Dawn came quietly to Vanhart estate, wrapped not in gold, but in muted silver. As though even the sun had chosen caution before stepping onto land long steeped in frost and silence.
A thin sheet of snow blanketed the cobblestone courtyard outside the manor's iron-wrought gates. Frost still clung stubbornly to the shrubs lining the pathway, their dried winter leaves crackling under the weight of cold. The estate staff moved quietly that morning—words exchanged in hushed tones, steps lighter than usual.
For the first time in years, the wind carried something unfamiliar.
Expectation.
The Arrival
A lone carriage rolled down the snowy road toward the estate. Black lacquered wood, trimmed with deep plum velvet, the crest upon it half-faded—formerly noble, now burdened.
Count Vanhart stood at the front entrance, his posture straight, cloak drawn over his shoulders. His face gave nothing away, and yet… the subtle tension in his hands, hidden behind his back, betrayed the unrest in his heart.
To his left stood Sera.
Not the barbarian chieftain. Not the cursed child made warrior.
But Sera Vanhart.
Dressed in the noble clothing Kel had chosen for her, her snow-white hair braided down her back, secured with a pale ribbon. Her expression was quiet, composed—but those who looked closely would see the way her fingers were clasped too tightly before her.
Reina stood just a little behind her, silent yet subtly protective. Landon stood beside her like an unmoving wall. Kel remained several paces away, arms crossed behind his back, observing everything with a calm that could only be engineered—not innate.
Sairen's presence flickered faintly at the edge of Kel's awareness, watching unseen from the misted world.
The carriage stopped.
Silence fell like fresh snow.
The driver stepped down, opened the door.
A woman emerged.
The Count's wife.
The Lady of Vanhart
Her figure was slender, adorned in winter mourning shades—soft violet beneath layered black. The frost in her hair made the strands look like twilight touched by the moon. Her eyes, once known for their serenity, now held the weight of five years spent trying not to remember.
She stepped down slowly, boots sinking lightly into the powder. Her gaze lifted immediately—not to her husband.
To her daughter.
Sera's breath caught.
The woman's lips trembled as though a thousand words vied for space and none could escape first.
"Sera…" she whispered.
The single word cracked at the end.
Sera blinked once.
Her throat tightened.
Then the woman turned at last to her husband.
"Edward," she said.
Count Edward Vanhart did not respond with words. He simply inclined his head.
It was the first time they'd faced each other in five years.
She held his gaze—not as a wife returning home—but as someone finally brave enough to look at the wound neither had treated.
The silence lingered.
And then—
"Mother."
The voice was small.
Sera stepped forward.
She did not run.
Did not weep.
She simply walked, measured, step by step, until she stood within arm's reach.
Her mother's composure broke.
In one trembling motion, she cupped Sera's face with both hands.
A soft, broken gasp escaped her.
"You… didn't shrink back from my hands," she whispered.
Sera's eyes softened.
"I left," she said quietly. "I had no right to expect you would let me return."
The woman's fingers tightened around her cheeks.
"You left because we failed to protect you," she said, voice shaking. "Not because you failed us."
Her eyes fell to Sera's hair—now pale from curse and burden—and her lips trembled again.
"You were just a child," she whispered. "A child who carried what adults forced upon her."
Her voice broke.
"And I… could not even bring you home."
She reached forward—
And pulled Sera into her arms.
The snowy courtyard remained silent.
But the wind shifted.
As though, just for that one moment, the north exhaled.
Sera did not sob.
But her hands slowly, hesitantly, clutched her mother's coat.
And held it.
Kel's eyes lingered on the scene for three heartbeats.
Then he turned away.
Not out of disregard.
But out of courtesy.
The Son
From the carriage, another figure stepped down.
A young boy—around seven. Sera's younger brother.
He looked at her with wide eyes.
Hesitant.
Uncertain.
His small hands clutched the wooden railing of the carriage step as if it were the only anchor he knew.
Sera noticed his gaze.
She broke from her mother's embrace gently and knelt before him.
"You've grown," she said softly.
He looked down.
"I remember you stronger," he said quietly.
Sera blinked.
"That was before I became weak," she replied.
The boy looked at her again.
And shook his head.
"No. You were strong when you left," he said. "You're just… not alone now."
Sera's lips parted.
For the first time, her eyes hinted moisture.
The boy stepped toward her and wrapped his small arms around her neck.
She closed her eyes.
Held him.
The Count & His Lady
Count Vanhart finally approached.
His wife looked up from where she held both their children.
Their eyes met.
Something like apology.
And something like acceptance.
Kel watched.
Edward Vanhart extended one gloved hand.
His wife placed her hand atop his.
His fingers trembled barely—but enough that Kel noticed.
Years of silence cracked.
No words.
But something long frozen moved.
—
Reina's fingers tightened around her own cloak.
Landon glanced toward Kel.
Kel did not meet his gaze.
Instead, he spoke softly—more to himself than to any other.
"Another piece falls into place."
Sairen's voice brushed against his consciousness—flowing like water under ice.
Do you feel satisfaction, Kel?
Kel's eyes lingered on the reunited family.
He replied inwardly.
No.
Then what is this I sense in you?
Kel tilted his head slightly.
Relief.
A necessary condition satisfied.
He turned away.
A cloak lifted lightly behind him as he began to walk.
Reina stepped forward automatically.
"Kel?" she asked.
He paused.
"They need this morning," he said quietly. "Without us."
Landon nodded.
Sera heard his voice then.
She lifted her gaze from her brother's shoulder.
"Kel," she said softly.
Kel looked back.
Her eyes met his.
"Thank you," she said.
Simply that.
Not for strategy.
Not for salvation.
For letting this moment exist.
Kel regarded her for a moment.
Then lowered his head slightly.
It wasn't a bow.
Just acknowledgement.
He turned again.
As he walked away, the faintest sliver of snowlight touched his profile.
Reina's voice followed, quiet.
"Where are you going?"
Kel didn't stop.
"To begin the next phase," he said.
Sairen sensed the shift in his thoughts.
Rodrik.
Yes.
And the letters?
Kel's eyes remained forward.
They will be used when the wound has fully re-opened.
He stepped into the corridor.
The door closed behind him.
And outside, the sun finally broke beyond the snow clouds—
not with warmth,
but with light.