Come… come inside," Stark said, stretching out his hand toward the heavy door. One by one, the boys stepped down from the carriage and followed his gesture.
The door creaked open, and they entered.
Inside, a grand staircase rose before them. The chamber was vast, its silence broken only by the echo of footsteps descending the polished steps.
"Stark, dear… You've been gone the whole day. Whatever have you been up to?" A soft, melodic voice drifted through the hall, catching everyone's attention.
The boys looked up. There, upon the staircase, was Clara—but not the Clara they remembered.
Clara's skin was pale, almost porcelain, her golden hair flowing like silk under the glow of the chandeliers. She wore a grand gown that swept the steps behind her, and with delicate hands she lifted its hem just enough to keep it from dragging. Around her neck gleamed an emerald pendant set in gold, the jewel catching light with every movement.
"Ah, yes," Stark replied, moving forward to take her hand and guide her down the stairs. "I came across some curious fellows in town. I thought it only proper to show them the region."
He smiled faintly, though his words carried an odd weight."And when we sought lodging, we found none. So… I offered them a place here for the time being."
"Oh, that is brilliant," Clara said warmly, her voice smooth as silk. "Helping those in need is indeed a noble deed—by the decree of the Great Saints themselves." Her eyes flickered toward the boys with a knowing grace.
"Good day," Chad muttered, yanking the others into an awkward, involuntary bow.
"We are so grateful that you've opened your house to strangers," Remy added, his words earnest as he risked a glance at Clara mid-bow.
Clara's laughter rang soft and pleasant. "Nonsense, it is our pleasure. After all, everyone is a stranger until you get to know them. Truly—you are welcome to stay as long as you need."
With that, she turned, her gown whispering against the polished floor as she ascended the stairs once more.
"Alfrid, be a dear and see to their belongings. Take them to the spare chambers." Her words floated halfway up the staircase.
"Right away, ma'am," came a reply from behind the doorway. An elderly man stepped into view, dressed in a pressed black suit with a neat bow tie. White gloves covered his hands, and a small badge gleamed faintly from his breast pocket.
"Come now," Stark said, following after his wife. He cast a glance back at the boys. "Follow me—I'll introduce you to my daughter."
As they walked through the house, the boys passed walls lined with portraits and ornaments. One in particular caught Remy's eye: a shield, strikingly similar to the one he had first seen during his detention at the border gates. This time, though, he could have sworn the eyes of the engraved woman upon it followed him as they made their way down the passage.
Banners of the Saint of August draped across the hallways, their golden embroidery catching the dim candlelight.
"Lucy, come—I brought visitors!" Stark's voice carried ahead of them as they entered the sitting hall. A large oak table dominated the center, surrounded by wooden chairs etched with intricate designs. To one side of the room stood a full suit of armor, its gauntleted hands resting on the hilt of a massive sword, the blade gleaming where it pointed to the ground.
"Take a seat. Rodey will be along with tea," Stark said.
The boys sat uneasily, their eyes darting over every corner of the hall, drinking in the sheer wealth displayed.
"How the hell could they afford all this?" Remy whispered to Charles, leaning close. "This should have cost a fortune—I've never seen anyone outside of a Saint's house with luxuries like these."
But Charles didn't answer. His gaze had fixed on the doorway, wide with stunned awe. Remy followed his line of sight—
—and saw her.
Lucy, Stark's daughter, had entered the room.
Lucy was a young girl, perhaps around Kat's age. Her ruby lips contrasted with her clear blue eyes, and she wore a fitted traditional dress of the region, embroidered with jewels and feathers. Her long braid swayed gently as she moved.
"Hello," Lucy said warmly, her voice sweet and alluring. If sirens were real, one might have compared her tone to theirs. She smiled, a gentle curve of her lips that seemed to brighten the room.
Charles's face turned crimson. His eyes followed every delicate motion she made, helplessly entranced.
"Father, you've finally returned! What did you bring me?" she asked eagerly, rushing into Stark's arms.
"Come now, Lucy," Stark said, a touch of embarrassment in his voice. "They haven't even introduced themselves yet. These young men will be leaving with us from now on, you know."
"What!" Lucy exclaimed, spinning to get a better look at the boys.
"Lucy," Clara's voice cut in, sharp but composed. "That is not how a lady should present herself."
The words froze Lucy mid-motion. She dipped into a graceful bow, lifting the hem of her dress just slightly. "My apologies. Allow me to reintroduce myself properly," she said, her tone now softer, almost regal.
The boys hurriedly followed suit, bowing in turn and giving their names—though for Charles, the moment dragged painfully long.
"Good day… I… I… I am Cha—arles," he stammered, words tumbling out in a jumble.
Lucy gave a light chuckle. "Hello Cha—arles," she mimicked the way Charles spoke, the sound playful but gentle. Charles's face burned hotter, and he lowered his head, embarrassed.
"I think I'm in love," Charles murmured, so softly that no one noticed.
Soon after, everyone was seated around a small sofa set at the far edge of the sitting room, delicate floral cups in hand. The warm scent of brewed tea and baked biscuits filled the air.
"So, tell me—where are you coming from?" Clara asked, lifting a biscuit with practiced grace before taking a small bite.
"Luige. We used to own a farm there," Chad replied.
"Ah, Luige," Stark said with a nostalgic smile. "It was once so beautiful. I still remember our last visit to the waterfalls of Lud. The sound of the water alone was enough to soothe any soul. A shame what happened to it."
The conversation drifted easily from one topic to another, weaving between places they had seen and memories they had carried. Laughter rose and faded, biscuits were broken in half and shared, and the golden light from the hearth stretched long shadows across the ornate walls.
By the time night fell, it was as though the boys had always belonged in this home, their voices blending into the rhythm of the Stark household.