The maid returned into the estate with the same calm, measured pace she'd used when escorting the guests out,moving through the corridors without haste, as if every second of her stride had been planned long ago and required no improvisation.
She knocked softly on the study door and entered only after a brief permission.
Lord Arven Halven stood by one of the windows, hands clasped behind his back, looking down over the courtyard as though his own estate was something that needed to be inspected from time to time,even if nothing could happen here without his knowledge.
"The guests have already left the grounds," the maid reported, stopping a few steps inside the doorway.
"Good," he replied calmly, not turning. "Did anything else catch your attention?"
She hesitated,only long enough not to appear undisciplined.
"While passing through the courtyard," she began, "they saw Lady Lysel and young Corvin practicing."
Lord Halven nodded as if he'd expected that.
"How did they react?" he asked.
"The older merchant didn't pay them any attention."
A faint, nearly invisible smile touched Halven's face.
"The old man knows his place," he said evenly. "And the boy?"
"The boy… watched for quite a while. Very closely," the maid answered.
Halven gave a quiet snort.
"Not worth the time or effort to bother with him," he said. "Without a core of magic, it won't amount to anything. Even if he observes, even if he understands something,without foundations, it's just watching someone else work."
At last, he turned toward her.
"Tell Lysel and Corvin to come to me later," he added. "I need to remind them that you don't practice magic in the courtyard when we have guests. Not everyone should see how we operate."
"Of course, my lord," she replied with a small bow.
Halven fell silent again, as if weighing something else.
"Since you're here," he said, "we have one more matter to discuss."
She raised her eyes only briefly.
"My son's head maid resigned," he said calmly. "Overnight."
The maid stiffened.
"You will take over her duties temporarily."
Her heart began to race, though her face remained composed.
"My lord…" she began carefully. "Could someone else not be found?"
The young lord Halven was a subject no one discussed loudly, and never in one place for too long. Servants in houses like this learned quickly that certain names were better kept in the mind, not on the tongue. People spoke of him differently depending on who was speaking,and how afraid they were of consequences,but the same theme always surfaced: unpredictability paired with a power no one could take from him.
Rumors claimed his interest in magic went beyond ordinary noble training,that he treated it not only as a tool of defense or prestige, but as something to test on people, to probe the limits of reaction, emotion, and pain, because that was when magic behaved "most interestingly." Others insisted it was exaggeration,that the young lord simply liked absolute control over his surroundings, and magic was merely another way to emphasize it.
And the maid also knew that, compared to the other men in this residence, the young Lord Halven had… particular tastes.
Halven studied her.
"If you don't wish to," he added after a moment, "I won't make trouble for you. You may leave. The estate does not keep anyone by force."
The words sounded gentle.
That was exactly why they were terrifying.
The maid knew what it meant to leave without a recommendation, without the house's protection, without any place to return to.
"I understand," she said quietly.
She bowed deeply.
"I will handle it, my lord."
Halven nodded, as if the matter were settled.
***
The route back took them along the same path they'd come, yet Roland felt as if everything looked different now,like only now he truly saw the boundaries he'd previously only sensed.
When they crossed the inner district gate, the guards didn't look at them longer than necessary. They checked the pass and let them through without a word, and the wall behind them became more than stone again. It split two orders of life that had nothing in common except that they existed side by side.
On the other side, the world grew loud again.
The smells of labor, merchants calling out, wagon wheels rattling, and people talking returned in layers, as if the city breathed more fully where everything had to be earned. Roland felt relief, though he couldn't quite name it,relief born of returning to a place that was at least familiar.
They walked without haste.
Mr. Klein said nothing, and Roland didn't ask questions. Images from the estate still hovered in his mind,the gate, the courtyard, and that brief moment when magic had been visible and alive, not just an entry in a ledger or a core locked in a crate.
When they stepped into the shop, the bell above the door sounded almost comforting.
Edgar stood behind the counter, finishing up with a customer collecting a small batch of goods. The man counted out coins with the expression of someone who wasn't fully satisfied,but knew there was no more to squeeze out.
"Tomorrow," Edgar tossed out as the customer left. Then he immediately looked to his father. "So? How'd it go?"
Mr. Klein removed his coat, put it away, and took out the documents.
"Fine," he said evenly.
Edgar's brow furrowed.
"'Fine' by your standards, or theirs?" he pressed, reaching for the papers.
He started reading.
The farther he got, the harder his face set, and the tighter his fingers curled around the pages.
"You've got to be kidding," he said at last, looking up. "At these prices, we barely come out ahead."
Mr. Klein gave a small shrug.
"We come out ahead," he replied. "That's what matters."
Edgar let out a short, humorless huff.
"If this were anyone else, I'd have thrown them out," he muttered. "But it's a house. As usual."
He stood in silence for a moment, then let his arms drop.
"I know," he added more quietly. "We can't do anything about it."
Mr. Klein smiled faintly,but it was the smile of a man who understood the cost of what had just been said.
"Exactly," he replied.
Roland stepped closer and set the notebook and the magical pen on the counter, careful, as if he were returning something fragile.
"Thank you," Mr. Klein said, putting both away. "Good work."
He looked at Roland more closely.
"You can go home early today," he added. "It's been a long day."
Roland nodded.
"Thank you, Mr. Klein."
When he left the shop, the city was already fully awake and moving. He walked the familiar streets past people, stalls, and workshops,yet his mind kept circling back to one place.
The courtyard.
The two young people his age moving magic as naturally as breathing.
He replayed every gesture, every flicker of energy, trying to hold onto that sense of order and control he'd seen,despite knowing he had neither the right nor the means.
***
Roland returned home in the late afternoon, when daylight had begun to soften and the noise of the outer district had quieted a little,though it never truly disappeared. That was simply what it meant to live where people were packed close to one another, close to their lives and their worries.
The apartment door stood ajar.
As soon as he stepped inside, he heard a faint cough from the kitchen, and a familiar stab of unease pricked at him. It came every time he heard that sound, even if he knew it wasn't new, and not sudden.
His mother sat at the table, leaning back slightly, holding a mug of warm infusion in both hands as she tried to steady her breathing. When she saw him, she lifted her eyes and smiled as if the cough were nothing at all.
"You're back," she said calmly. "Earlier than usual."
"Are you alright?" Roland asked automatically, moving closer before he could stop himself.
"Nothing new," she said with a dismissive wave. "You know me. That's why I work less now. The doctor said I should take it easy."
Roland nodded, though it didn't fully settle him. He knew her stubbornness, and he knew "taking it easy" usually meant only that she went out a little less often than before.
She set the mug down and studied him more carefully.
"Go on," she said, changing the subject without effort. "I can see you've got a lot on your mind today."
Roland sat across from her, thinking for a moment about where to even begin. Everything he'd seen beyond the wall felt too big and too foreign to fit into a few sentences.
So he started with the simple things.
He told her about the walls. About the silence on the other side. About streets that were too clean and too wide. About people dressed like they'd never had to work,or worry whether their clothes would survive another day.
He mentioned the women too, in a less certain voice, a little embarrassed,how different they were from the girls he knew, how they looked, how they watched, and how quickly he'd understood they didn't belong to the same world as him.
His mother listened closely, wearing a soft, maternal smile that neither judged nor mocked. She simply received it as it was, as if she knew these experiences mattered to him,even when they hurt.
And then Roland began to talk about magic.
The courtyard.
The two young people his age moving energy so freely it looked like part of their bodies. The shape of the spells, the way the air reacted to their motions, and how,just for a moment,it had felt like he was watching something perfectly ordered.
He spoke faster and faster, forgetting his fatigue as he tried to convey even a fraction of what he'd seen, even though he knew words weren't enough.
"I wish I…" he began,then stopped, the thought unfinished.
His mother looked at him warmly.
"I know," she said quietly.
She reached out and rested her hand on his.
"Dreams aren't a bad thing, Roland," she murmured. "Not even the ones that feel too big."
They sat in silence for a while, and he felt the tension he'd been carrying since morning slowly loosen, replaced by something calmer,still threaded with longing.
Beyond the walls, there was a world that wasn't meant for him.
But the image of magic obeying someone's will stayed alive in his mind,and with it, the feeling that he'd seen something that would forever change the way he understood what was possible.