A week had passed since Adam had stared out the window and spotted the eyeless statue in the woods—a moment so chilling it left a strange ache in the air for the rest of the evening. Yet strangely, nothing else happened. No disturbances. No monsters. No broken locks or cursed winds. Just silence.
And work.
Salira, Faer, and Adam poured themselves into rebuilding the abandoned land. The twelve rooms of the main castle had been repaired and made livable—warm with thick rugs and walls padded with fresh insulation. The project consumed them day and night, so much so that no one really noticed how exhausted they'd become. Except Adam. Somehow, he always looked sharp, composed… ever the protector watching over the two reckless geniuses.
"Everyone's sleep-deprived," Salira groaned one morning, half-sprawled over her desk, tools scattered around her.
"I'm not," Adam replied.
She didn't even look up. "Exactly. You're not human."
Faer chuckled from across the room. "If the Empress saw you two like this, she'd think the world had ended."
Salira grinned despite herself. But the smile faded just as quickly. "Still… we have houses, yes. We have beds and blankets. But no people."
Adam glanced at her, eyes narrowing slightly. "I was thinking the same."
Salira sat up. "So what now?"
"I have an idea."
---
Back in the capital, the palace had become… colder.
With Salira gone and Adam no longer there to train the soldiers or command the knights, a strange emptiness spread through the air. The maids whispered about it in corners of the hallway—how Lady Salira used to sneak snacks into the kitchens or teach them how to braid hair like northern nobles. She had been odd, yes—but oddly kind. They had expected to hate her. They hadn't expected to miss her.
The soldiers, too, noticed Adam's absence more than they admitted. His rough training. His impossible standards. His quiet nod of approval when someone finally got a move right. They missed it all. Missed him.
One cold evening, a soldier named Rohan was cleaning the eastern archives when his eye caught something wedged under a loose floor tile. A letter. Cream-colored parchment. Sealed with red wax—emblazoned with the letter A.
He froze.
It couldn't be.
The code.
That letter A was something only the trusted soldiers knew. It was a mark Adam used during covert operations in war—a signal that the message was real, trustworthy, urgent.
He opened it with shaking fingers.
It wasn't a command.
It was… an invitation.
A message from His Grace, Adam, and Lady Salira. The letter spoke not of war or duty—but of home. Of warmth. Of rebuilding. Of a place where people were not ranked by birth but chosen by loyalty. A place where they could live freely and work for a cause greater than survival.
On the same day, the maids found another letter tucked under the flour bin in the kitchen. This one had an S wax seal—Salira's unique initial, swirled like a spiral.
They huddled in a corner and read it together.
Her words were simple, but they carried weight:
> "We remember you. We know what you did for us when no one was watching. If you wish to come—we will welcome you not as servants, but as friends. This place is yours too."
One of the older maids began to cry quietly. "She remembered us…"
But the soldiers were even worse.
"I didn't cry at my own wedding, but I'm crying now," one of them muttered while blowing his nose.
In another corner of the palace, a flashback played out—days before the letters were sent.
Salira sat hunched over the desk, chewing on her pen. "Should we write it formally? Like, esteemed members of the palace staff…"
Adam took the pen from her hand, his expression blank. "That sounds like you want to fire them."
Faer leaned against the wall, amused. "You write it. You're better at emotional things."
Adam raised a brow. "What?"
Salira grinned. "Don't play dumb. You're the one who gave that five-minute speech to a dying knight about loyalty and rebirth and everyone cried."
Adam sighed but began to write.
---
Back in the capital, debate burned through the barracks and kitchens. Should they leave? Was it a trap? A test?
Then the decision was made for them.
The Empress—Adam's stepmother—shamed one of the younger maids, accusing her of seducing the Emperor's son, Felix. But anyone watching knew the truth. Felix had cornered her. She had escaped. And now she was being punished.
"You disgusting orphan," the Empress hissed, "you're lucky we don't hang rats like you."
Her husband—an old palace soldier—stepped forward to defend her, trembling with fury. The Emperor ordered them both exiled for daring to speak out.
As they left the gates, the soldier turned back once and muttered, "His Grace and Lady Salira would never have let this happen."
That night, while they packed their few belongings, his wife sat on the floor, clutching her shawl.
"Do you believe me?" she asked quietly.
He touched her cheek. "With all my life and soul."
She looked down. "Where will we go?"
He pulled out a crumpled letter. "Somewhere we won't be seen as lowly because of our class. Somewhere we're wanted."
She reached for the letter. "Lady Salira?"
He nodded. "Are you willing?"
Her eyes glistened with tears. "More than enough."
---
The winds shifted.
The first wagon rolled out of the capital by morning.
Then another.
Then dozens.
Quietly, without protest, maids, soldiers, and families began to leave, each carrying a single bag and a letter sealed with A or S.
The kingdom in the north was about to come alive.
Its people were returning home.
And at the center of it all… stood the villainess who rewrote her fate.
Or did she?