Lux didn't realize how tightly he'd been holding himself together until the doors closed behind him.
The sound was soft—barely more than a whisper of metal settling into place—but it marked a boundary all the same. Whatever room he'd just left behind was no longer accessible to him, whether physically or otherwise.
The maid—Geltry—walked a half-step ahead of him now, her pace unhurried, her posture unchanged. If she noticed the way Lux's shoulders sagged, or how his breathing came a little too shallow, she gave no sign of it.
They moved through a different wing of the estate this time.
The corridors here were narrower, though still immaculate. Fewer sigils. More doors. Living spaces, Lux guessed. Places meant to be occupied rather than admired.
"Your quarters have been prepared," Geltry said lightly, as if discussing the weather. "If you feel unwell at any point, please inform the staff immediately. The physicians will be alerted."
Lux nodded once.
He didn't trust his own voice yet.
They stopped before another door—simpler than the Patriarch's, but still heavier than anything Lux had ever known. Geltry opened it and stepped aside.
Inside was a bedroom. Not a guest chamber this time. It was clearly his.
The bed was smaller than the one he'd woken in but still large enough that he could stretch out fully without his feet hanging over the edge. A desk sat beneath the window, its surface bare save for a neatly stacked set of folded papers. A wardrobe stood against the far wall, its doors slightly ajar.
There was a washroom connected through a narrow archway. Lux could see tile—clean, pale stone—and metal fixtures that gleamed faintly in the light.
Warmth radiated evenly through the room.
Not stifling. Just… constant.
"This will be your room for the foreseeable future," Geltry said. "Meals will be brought to you until further notice. Once the Patriarch deems it appropriate, you may be allowed to move more freely within the estate."
She paused, then added, still smiling, "Please refrain from attempting to leave the grounds on your own."
Lux glanced at her.
"That wasn't a suggestion," he said quietly.
"No, Young Master," she replied cheerfully. "It was a courtesy."
She inclined her head once more. "If you require anything, pull the cord by the bedside. Someone will come. Dinner will be served shortly."
And with that, she left.
The door closed behind her.
Lux stood there for a long moment, unsure what to do with the space around him.
Eventually, he moved.
The wardrobe contained clothing—simple, but clean. Layers meant for warmth without bulk. Everything was his size, or close enough that it might as well have been. He touched the fabric hesitantly, half-expecting it to dissolve under his fingers.
It didn't.
At the desk, he picked up the papers.
Just a schedule.
Meals. Rest periods. Instructional hours.
No details about what he'd be taught. Only when.
Lux set them down again.
He moved to the washroom.
The mirror there was polished to a clarity that startled him. For a second, he didn't recognize the boy staring back.
His hair was still a mess—short, uneven, still a bit dirtied—but it had been washed. His face was cleaner than he could remember it ever being, free of grime and frostburn. His blue eyes looked too bright against his pale skin, ringed faintly with exhaustion.
He looked… smaller.
Younger.
Lux swallowed.
He turned the metal handle experimentally.
Water poured out.
Warm.
Not lukewarm. Not briefly tolerable.
Truly warm.
Lux stared at it as if it might vanish if he acknowledged it too directly. Slowly, he slid his hands beneath the stream. The heat seeped into his fingers, his palms, his wrists. It didn't bite, it felt nothing like bursts of heat he would have. It was…. comforting.
His breath hitched before he could stop it.
He scrubbed his hands, then his arms, then his face—more roughly than necessary, as if trying to erase something that wasn't there anymore. Dirt came away easily. So did blood he hadn't realized was still crusted along his knuckles.
When he finally turned the water off, his hands were red and trembling.
He braced himself against the sink.
Varik would hate this, he thought suddenly.
The idea landed hard in his chest.
Varik would scowl. He'd call it a trap. He'd say nothing that came this easily was meant to stay. Gavin would laugh—quietly, like it wasn't a big deal, like this was just another weird turn they'd survived and hed still make the best of the situation.
Lux squeezed his eyes shut.
They weren't here.
He was.
Alone in a room warm enough to forget the cold ever existed.
When he finally lay down on the bed, the mattress shifted beneath him in a way that felt wrong—too soft, too forgiving. He stared up at the ceiling, tracing the faint lines where stone met stone.
Vincent's words echoed in his head.
Worth and results.
Transaction.
Lux turned onto his side, pulling the blanket up to his chin. It was heavy and soft. It all felt so odd to him in a way nothing had ever been for him before.
Lux cried. He wept like he never had before. But through all his tears he made a promise.
"I'll survive."
He made a promise that from this day onward he'll survive to live the life that they would want him to. He'll live a life without tears. He didn't know who he was saying it to. Varik, Gavin or himself, but he intents to keep his promise.
Outside, somewhere far beyond the walls of the Achrion estate, the city continued its endless, grinding existence.
And Lux slept—uneasily, but deeply—for the first time since the world had folded in on itself.