"Ren wouldn't leave us," Elias said firmly. "Not when Mary's here. He likes her too much. There's no way he'd just walk off and leave her behind."
Aaron's mouth twitched— like he didn't wanted to believe either...maybe. "People change, Elias." He said sighing.
"Not him," Elias insisted. His voice was quiet, but it held the steel of certainty. "He's still my brother. Write to him for me. Tell him to come back."
"Write to him?" Aaron repeated, chuckling. "You could just do that yourself."
"No," Elias said, shaking his head. "He'll listen to you. If it's from me, he'll only think I'm worrying again. Just… tell him to come back. Please."
Aaron tilted his head, studying Elias for a second longer than necessary. Then he smiled, warm and easy. "Fine, fine. I'll write."
The butler looked between them, as if about to speak, but swallowed the words.
The moment passed. Aaron returned to his documents, humming off-key as though nothing had happened. Elias leaned back with a faint smile, comforted just by the thought of Ren's name.
"Oh, by the way," Aaron added, "hasn't it been a week since you sent that letter to the king? Did the herbs arrive yet?"
"The herbs?" Elias blinked.
"Yes, they arrived," the butler answered.
"They did?" Elias turned, surprised.
"I was going to tell you after you finished your documents," the butler said smoothly.
"And then what? You'd have abandoned all this paperwork to run off with the herbs instead?"
"…Fair point," Elias admitted.
Aaron smirked. "See? Lazy."
"I'm not lazy!" Elias protested. "I'm… strategic. Smarter than you."
"Oh, right. So smart you only complain for half an hour before touching a single sheet of paper."
"Exactly. Efficiency," Elias grinned.
But then his thoughts drifted, unbidden. To his past. To the man he exposed. To the illegal transactions, the trafficking. To the satisfaction he felt in tearing it all down, even if it cost him his life.
Am I cruel? he wondered. Maybe. But it felt right. Even now, it feels right.
He shook his head and returned to the work. In this world, he was strong. In the last, he had been smart. Together… he was both. That was why he could finish these endless documents, review the ledgers of his duchy, and still make plans for the children's future.
A projection room waited for them—his surprise. A room of stars. He hadn't told them yet. It would be worth it, he thought. To see their faces light up.
The herbs had come. Soon, he'd begin the medicine. Soon, Lucien would recover more.
But first—the paperwork. Always the paperwork.
Elias bent back to the documents, while the butler and Aaron, quietly, continued their own tasks. It was hectic. It was exhausting.
But it was worth it.
Because this time, Elias wasn't working for himself. He was working for them.
----
After work in starry room:-
Before vanishing to make herbs he wanted to spend time with them first...
The room darkened as Elias adjusted the strange contraption he had set up at the center. A thin beam of light cut across the space, stretching onto the far wall.
Elen gasped first, recognizing the room but not its purpose. His eyes shone with almost childlike awe. "So this is what it was for… I thought it was just another one of your strange machines."
Lucien, as always, kept his composure—hands folded neatly in his lap, chin tilted in that composed little way of his. But the faint twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed his curiosity.
And Leya—though she tried to mask it, biting her lip and crossing her arms as if unimpressed—was practically leaning forward.
The projector flared, and suddenly the wall bloomed with moving images. The first was of Elen himself, chasing after a chicken in the courtyard, tripping over his own feet, and landing square in the mud.
Elen groaned and hid his face in his hands. "Why did the staff record that?!"
Leya burst into laughter, half-snickering, half-snorting. "Because it's perfect!" she teased, eyes gleaming.
Lucien kept his lips pressed tight, but his shoulders shook—until he finally let out the tiniest laugh. "At least you caught the chicken," he murmured.
Elias also laughed sitting on the bed with blankets over them all eating popcorns.
The scenes kept changing.
Lucien, trying to practice a formal speech, only to be interrupted when his sleeve caught fire from a candle. The way he scrambled to put it out had the entire room laughing.
Elias, sitting beside them, didn't laugh loudly. He rarely did. But there was a faint smile tugging at his lips, the kind that made the children's hearts feel unbearably warm.
Finally, the last recording appeared: the three children asleep together in a heap, Leya clutching Elen's arm, Lucien's head tilted on Elen's shoulder. A quiet, unguarded closeness.
The laughter died down into silence.
Elen's eyes softened, Leya blinked quickly as if her eyes stung, and Lucien lowered his gaze.
Elias turned the projector off, the room falling back into shadows. He didn't need to say anything—their love for him, and for each other, had already been caught in the light.
He expected them to smile and then sleep peacefully but.....
After the tension melted in air after few seconds like butter on hot hot pan, they complained...
Elen squinted at him. "Wait. Hold on." His eyes widened in mock outrage. "We've already seen our clips. What about yours?!"
Leah perked up immediately. "Yes! Why are you turning it off?"
Lucien crossed his arms. "We all want to see your childhood, Elias."
Elias's hand hovered over the device, expression unreadable. "You will. Not yet, but soon."
"No, we want to see it now!" Elen bounced on the cushions. "It's only fair!"
Leah nodded fiercely. "Show us baby Elias!"
Lucien tilted his chin. "Consider this unanimous."
For the first time, Elias's composure cracked; he exhaled through his nose, almost like a laugh, though he quickly masked it. "Persistent, aren't you?"
"Always," they chimed together.
The projector whirred again.....
The projector whirred again, spilling light against the wall. Elias sat stiffly, arms crossed as though bracing himself for battle.
Then—tiny Elias appeared.
A boy, a small boy in a ridiculous oversized robe, sleeves dragging across the polished floor. He puffed out his cheeks, swishing his arms like a sorcerer casting spells. The robe tripped him—plop! he fell on his face.
The children burst out laughing.
"That's you?" Elen gasped, practically rolling on the floor.
"I don't—remember being that small," Elias muttered, cheeks twitching.
Next clip:
Elias, maybe five, clutching a wooden sword twice his size, wobbling through the courtyard. He tried to swing at a dummy—missed—and spun himself in a circle until he fell straight into a fountain.
Lucien's usually calm composure cracked; a snort escaped him. Leya buried her face in her sleeve, shoulders shaking.
"Stop laughing," Elias said flatly.
"We can't!" Elen wheezed.
The clips rolled on—little Elias sneaking pastries off the kitchen tray, stuffing them into his cheeks like a chipmunk. Him sleeping on a pile of scrolls in the library, quill ink smeared across his face. Him running to his father, only to be lifted high and spun around, laughter ringing as both parents joined.
Elias sat very still, watching his younger self giggle and cling to his parents' arms. His throat tightened—just for a second.