The grand gates of the Grand Royal Library rose like a palace wall.
From inside the carriage, Ahaan pressed closer to the window, his small fingers gripping the edge as his blue eyes widened. Beside him, the maid Tara leaned forward so far that her forehead nearly touched the glass, completely forgetting dignity in favour of wonder.
Outside, the world looked unreal.
A wide garden stretched before the library, trimmed so perfectly it felt as though even the grass had been trained. Marble pathways curved through blooming flowerbeds. Fountains shimmered under the sunlight, and noble children wandered about in elegant clothes, laughing as if they had never known fear, hunger, or the sound of a door closing on hope.
Even the air felt different.
Cleaner. Lighter. More expensive.
Tara whispered without meaning to, "Young Master… are we even allowed to breathe here?"
Ahaan stared harder. Right now, he was seeing a world that he had never truly seen before—only imagined from a distance, from beneath roofs that had never belonged to people like this.
Across from them, Rowan sat in relaxed silence, watching their expressions with clear amusement. The wide eyes, the stunned quiet, the shameless way both of them were staring out the window—bit by bit, a faint smile appeared on his lips.
He remembered his own first time here.
He had reacted in almost the exact same way.
The carriage finally rolled to a stop.
Rowan stepped out first, then reached back in and carefully lifted Ahaan into his arms. Tara followed after them, though she was still glancing around like she expected someone to stop her and demand an explanation for why a maid was walking on such expensive ground.
They began moving toward the entrance.
With every step, the library seemed to grow larger.
More imposing.
It no longer looked like a place that merely stored books. It looked like something built to guard knowledge from the unworthy.
The moment they passed through the grand doors, the atmosphere changed.
The warmth of the sun vanished behind thick stone walls. The air turned cooler, heavier, and for one brief second Tara's breathing faltered. Even Ahaan's tiny body stiffened in Rowan's arms.
A pressure had settled over them.
Subtle, but real.
They arrived at the reception hall.
It was vast enough to host a banquet. Tall pillars rose toward a carved ceiling, and the walls were engraved with ancient script that seemed to hum with old authority. Noble boys and girls sat in small circles, speaking in lowered voices. A few were reading scrolls. Others displayed books like trophies, their laughter polished and light.
Then Rowan stepped in.
Everything shifted. Eyes turned. Whispers rose.
And then a girl called Rowan's name and began moving toward him.
"Rowan."
The girl called his name, and Rowan's posture straightened instantly.
She stepped forward from behind a group of nobles, and the air around her seemed to change with her. She wore noble attire, but it was not the clothes that drew attention. It was the way she carried herself—calm, assured, and so naturally composed that even confidence looked effortless on her.
Her eyes were sharp, steady, and clearly used to being listened to.
"You're late," she said. "You know we still have to finish this week's learning before our training resumes next week."
Rowan froze.
He stared at her as if his soul had briefly left his body and forgotten to return. For a second, he looked so blank that even Ahaan, watching from his arms, narrowed his eyes.
Her brows lifted slightly. "What happened to you now?"
Rowan opened his mouth.
No sound came out.
Ahaan stared at him for a long second, then understood clearly.
Ah. I see. So, this is why my brother brought me here.
The girl waited for Rowan to answer, but Rowan continued standing there like a decorative statue with breathing privileges. Ahaan sighed internally.
Come on, man. She called you twice. Say something before you collapse.
With the solemn determination of a younger brother forced to clean up family disgrace, Ahaan lifted his tiny hand.
Sorry, Rowan.
Then he slapped Rowan's cheek.
Not hard.
But firm enough to wake his soul.
Rowan blinked and jolted back into reality. "O-Oh! Hi, Nyra!"
Nyra looked at him, then at the baby in his arms.
"So, this is your brother," she said slowly. "The one you won't stop talking about?"
Rowan instantly regained every drop of confidence he had lost. "Yes! Meet Ahaan—my brother."
Nyra stepped closer, her expression softening despite herself. "He really is cute."
"Yes," Rowan said proudly, smiling as if he had personally designed and assembled Ahaan with great care. "He resembles me."
Tara's smile twitched. Her eyes slid toward Rowan slowly, with the suspicious stillness of someone witnessing a crime unfold in daylight.
Ahaan stared at Rowan.
He did not yet have words.
But his face said enough.
Nyra smiled, amused. "I wanted to see the white-haired child too. And now that I've seen him…" Her eyes flicked between Rowan and Ahaan. "On what angle does he look like you? He's far too cute."
Both Ahaan and Tara had to fight very hard not to laugh.
Rowan, meanwhile, looked like someone had just stabbed his pride with a very elegant needle.
And then—
several girls rose from their seats at once and hurried toward them.
"Awwww!"
"Oh my god, look at him!"
The calm atmosphere of the reception hall shifted immediately. What had been quiet noble murmurs turned into a wave of delighted voices, all directed toward one very small, very white-haired problem in Rowan's arms.
Ahaan stared at the approaching crowd.
And for the first time since entering the library, he felt something dangerously close to regret.
Ahaan blinked as the girls suddenly surrounded Rowan from every side.
And in the middle of it all, he sat calmly in Rowan's arms like a tiny king being carried through a festival while strangers admired him as if he had personally invented beauty.
"So, this is the white-haired boy the kingdom's been talking about?"
"He's adorable!"
"Look at his eyes!"
"They're bluer than the ocean—how is that even possible? None of us have eyes like that!"
"He's really cute…"
Ahaan kept his face perfectly calm, the expression of a baby who could be admired from a safe distance without consequence. But inside, he was far less composed. So many voices. So many eyes. And all of them fixed on him without pause. He had never experienced anything like this before, and it left him strangely restless.
That many girls staring at me this seriously…
No. I absolutely have no experience for this.
Nyra stepped a little closer to Rowan, looking between him and Ahaan with quiet amusement. "See, Rowan? In the future, Ahaan is going to get into all kinds of trouble with girls because of his looks."
Rowan smiled, though inside he was also a little stunned by the scene unfolding around them. Still, some stubborn older-brother pride rose up at once.
At least in the future, Ahaan, you won't have to work as hard as I do now.
Just as the girls around them grew louder, another voice cut cleanly through the noise—heavy, restrained, and full of authority.
"Enough."
It was only a single word, but it did not need volume to command silence. It was the kind of voice that made even noble children straighten instinctively, as if they had suddenly remembered they were standing in a sacred place. Conversations died in mid-sentence. Laughter froze. Even the girls around Rowan stepped back before they fully understood why.
Rowan's smile vanished.
His face changed in an instant, the playful ease draining away as if someone had poured cold water over him. His shoulders tightened, and the arm holding Ahaan grew firmer—not rough, but protective.
Then his other hand curled.
Slowly.
Tightly.
His knuckles paled with such controlled force that the nearest girl faltered and took another quiet step back.
Ahaan noticed it immediately.
The sudden silence. The shift in Rowan's breathing. The hardening of the hand around him. And without even turning yet, Ahaan understood one thing clearly—
whoever had spoken was not someone Rowan could ignore.
Ahaan noticed it immediately.
Rowan did not react like this for just anyone.
The pressure in the hall deepened. The air itself felt heavier, as if the library had gone quiet to listen. Footsteps approached from behind the crowd—steady, measured, unhurried. Even the sound carried discipline. Authority. The kind of presence that did not need to announce itself because everyone already knew to move aside.
And they did.
The noble students parted like water.
A tall figure stepped forward, dressed in the formal attire of an officer. His presence was sharp enough to make the vast reception hall feel smaller. His gaze moved across the gathered nobles, his expression unreadable, yet his eyes held something colder than judgment.
Certainty.
He stopped a few steps away. His eyes lingered briefly on Rowan's clenched fist, then shifted to Ahaan's white hair. And then, very slightly, his lips curved.
Ahaan stared back, calm on the outside, though inside his mind tightened with sudden irritation.
Who is this?
Rowan's jaw hardened.
The room remained silent, waiting.
Only then did the officer speak again, his voice smooth and thin, like a blade sliding from its sheath.
"So," he said, "it has happened because of you, Rowan Cyan."
And only at that moment did the name finally settle into place—carried in the whispers behind them, spoken with a mixture of unease and respect.
Mr. Oceayne.
To be continue…