These words again, he thought, his fingers tightening slightly around the edges of the page. No matter how far I've come in this world, it's like this story is waiting for me at every corner. As if it's reminding me of something I'd rather forget.
Irish and Irien leaned closer, their attention fixed on him as he continued.
As the quiet of the castle settled after the evening's earlier commotion, the Duchess found herself walking toward the library. The soft glow of moonlight filtered through the arched windows, spilling across the cold stone floor, yet she hardly noticed.
Her thoughts were still tangled in the aftermath of the meeting and the weight of decisions yet to come.
But as she neared the library doors, a faint sound stopped her mid-step—a voice, low and steady, carrying through the slight crack in the doors.
She paused, her brow furrowing slightly.
Arlon?
The Duchess's hand hovered near the door handle, but instead of stepping in, she stayed where she was, listening. His voice, calm yet deliberate, wrapped around the words of a story. It had been so long since she'd heard him speak with such ease, without the weight of formality or restrained politeness.
Through the small opening, she caught a glimpse of the scene inside.
The twins were seated together, their faces lit with wonder as they listened intently. Irish leaned forward slightly, her hands clasped beneath her chin, while Irien's posture was calm and composed, though her quiet focus revealed just how engrossed she was.
And there was Arlon, seated across from them, holding a book in one hand. His expression was steady, his tone measured as he read aloud. Even Ace, ribbon still tied snugly around his neck, lay curled lazily at the edge of the table, his tail flicking in faint contentment.
The soft murmur of Arlon's voice drifted through the slightly ajar door, mingling with the faint crackle of the library's fire.
He's changed so much, she thought, her gaze lingering on the calm authority in his posture. But this… this moment feels like a glimpse of the boy he used to be. Maybe the weight hasn't crushed him completely.
The Duchess's heart stirred at the sight, and memories she had tucked away long ago began to resurface.
Years ago, when the twins were no more than infants, she had often found Arlon sneaking into their nursery late at night. He had only been a boy of ten, his shoulders not yet heavy with the responsibilities he would one day bear. Yet even then, she had seen something in his eyes—a quiet tenderness, a protective instinct that spoke of the bond he felt with the twins.
She had stood silently in the doorway that night, unseen, as Arlon leaned over their cribs with hesitant steps. His small hand had reached out, brushing gently against one of the twins' tiny hands. The infant stirred, its fingers curling instinctively around him.
And Arlon had smiled. Not the formal smile he would later perfect, but a true, unguarded one—a fleeting moment of joy that had warmed her heart.
That warmth had disappeared in the years that followed.
But then, after Ceil's death, something in him had shifted—withdrawn behind a wall she couldn't breach,the tender boy she had seen in the nursery hardening into someone colder, more distant. His smiles became rare, his laughter unheard.
But now, standing outside the library, she saw a glimpse of that boy again.
The way he read to the twins, the way their eyes lit up as they hung on his every word—it reminded her of what she had always believed: that deep down, Arlon had never stopped caring for them.
The Duchess lingered, her hand resting lightly against the doorframe. She didn't want to disturb the moment, afraid that her presence might shatter the fragile connection unfolding inside.
Her lips curved into a faint smile, one tinged with both relief and hope. Perhaps the shadows of the past were beginning to lift.
With a quiet breath, she stepped away, her footsteps fading into the stillness of the hall. For the first time in years, she let herself hope—and left them undisturbed in the glow of their shared moment.
As her footsteps echoed softly down the hall, she let herself hope—for the first time in years—that the family might begin to heal.
Step— Step—
As the sound of the Duchess's footsteps faded, the library was left in peaceful stillness. The crackling fire in the hearth was the only sound that filled the room, its warm glow casting dancing shadows on the walls.
Arlon sat at the head of the long wooden table, the twins now fully absorbed in the book he was reading aloud. Irish was leaning forward, her eyes wide with curiosity, while Irien sat with a calm focus, her attention fully on Arlon's voice.
Beside him, Ace, the lazy cat, had curled up on the chair, his tail flicking lazily as if he even enjoyed the quiet moment shared with them all.
Irish leaned forward, her hands clasped neatly on the table. "Do you remember that story Father used to tell us?" Her voice was soft, almost hesitant, like she was reaching for a memory she wasn't sure was real.
Arlon paused, the book lowering slightly as he glanced over at her. Her gaze was expectant, but there was a quiet, almost hesitant sadness in it.
He frowned, trying to pull the memory from the depths of his mind, but it was like reaching for something that wasn't there.
"Father…" he echoed quietly.
Irish's smile wavered, a flicker of disappointment crossing her face before she quickly hid it. Irien, ever observant, noticed the shift in Arlon's expression and tilted her head, her voice calm but searching.
"Do you think... he would have told us stories like that? About the stars, I mean. I heard from some people that he believed they were like little messengers, always watching over us."
Arlon blinked, trying to process the sudden shift in conversation. His gaze drifted between the twins, noticing the hopeful yet uncertain look in their eyes. They didn't have memories of their father, only fragments, bits and pieces passed down from others or perhaps imagined.
His fingers twitched around the book, but he didn't speak. His mind raced, trying to think of something—anything—to bridge the gap between the twins and the boy they once knew.
"I... I don't remember it exactly," he murmured, his voice low, betraying the discomfort. "But it sounds like something he would say."
There was a beat of silence, and then Irish's soft voice broke through. "We miss him so much." Her eyes shimmered, but she quickly blinked them away, as if the vulnerability caught her by surprise.
A wave of guilt hit Arlon—guilt that he couldn't give them the same sense of security that their father had, guilt that he wasn't truly their brother, not in the way they remembered.
But the twins' gentle smiles, faint but genuine, told him they didn't need perfection. They just needed something.
"I might not remember the stories, but I'm here now," Arlon said quietly, his voice firming as he spoke. "And I won't leave you alone."
For a long moment, there was nothing but the quiet crackle of the fire, the sound of Ace's content purring in the background.
The air felt heavier. Arlon wasn't used to these kinds of moments—raw, vulnerable. He didn't know how to respond, how to fill the silence pressing down on them. All he could think of was to reach out.
Before he realized it, his hand moved. It rested lightly on Irish's head, his palm brushing against her hair in what he hoped was a comforting gesture.
"You don't have to worry about that anymore," he murmured, his voice low but steady. "I'm here now."
For a brief moment, Irish froze. Her wide eyes snapped up to meet him, and Irien stiffened beside her, her calm expression breaking into something startled.
Irish's hands flew up to her chest as she leaned back abruptly. "I—I'm sorry!" she stammered, panic rising in her voice.
"I didn't mean to—please, Lord Arlon, I—"
Arlon blinked, his hand lowering as confusion furrowed his brow. "What are you apologizing for?" he asked, glancing between the twins.
"I don't want to hurt you," Irish whispered, her voice trembling with an almost childlike fear. Her hands tightened into fists in her lap, as if trying to keep herself from reaching out again.
"We're not supposed to… to touch anyone like you."
Arlon frowned. "Why not?"