Sylas ( pov)
The following morning, no summons came.
No knock.
No scolding voices behind doors.
The silence was almost suspicious.
Seraphina didn't mention Elbrei. Neither did I.
But I noticed the tension had shifted.
Not gone—just... tucked away, like a folded note beneath her sleeve.
---
After breakfast, she called me to the study.
Just us this time.
No tutors. No guards. No hovering maids.
Books lined the walls, untouched. A globe sat by the window. Dust hung in slanted light.
She took the chair near the window, hugging one leg to her chest. Childish again. A quiet rebellion against the posture drills.
"I want to learn," she said.
I didn't ask what.
I already knew.
"You mean how to see," I said.
She nodded.
"Alright." I sat on the floor, cross-legged, where she could look down at me. Let her have the high ground.
"Look around. Tell me what you notice about this room."
She glanced around — a quick sweep, the kind done when someone's lost a ribbon or an earring.
"The books haven't been touched in weeks."
"Why?"
"Dust."
"Good. What else?"
She looked again. Slower this time.
"There's one chair less dusty than the others."
"Whose?"
She tilted her head. "Yours?"
"No."
She frowned. "The steward?"
"Correct. He stands there when he delivers reports to her father. He always keeps one hand behind his back. Leaves fingerprints on the fabric."
She blinked. "How do you know that?"
"Because they're smudged lower on the backrest. From his rings."
Seraphina's mouth parted slightly.
"That's cheating," she said.
"No. That's noticing."
She hugged her knee tighter.
"Why do you see things I don't?"
"Because I'm always watching."
"Even when nothing's happening?"
"Especially then."
---
The next object was the globe.
I spun it once.
Stopped it.
"Where was your finger last?"
She blinked at the continents.
"I wasn't watching."
I waited.
After a moment, she slid off her chair and knelt beside me. Her braid brushed my sleeve.
"I want to try again," she murmured.
---
We played again. This time slower. I let her choose the speed of the spin. I asked about shadows. Fingerprints. Ink stains. How many petals were missing from the wilting flower near the windowsill.
Each time, she tried. Each time, she improved.
Her guesses turned to observations.
Her observations into patterns.
And when she failed, she didn't pout or look down.
She squinted. Tilted her head.
Like I did.
---
Half an hour passed like that. Then she asked:
"Did someone teach you this?"
"No."
"Then how did you learn?"
"By getting things wrong."
She considered that.
"Did it hurt?"
"Often."
Seraphina looked at her small fingers. "Elbrei used to say pain means you're learning."
I didn't reply.
She glanced sideways. "You don't agree?"
"I think pain can teach you one thing."
"And what's that?"
"To avoid it."
She was quiet for a while.
Then said softly, "That's not what she meant."
"I know."
---
There was a knock at the door.
Soft. Measured.
Seraphina tensed.
I stood and opened it.
The steward.
He offered a polite bow, avoiding my eyes.
"A message," he said. "Lady Elbrei has taken temporary leave. She will not return for several days."
Seraphina's breath caught, just slightly.
I accepted the note and shut the door.
"She's gone?" she asked.
"For now."
"Because of you?"
"No."
I handed her the paper.
She read it, twice, before setting it aside.
"She didn't mention me at all."
"She didn't need to."
Seraphina traced the edge of the note, as if trying to find hidden words.
"Was she... humiliated?"
"No," I said honestly. "Just warned."
"You do that a lot, don't you?"
"What?"
"Warn people. Without raising your voice. Without fighting."
"I prefer not to make noise."
She looked up at me.
"Can I learn that too?"
I didn't answer right away.
"It takes time," I said at last. "And silence."
"I'm good at silence."
She was.
Too good, for someone her age.
---
By mid-afternoon, she'd filled a page with little notes.
Patterns. Glimpses. Guesses.
Nothing flawless — but hers.
She didn't even notice how hunched over she'd become.
Until I gently touched her shoulder.
"Posture."
She groaned softly. "Not you too."
"I'm not correcting you," I said.
"I'm reminding you."
She straightened and laughed once.
A real sound, quick and bright.
It surprised us both.
---
Later, as I prepared to leave her chambers, she said:
"Sylas?"
I paused at the threshold.
She didn't look at me.
Just sat on her bed, swinging one foot gently, like she wasn't thinking about the question at all.
"Do you think people can change what they're born to be?"
I studied her for a long moment.
Then answered:
"They can learn."
"That's not the same."
"No," I agreed.
"But it's the start."
---
She nodded once.
Didn't smile this time.
But she didn't look away either.
And when I shut the door behind me, I felt her gaze stay — not heavy, not questioning.
Just… present.
She was watching now.
Really watching.
And in time, I suspected… she'd start seeing too.
---
End of Chapter
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