The sun reached its peak, pouring molten gold across the courtyard stones. The air shimmered faintly from the heat, and the sound of work filled every hall. The mansion, normally a calm heartbeat of routine, was now alive — rushing, clattering, moving to a single rhythm commanded by one young voice.
Klen walked down the corridor with a list in his hand, sleeves rolled to his elbows. The morning calm had faded; every task seemed to multiply. Two servants crossed paths and nearly dropped a vase — he caught it midair and exhaled sharply through his nose.
"Careful," he said, setting it down gently. "We're maintaining order, not chaos."
"Y-yes, sir!" they stammered and scurried off.
He pinched the bridge of his nose and glanced toward the window. The sunlight glared down mercilessly, reminding him how far the day still had to go. His coat clung to his back from the heat, but he didn't let himself slow.
In the distance, faint footsteps approached — measured and even. He recognized them instantly.
"Your pacing's quickening," Fole said as he turned the corner, hands behind his back. His gaze swept over Klen's stance. "Losing rhythm?"
Klen straightened his posture immediately. "No, sir. Just... ensuring every section stays in check."
"Hmm." Fole's tone was unreadable. He stepped beside him, walking slowly through the hallway. "Don't just watch what they do — watch how they move. The moment you look tired, the staff follows your lead."
Klen gave a short nod. "Understood."
They paused at the end of the corridor. Outside the open window, a group of workers carried crates toward the garden storeroom. Klen leaned slightly, giving a small hand signal. The workers adjusted course without needing words.
Fole noticed, the faintest smirk forming. "Your hand's steadier than I thought."
Klen gave a quick, tired grin. "Wouldn't be standing here if it wasn't."
Fole turned, his expression softening just enough for a rare moment of approval. "Don't burn yourself out before dusk. The hardest hours are yet to come."
Then, he left — fading into another corridor like a phantom.
Klen exhaled and looked toward the great hall. Half the day gone. His heartbeat drummed quietly in his ears. Half to go.
Meanwhile, in the sunlit veranda, Lyra sat across from Marna. A gentle breeze fluttered the pages of the book open in Lyra's lap, her quill tapping absently on the edge of the table. Marna, sitting opposite, was peeling a fruit with far too much focus for someone supposedly helping with study.
"You're not even reading, are you?" Lyra said, raising a brow.
"I'm... supervising," Marna replied innocently. "Someone has to make sure you don't fall asleep on your paperwork."
Lyra rolled her eyes but smiled. "You're worse than Klen when he tries to sound serious."
"Maybe I just like being around serious people," Marna teased, tossing a slice of fruit in her mouth.
"Or maybe you're bored," Lyra countered. "You've been sighing for the past ten minutes."
Marna leaned on the table, resting her chin on her hands. "Fine. Maybe I am. It's just... weird without him hovering around, correcting everyone's posture and breathing like some miniature Fole."
Lyra laughed, a soft, genuine sound. "You make him sound insufferable."
Marna smiled faintly. "He's a bit insufferable. But it's different today. Everyone looks... tense. Even the cooks."
Lyra's gaze dropped to her book, but her voice was low, thoughtful. "Father's watching him closely. Everyone knows this isn't just a test. It's whether he gets to stay."
Marna's playful tone faltered. "You really think Lord Morin would... actually go that far?"
Lyra didn't answer immediately. She closed the book and looked out toward the bright horizon. "Father doesn't give warnings twice."
Silence fell for a moment. Only the sound of wind through the open veranda filled the space between them.
Marna spoke again, softer this time. "He'll be fine. He always finds a way."
Lyra smiled faintly. "I hope so."
Back inside, the clock struck past midday. Klen entered the kitchen — the heart of controlled chaos. Pots clanged, knives chopped in rhythm, and steam rolled from open pots. The head chef, a broad man with sweat darkening his collar, turned to him mid-command.
"Young master, the deliveries are lagging behind. We're short two hands for the dinner prep."
Klen didn't miss a beat. "Pull the staff from the east wing polishing. The nobles won't care for clean windows if dinner's late."
The chef blinked, then nodded quickly. "Understood!"
Klen took a deep breath, letting the smell of spice and fire fill his lungs before leaving the kitchen. Each hall he passed felt heavier, as if the walls themselves were watching him.
He turned a corner — and nearly bumped into Leor.
"My lord," Klen said instantly, bowing low. His throat went dry.
Leor's eyes flicked over him — unreadable, ice-blue. "You're holding up better than I expected."
"Thank you, sir," Klen managed, voice steady though his pulse raced.
"Do not thank me," Leor replied, tone calm but sharp. "Gratitude is earned when dusk falls and the house still stands. Until then—"
"—I keep moving," Klen finished quietly.
A faint hum of approval left Leor. "At least you understand that much." He turned, walking away with measured steps, his presence lingering like a cold wind long after he'd gone.
Klen stood still for a moment, shoulders tense, before letting out a slow breath. His composure cracked for just a second — eyes closing, hand briefly pressing against his chest.
You can't stop now.
He straightened, rolled his shoulders, and kept walking.
As the day wore on, the weight of the tasks grew. The servants looked to him for orders, questions, direction — every pair of eyes seeking his next word. He gave them all. Calmly, clearly, precisely. Yet behind that calm, fatigue clawed at his focus.
When he finally paused, leaning against the railing of the upper hall, he caught sight of the garden below — Lyra and Marna, seated under the shade, laughter soft like rippling water. A rare warmth passed through him. Even amidst all this, the world still looked... peaceful.
He allowed himself that one fleeting moment. Then he turned away, expression tightening once more.
By late afternoon, the mansion was quieter — not peaceful, but steady. Everything had fallen into rhythm again under his command. Klen stood in the hall, inspecting the line of servants as they completed their duties.
Fole appeared at the far end, slow clapping echoing softly.
"Still standing," he said, stepping forward. "Not bad."
Klen smirked weakly. "Not dead yet, either."
"Let's keep it that way until dusk," Fole replied, his tone almost approving.
As Fole passed, he added under his breath, "You're doing better than most grown men would."
Klen blinked, caught off-guard by the rare compliment, but before he could respond, Fole was already walking away.
He exhaled, gaze lifting toward the fading light spilling through the tall windows. His body ached, his legs trembled faintly, but the estate stood silent and orderly.
Half the day conquered. Half still ahead.
And dusk — with all its consequences — waited.