Sunlight bled through the window slats, golden and sharp, painting lines across Kael's bedsheets. The warmth on his face stirred him slowly from sleep.
"Mnh… again already?" he grumbled, rolling over and burying his face in the pillow.
A knock came at the door. The same knock. Same rhythm.
"Young master," the servant's voice called through the wood. "Morning has come. Lady Miriel awaits."
Kael groaned and sat up, hair a wild mess. "She always awaits…"
The door creaked open and the servant entered with practiced grace. He carried a silver bowl of warm water and a clean cloth.
Kael fidgeted as his face was wiped, hair brushed, and a fresh tunic placed over his head.
"You nobles," the servant muttered under his breath, "always sleeping while the roosters die of old age."
Kael smirked. "That's because we're born smarter."
---
The dining hall smelled of boiled herbs and wood smoke. Sunlight poured through the tall windows, illuminating the intricate carvings on the walls — lions, dragons, and swirling wind patterns locked in silent battle.
Lady Miriel sat at the head of the table, as still and composed as always. Her braid today was tighter than usual, her silver jewelry glinting faintly as she sliced into a soft piece of fish.
"You're late," she said without glancing up.
Kael sat down with a yawn. "Blame the sun. It moves too fast."
She raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. The servants laid out warm porridge, fruit, and roasted root vegetables.
They ate in silence for a while — the quiet between them wasn't uncomfortable, just practiced.
Then, mid-chew, Kael paused.
"Where's father?" he asked.
Miriel's knife slowed.
"He departed two days ago," she said after a moment, "to the Northern Lands. There are tensions near the ice border again."
Kael frowned, eyes dropping to his bowl. "He always leaves before saying anything."
"He believes silence is better than long goodbyes."
Kael stabbed a piece of yam. "That's stupid."
Miriel didn't respond.
But Kael's thoughts had already drifted. He saw the sparrow again — its trembling body, the blood, the broken wing.
He swallowed hard.
"I'm going up the mountain," he said suddenly, pushing away his plate.
Miriel blinked. "Now?"
"I want to train with Joran."
She studied him for a moment, her expression unreadable.
"Very well. Don't come back covered in bruises."
Kael was already gone.
---
Lady Miriel
The hallway was quiet again. The servants had melted away. Only the soft clink of silverware remained.
Lady Miriel placed her fork down, her gaze still fixed on the doorway Kael had just passed through.
She didn't move for a long time.
Then slowly, she leaned back in her chair and exhaled — the kind of breath one holds for years and only releases when no one is watching.
Outside, birds chirped.
But her thoughts were far away.
---
Flashback – Twelve Years Ago
The mountain had been steep that day. The path overgrown with moss and roots like coiled snakes.
Miriel's hands were scraped. Her breath short. She hadn't told anyone where she was going. Something had pulled her up — a dream, or maybe just instinct.
She found it after midday — the tree.
It was massive, wide as a temple, with bark as black as old stone. Its branches pierced the clouds like spears.
At its base, hidden behind a curtain of roots, was a small cave — barely large enough to crawl through.
Inside, she found a baby.
Wrapped in a woven carrier, tucked between two smooth stones.
There were no footprints. No sound. Only the wind through the leaves above.
The child wasn't crying. He was watching her — eyes wide, silent, calm.
Something about him made her hesitate.
> "You shouldn't exist here," she remembered thinking.
Still… she reached out, and the child didn't flinch. No fear. No warmth. Just stillness.
She carried him down the mountain, swearing she would never speak of what she'd seen.
---
Present Day – Elsewhere
Far away, in the quiet temple nestled in the valley's spine, the temple boy moved stones from the garden path.
His hands were muddy, his robe smudged with soil. A sparrow hopped beside him, unafraid.
He didn't speak. He never did when he was alone.
But he paused — just for a second — and looked toward the mountain.
Not the way one looks at scenery.
But the way one remembers something they shouldn't be able to remember.
A soft wind brushed past.
The sparrow flew off.
And the temple boy quietly resumed his work.
---
Back in the manor, Lady Miriel rose from the table.
> "Two children,
" she murmured to herself.
"One I raised…
One the world forgot."
She looked toward the mountain.
And did not blink.
---
[End of Chapter 5]