The afternoon sun cast slanted beams through the tall windows of Ashenford Castle. Dust motes drifted in the light, turning golden before vanishing into the dim corners.
Alfred sat by the window, quill in hand, the tip scratching steadily across the page. His posture was neat, his expression serious, but his eyes strayed often toward the courtyard below.
The northern oak spread its branches wide, sheltering the cobbled stones beneath its shadow. Beneath that shade sat Eryn. The girl had grown into the likeness of a four-year-old, her silver hair catching stray shafts of sunlight as though it were spun from crystal. A thick book rested across her lap. Eryn's lips moved as she traced each line with her finger, her small voice whispering the words she had learned yesterday.
Alfred's gaze lingered. Even after two years, the sight filled him with awe. Eryn's clear voice, her quick steps, the way she asked questions with unblinking focus—every detail carried a weight that pressed into him. He forced his eyes back to the page, quill scratching again.
---
13th March, 1607
Tomorrow is Eryn's birthday. Mother and Father always say it is the 14th—the day they brought her home. Two years have passed, but the memory remains vivid, as if carved into my mind. She was fragile then, as though the slightest touch might break her. Now… she speaks with confidence, walks without aid, and amazes me every day.
Yesterday, Eryn begged me to teach her letters. I am still learning myself, yet I showed her what I knew—simple syllables, easy words. She repeated them flawlessly. She remembered each line, as if the knowledge had already been waiting for her.
She is extraordinary. Perhaps even frightening. Still, she is my sister. It is my duty to guide her carefully, to protect her from harm, even from the weight of her own brilliance.
Tomorrow I must give her a gift. Not something ordinary. A gift that will remind her she belongs to us. That she is loved.
---
Alfred laid down the quill and closed the diary. He leaned forward against the desk, chin resting on his hand, and allowed his eyes to drift once more toward the courtyard.
Eryn tilted her head at the sound of wings. A sparrow had landed beside her, feathers puffed against the chill. She regarded it silently for a moment before offering a crumb of bread from her pocket. The sparrow pecked twice, then flew away.
A faint smile tugged at Alfred's lips. He rose and slipped the diary into its drawer.
---
The castle was quiet, but not empty. Servants walked the halls, their voices hushed, their glances lingering each time Eryn passed. Some whispered of blessings, others of omens, yet all softened when they heard Eryn laugh or call for Sally.
In the library, Eryn trailed behind Alfred, clinging to his sleeve whenever he opened a book. "Brother," she would ask, her voice still carrying a trace of hesitation. "What does this mean?"
In the dining hall, Eryn sat pressed against Sally, her crimson eyes glowing faintly in the candlelight. Each time Sally coaxed her to eat, Eryn obeyed without complaint, her small hand gripping the spoon as though it were a sacred tool.
From the balcony of the upper hall, Eryn watched Leon train in the yard. His sword cut silver arcs through the air, his movements sharp and efficient. Eryn mimicked him with a branch she had found, her small feet planted firmly, her lips pursed in concentration.
The castle had been silent once. Now it echoed with Eryn's laughter, her voice, her endless questions.
---
Evening settled. In the drawing room, the fire burned low, casting a wavering glow across the stone floor. Sally sat with embroidery in her lap, the needle moving in slow arcs, though her gaze often wandered to Eryn.
Eryn sat cross-legged on the rug, arranging carved wooden animals into neat rows. Alfred knelt beside her, whispering the names of each one, correcting her gently when she slipped.
Leon stood with arms folded, his shadow long against the wall. His gaze remained steady on Eryn, but the severity in his features softened when she turned and grinned at him.
At length, Sally set aside the embroidery. "Tomorrow is Eryn's birthday," she said softly. "We must prepare something worthy."
Alfred straightened, his hand closing over the wooden horse. "I want to give her something special," he said, cheeks flushing. "Something she will treasure."
Leon's eyes flickered toward him. "Have you decided?"
Alfred lowered his gaze. "Not yet." He hesitated, then added, "It must be worthy of her. She is not like other children."
Sally smiled faintly, pride glinting in her eyes. "Whatever you give, she will understand it comes from your heart."
Eryn clapped suddenly, delighted by the row of animals she had arranged. "Brother! Look!"
Alfred's lips curved despite himself. "Yes, Eryn. Perfect."
---
Night deepened. Alfred returned to his chamber, a single candle flickering against the stone walls. He opened the diary again and wrote, his script uneven in the dim light.
Perhaps I will carve something. A small figure, something she can hold even when I am away. Or a book written in my hand, simple words she can keep.
The quill hovered. Alfred's eyes lingered on the words before he closed the diary, sealing the thoughts within.
Beyond the window, snow covered the land in silence. The courtyard lay empty, the northern oak black against the pale sky.
Within the castle, Eryn slept peacefully, her silver hair spilling across the pillow.
Tomorrow would mark her birthday.
A day of celebration.
And another step in the bond that tied them together.
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