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[Memory Archive: Book 2 - Access Granted.]
[Subject Status: Asleep.]
[Transfer Method: Direct Dream Implantation.]
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Soren's legs dangled high above the floor, his small shoes swinging back and forth with no way to touch the ground.
His back was perfectly straight, though, just as Mother had taught him.
He folded his hands in his lap and lifted his chin, copying the way she sat at the head of the table.
He wanted to look like a real Arden.
The dining hall was full of clinking silverware and soft voices, the long table stretched farther than his little eyes could follow, the ceiling too high for him to see clearly.
Candles flickered in tall stands, their flames swaying whenever a servant passed.
Soren sat very still, afraid to move the wrong way.
– A noble must sit with grace, Soren. Even silence can be elegant, if held properly.
Mother had told him these words many times.
He didn't fully understand what the word elegant meant, but he repeated the word quietly in his head, the way he often did when she taught him something new.
If he remembered all her lessons and did them right, she might praise him, and he wanted that more than anything.
The food began to arrive.
Servants placed plates of steaming meat and soup before Mother, Father, Alice, and Freya.
Soren's little stomach rumbled, and his toes wiggled inside his shoes.
He pressed his hands tighter against his knees, waiting patiently.
– A true Arden does not reach first. They wait.
So he waited.
He kept his back straight, his lips closed, and his eyes down, just like she taught him.
Alice's plate was filled higher than she could possibly eat.
His younger sister twirled her fork, stabbing a piece of roasted carrot.
She glanced at Soren and smirked.
"Hungry?" she asked, drawing the word out slowly.
Soren gave her his best polite smile.
"I… I am waiting." His voice cracked a little, but he tried to say it the way Mother did, with careful words.
Alice snorted and popped the carrot into her mouth.
"Then keep waiting."
He didn't answer; he thought that maybe it was a test, that if he spoke back, he wouldn't be a true noble.
He turned his eyes back to Mother, hoping she had seen how patient he was.
But she was speaking with Father, her voice flowing smooth and soft, every word a pretty sound he wished he could copy.
Father grunted now and then, but never once glanced at him.
Soren's stomach growled again.
This time, Mother's red eyes flicked toward him, her lips curved in a faint smile that wasn't quite warm.
"Soren, darling," she said, her tone sweet yet sharp. "Do remember, staring at another's plate is most unbecoming. A proper noble must not let hunger control their eyes."
His heart jumped.
"Y-Yes, Mother. I… I will not let my eyes… wander." He repeated her words as best as he could, fumbling a little.
His cheeks burned.
Good boys learned quickly, and he wanted to be one of them.
So he folded his hands tighter, staring at the empty space in front of him where a plate should have been.
He imagined food there, bread, meat, even a single carrot, and tried to look noble about it.
The minutes stretched.
Alice giggled between bites, servants moved like shadows, but none stopped for him.
Still, he did not complain.
Mother had said nobles never begged, and so, he would not beg.
His throat hurt, and his small chest felt heavy, but if he endured, maybe she would say he did well.
Then, a hand brushed his hair.
He blinked and turned to his side.
Beside him sat Freya, his much taller and older sister, who was always smiling at him in a way no one else did.
She was already ten, and she looked like she belonged here in a way he couldn't yet.
Without saying anything, she slid half of her bread roll onto his empty plate.
Her movements were careful, shielded from Mother's eyes.
Soren stared at it, his heart pounding.
"B-But…" His little voice trembled. "Is that… proper?"
Freya leaned close, her whisper gentle.
"It's proper for me to care for you."
His throat tightened.
Carefully, trying to look the way nobles did when they ate, he picked at the bread and took the tiniest bite.
It was warm, soft, and filled his mouth with happiness.
He smiled shyly, crumbs sticking to his lips.
"Th… thank you."
Freya reached over and brushed them away with her thumb.
His chest filled with warmth.
Maybe Mother hadn't seen, perhaps she would be proud later when he showed that he remembered all her lessons, but for now, just for now, he let himself chew on the bread with small, careful bites.
And for that moment, Soren believed he could be a real Arden after all.
••✦ ♡ ✦•••
The days grew longer, and with them Soren grew taller, if only by a little.
His shoes fit a bit tighter, his cheeks had lost some of their roundness, but his eyes still held the same innocent shine.
He had been in the mansion for nearly two years now, yet every morning still felt like a test.
Today was no different.
He walked carefully down the corridor, balancing a silver tray in his small hands.
The teapot rattled against the cups whenever his steps faltered.
Mother had said a noble should move with poise, not stumble like a servant.
So he tried, his little face scrunched with determination, and his tongue peeking from the corner of his mouth.
Alice, who was waiting at the end of the hallway, smirked as she saw him.
"Careful. Don't trip. If you spill it, Mother will say you're no noble at all."
Soren didn't answer; he thought maybe she was warning him out of kindness, so he nodded once and slowed his steps even more.
When he passed her, she flicked a finger against the tray.
The cups wobbled precariously.
His heart leapt, but he steadied it with both hands, his small arms trembling under the weight.
Alice laughed.
"See? Even your hands shake like a commoner's." She darted past him, her golden curls bouncing with each step.
Soren repeated the phrase that Mother had taught him not long ago in his mind.
– A noble does not show temper. A noble endures.
He whispered the words under his breath.
"A… noble endures."
And so he endured.
••✦ ♡ ✦•••
Soren sat before his mother in her private study.
The smell of parchment and perfume clung to the air.
Sofia Arden looked down at him with her crimson eyes, her voice smooth as silk.
"Soren, darling, words are like blades. When used with care, they cut deeper than any sword. Repeat after me. 'Your kindness humbles me, though I dare not presume upon it.'"
Soren straightened his back, folding his hands on his knees.
His little tongue stumbled over the elegant sentence.
"Y-Your… kind-ness hum-bles me, th-though I d-dare not… pruh…sume… upon it."
He looked up at her, hopeful.
"Did I… say it right?"
Her lips curved, but her eyes did not soften.
"Almost. Your vowels are clumsy. A true Arden must speak as though each word were a jewel set in gold."
He nodded quickly, his cheeks flushed in embarrassment.
"I'll… I'll do better."
And he meant it.
He always meant it.
One day, his effort would show results, and Mother would praise him.
She had to.
••✦ ♡ ✦•••
That evening, in the garden, Freya found him practising the sentence over and over to the flowers.
"Your kindness humbles me… though I… though I d-dare…"
He stamped his little foot in frustration.
"Dare not presume upon it," Freya finished gently.
Soren turned, his face beaming like the sun.
"Freya!" He ran over to her, nearly tripping over the cobblestones. "Did I say it right this time?"
Freya knelt, her warm, hazel eyes as she smoothed his messy hair.
"Perfectly," she said, even though he had stuttered a couple of times.
His smile radiated in the dim garden as he bounced on his toes.
"Mother will be happy, then?"
Her smile faltered just slightly, but she caught it before he could notice.
"Of course she will. Who wouldn't be proud of you?"
He giggled and wrapped his arms around her neck.
Freya laughed softly, lifting him off the ground and spinning once.
••✦ ♡ ✦•••
But not every day ended so brightly.
At supper one evening, Alice dropped her fork on purpose.
"Brother, fetch it," she said.
Soren blinked.
"But… we are at the table. Mother said—"
Alice pouted.
"Mother also said a gentleman must help a lady. Are you not a gentleman?"
He hesitated.
Mother's lessons swirled in his small head.
Finally, he slid from his too-big chair and crawled under the long table to pick it up.
When he handed it back to Alice, she smirked.
"Good boy."
She took it and placed it on the table before calling a servant to bring a new fork, stabbing the fresh silverware into the meat with exaggerated grace.
Mother and Father said nothing.
Soren sat straighter afterwards, pride swelling in his chest.
He thought maybe that was the right thing, maybe he had finally acted like a real noble.
Freya caught his eye.
Her smile was soft, but her gaze was filled with worry he could not yet understand.
••✦ ♡ ✦•••
That night, when Freya tucked him into bed, he asked.
"Freya… am I a real Arden now?"
She sat on the edge of his bed, her long blonde hair spilling over her shoulders like a curtain.
"You've always been one," she said, brushing her fingers through his snow-white hair.
"But… Mother says I must still learn, and Alice says—"
"Hush," Freya whispered, pressing her forehead to his. "Don't listen to them. Listen to me. You're Soren, my little brother, and that's more than enough."
His small hands clutched her sleeve.
"I'll keep trying. I'll be better."
She lightly kissed his forehead.
"You're already perfect."
In the quiet of the room, with only the faint glow of moonlight through the cheap curtains, Soren smiled in his sleep, dreaming of the day when his mother would smile at him the way Freya always did.
For now, he was still innocent enough to believe it could happen.
————「❤︎」————