enough ambition to conquer the entire world.
Before she could respond, firm steps echoed in the corridor. The door opened.
It was the Marquess of Sorell, impeccable and with a face loaded with slight distrust wrapped in courtesy.
— Callen, here you are... It is already late. We must return to our quarters — he said, with a short nod to Elyandra.
The boy made a respectful bow to her.
— Good night, Lady Elyandra.
— Good night, Mr. Callen — she responded, with a smile far too light to be just courtesy.
He left her there, with measured steps, returning to the side of the man who had brought him as currency. Elyandra watched him disappear through the corridors. Her eyes glittered, satisfied.
Alone again, she turned back to the large window of the room. The moon leaked through the curtains, silvering the furniture and tracing a soft line to her shadow on the floor.
Silently, she went up to her room. She closed the door. She sat before the mirror. And, there, the sweet smile crumbled into a more... genuine smile.
— Deep down, even the most resistant want to be heard, don't they?
She ran her finger on her chin, analyzing her own image.
— A boy of noble blood. In a future whole deck of possibilities. — She looked up, thinking of plans that could help her get out of that line where she was manipulated by others and had not even control over her destiny. — It's easy to plant seeds in fertile soil, since we are in similar situations, maybe I can help him and in return...
She rested her hands on her knees, swinging her feet in the air like an ordinary little girl.
— Simple revolutions don't last long, do they? Even so... I don't plan to be a slave to others...
The life that awaited the little Valemortis could be more interesting than she imagined, but loaded with a weight which she could not even expect.
She had a single objective. An objective she would fight for with all her strength to reach: her real freedom. She would not be anyone's slave, she would not be a bargaining chip, much less a luxury item. None of those things represented her.
She was more than willing to change her destiny, she would grab the threads of her life with her own hands and guide her destiny, or die trying.