It began slowly, a faint change in his breath, less laboured than before. He had stopped coughing so violently and seemed to gain back a little colour in his sunken cheeks. Asche found himself caught between hope and fear. Could it be true? Could his father actually recover from the years of disease? Or was this just another cruel trick? The idea of him getting better sent Asche into a spiral of anxiety. If his father returned to full strength, what would happen to Jorg and him?
But reality came crashing down.
It was as if the universe had thrown them another cruel joke. The man who had been a monster, the source of so much pain and fear, was now revitalized—and Asche could feel the weight of it in every bone of his body.
"I don't like this," Asche muttered to Jorg one evening, as they sat beside the dim firelight in the cave. His voice was tight, his fingers clenched around the edge of his cloak. "It's like I'm waking up from a long nightmare." Jorg sensed the change in Asche's tone.
"He's just getting better, Asche. Maybe... maybe it's just a fluke. He'll get sick again. Didn't the doctor say it was untreatable?"
Asche shot a quick glance at his brother, his eyes narrowing.
"You don't understand, Jorg. He's getting better. What if he actually recovers? He's going to make our lives miserable."
For days, Asche couldn't shake the feeling that the worst was yet to come. Every time he went to check on their father, he saw the glint of fire returning to his eyes, that familiar hatred simmering beneath the surface. They packed what little they had, in preparation to leave behind the cave at any time. Asche was becoming a legal age in a week. From time to time, they had been putting things they got into their bags whenever they got an excess.
Strangely although their father was getting stronger he was not able to walk yet. If they could run away now, they could survive for a week until Asche could work under his own name.
"Where should we go, Jorg?" Asche said, looking at his younger brother with a mixture of excitement and anxiety. They were near the mouth of the cave discussing their plans because it had been raining the entire day. With freedom around the corner, Asche couldn't help but be jumpy. But then, they heard the footsteps. At first, Asche thought it was just the sound of wind or maybe the echo of some far-off traveller. But no. It became unmistakable that it was from the cave. The heavy, staggering steps of a man who shouldn't be walking at all. Asche turned to Jorg, his face paling.
"Jorg, stay back," Asche warned, his voice low, but firm. He quickly threw their packed belongings further away from the entrance of the cave, shielding them from view. Jorg's eyes widened, his heart clearly pounding.
"It's him, isn't it?" he whispered, the fear in his voice unmistakable.
Asche walked deeper into the cave.
Their father who was supposedly sick, supposedly dying in the same cave he'd tortured them in was now standing over the bed —leaning heavily against the wall with his face gaunt and hollow, his body skeletal, as if death had already claimed him and then spit him back out.. Asche had almost allowed himself to believe the nightmare was over.
"Where should we go?" his voice, though weaker, was mocking. "You think just because I'm sick, I can't harm you? You're both fools."
Asche's heart dropped into his stomach. The man was up, moving, and worse yet, he had no intention of letting them leave, no matter how far they ran.
"I was going to let you both go. I was," his father said, coughing harshly as he struggled to move forward. "But now? Now you're going to stay here and remember who keeps you alive."
For a moment, Asche didn't understand why he didn't lose his mind out of pure fear.
Jorg, sensing the familiar malice in their father's demeanour, pulled on his sleeve. "Asche... you can't stay here. You have to go. Now."
But their father, back on his feet and filled with renewed venom, walked towards their shelf. His hand was shaking as it reached for the whip he always kept nearby, the one he had used so many times in the past to lash out at his sons.
"You're not going anywhere," he spat, his voice thick with malice. "Not until I say so."
Asche's eyes flared with desperation. Their father always chose violence as an answer and since he was bigger, taller and stronger than them, they had always obeyed his every word. But Asche wasn't a child anymore. He wasn't powerless. Plus he was sick of living in fear of a beating from his father.
"I'm done," Asche muttered under his breath, more to himself than to Jorg. He reached for the dagger tucked at his waist, his grip tightening on the hilt. He carried it around like that because he used it to cut ingredients and it kept getting lost.
"You're done?" Their father scoffed, stepping forward. "Stop trying to be brave, you naive little runt."
But this time, something in Asche snapped.
With a swift motion, he pulled out the dagger and pointed it directly at his father. "You're not going to control us anymore," he said, his voice low but fierce. "We're leaving."
Their father let out a derisive laugh, but it was clear in his eyes that he understood Asche wasn't joking.
"I don't think you understand," their father growled. "Do you really think you're that strong?
As the tension in the cave thickened, Asche knew they couldn't stay here. He had to act now. Asche's stomach twisted with a mixture of anger and terror. He took a slow step back, his hand gripping the knife carefully.
"Stay back," Asche warned again, voice shaking despite his attempts at control. He could feel the old fear rising in him. The fear of his father's cruelty, the fear of being trapped again.
With a low growl, Asche lunged forward, shoving his father back with all his strength. The man staggered, tripping over his own feet, and fell hard onto the cold stone floor of the cave dropping his whip.
Jorg, wide-eyed and trembling, stood frozen in place. "Asche—what do we do?"
Asche's heart raced. He could see the terror in Jorg's eyes.
"Go, Jorg," he said, his voice hoarse. "Run. I'll hold him off."
"But—"
"Go!" Asche's voice was sharp, unyielding. He could feel hope building in him. For once, his father wasn't the one in control.
Jorg hesitated for a moment longer, then nodded and darted out of the cave. Asche heard his brother's hurried footsteps as he ran, but he didn't look back.
He knew what he had to do.
Their father slowly rose, bloodshot eyes filled with madness. His face twisted into a sickening grin as he wiped the dirt and sweat from his brow.
"You scum!"
Before Asche could react, his father lunged at him, his hands aiming to grab hold of his throat.
Asche barely dodged, his heart pounding. The man was weak, barely able to keep his balance, but his anger fuelled him. With a swift motion, Asche slashed at his father's hands. It was successful. "Stay back, or I'll—" Asche spluttered. But before Asche could finish his sentence, his father lunged again, this time catching Asche's arm in a desperate grip. The two of them struggled, fighting for control, Asche's breath quick and ragged as his father's fingers dug into his skin.
Suddenly, with a sharp twist of his body, Asche managed to break free, and his father stumbled back, crashing into the ground with a sickening thud. He didn't seem to be able to get up. Asche looked around for his knife only to see it deep in his father's waist. It must have lodged here when he escaped.
Asche fell to the ground with a thud, shocked. But the damage had already been done. Copious amounts of blood oozed out of the wound and the fallen man groaned in pain, attempting to move. The movement broke Asche out of his cold sweat and he scurried up, bolted out the door and picked up their hidden things.
Hours later, drenched and scared, He found Jorg equally drenched shivering in fear behind the woodcutter's shed. It didn't take Jorg long to spot Asche himself.
"Asche!" Jorg screamed and buried his face on Asche's belly, crying. Asche's wet clothes sploshed when he fiercely hugged him. "I thought I lost you." Asche pulled Jorg back with a grim face.
"I don't know if he's dead. We have to run." At Jorg's surprised wide eyes, he placed the bags at his back and carried Jorg. "We got a whole journey in front of us so we can't waste any time." Jorg was confused.
"Why?"
"We're going to Feather."
Jorg hiccuped out of surprise."But he lives.... he lives in…"
"Yes. It make take a while but we'll get there."
Feather's home was enormous, with high stone walls that stretched up into the sky, as though daring anyone to try climbing them. The sprawling gardens beyond the gate were neat but far from showy—flower beds trimmed to perfection, paths lined with low hedges, and an occasional fountain tucked between the greenery. Everything was sharp and orderly, without a single leaf out of place.
The house itself was grand in a way that didn't try too hard: solid grey stone, with arched windows that caught the sunlight and glittered faintly. A tower rose up on one end, its pointed roof dark against the clear blue sky, giving the place a slightly cottage feel. It was the kind of house that welcomed strangers.
Asche hesitated as they passed through the iron gates, the groan of metal making him flinch. The guards said to go to this building. Feather seemed to have told them to expect him. The path under his shoes was spotless, unlike the uneven, dirt-strewn ground he was used to. It all felt so out of reach—so clean and well- polished. He glanced around, half expecting someone to jump out and demand to know what he was doing there.
Feather appeared suddenly, running out onto the wide stone steps that led to the front door. He was as bright and warm as the sun cutting through the clouds above, his face breaking into a grin that seemed to melt the formality of the place.
"Asche! Jorg!" Feather practically ran to them, pulling them both into a tight embrace. "You made it! Ew. You stink!" Ignoring his brute honesty, his voice was filled with a rare warmth that only he could provide, his usual cheerful demeanour masking any concerns. He pulled back, eyes scanning their faces, noticing the exhaustion on their faces.
Without wasting another second, Feather clapped his hands and signalled to one of the servants waiting by the door. "Get them settled in. Fresh clothes, baths, and food. Make it quick but thorough."
The servant, a wiry man with sharp features and an even sharper stride, gave a brisk nod and ushered Asche and Jorg into the house. The cool, polished stone of the entry hall spread out before them, leading to a small dining room that seemed almost too perfect to touch. A small round table stretched the length of the small room, its dark wood gleaming under the light of a massive chandelier hanging above. Platters of food were already being arranged, their rich, savory scents filling the air—roasted meats, fresh bread, bowls of golden soup that shimmered like sunlight on water.
Jorg's face lit up despite his lingering fever that returned with a force during their "voyage", his eyes darting to every corner of the room like he couldn't decide whether to marvel at the food or the house itself. A servant pulled out a chair for him, and he all but collapsed into it.
Asche hesitated at first, feeling wildly out of place among the polished silverware and embroidered napkins. But the sight of Jorg finally smiling loosened something tight in his chest, and he sat down as well, trying not to look too impressed by the spread in front of them.
The food was as warm and comforting as it looked, and for a brief moment, Asche let himself relax. Jorg was eating heartily for the first time in days, their stomachs were full, and for now, the world outside this room could wait.
When the meal was finished and the servants whisked away the dishes with almost unnerving efficiency, another servant appeared, this time with soft towels and bundles of clean clothes. Baths were drawn in a wing of the house Asche hadn't even realized they'd entered, the air warm and heavy with the scent of lavender.
By the time Asche emerged, feeling awkward in clothes that were far nicer than anything he owned, Feather was waiting for him in a study at the far end of the main hall. The room was just as grand as the rest of the house, but cozier, with a fire crackling in the hearth and shelves upon shelves of books lining the walls. Feather stood by the window, gazing out at the gardens below, his expression unreadable. "Asche," he said, turning slightly. "Now you're finally here, we need to talk." Looking around he added. "Best if we talk somewhere else."
Asche, still getting used to the pristine surroundings, followed Feather through the mansion's lavish corridors. The air smelled faintly of polished wood and candle wax, a sharp contrast to the dank, cold cave he'd once called home. He kept his gaze low, trying not to be overwhelmed by the sheer size of the place.
Feather, walking ahead, seemed perfectly at ease. Asche could tell he was used to this life of wealth and grandeur, a stark difference to everything Asche had known. They moved deeper into the mansion.
Feather stopped at a door at the end of the hallway, pushing it open with ease. "Come on in, Asche. We need to talk."
Inside, the room was very modest compared to the rest of the mansion, but it was still leagues away from Asche's previous surroundings. It seemed to be a servants lounge room. Feather motioned for Asche to sit, and he did so cautiously. The smile Feather gave him now was less playful and more serious.
"Asche," Feather began, his tone more measured than usual, "How would you like to be my chamberlain?"
Asche blinked, confused. "What do you mean? I can be a normal servant—"
Feather cut him off, raising a hand. "I can't have my best friend be just a normal servant, Asche. I'm better than that. Plus, you'll be working as my assistant chamberlain. Leander – That's the name of my chamberlain – is always overwhelmed with work and he wanted some help. You're good at organisation, aren't you?."
Asche's mind raced. "But I'm not noble. I don't belong here. Won't people protest?"
Feather's expression softened into something more genuine. "I get it. It's not going to be easy. But I need someone I can trust. And you've been through hell, Asche. As a rich lad, instead of being some corrupt snot, why can't I lend a hand to my comrade —" He started laughing jokingly.
"Stop Feather. It's not funny."
"My point is – I need some help. And some pampered noble who can't handle the real world is not what I need right now."
Asche shifted uncomfortably in his seat, feeling the weight of Feather's words. "But... I'm not like you. I don't belong in this life," he muttered, almost to himself.
Feather leaned forward, his gaze steady. "You belong here because I say you do. We treat our employees like family. You're family now, Asche. And families take care of each other."
Asche swallowed hard, feeling an unexpected tightness in his chest. For the first time in what felt like forever, the weight on his shoulders seemed to lift, even if just a little. Feather was offering him a chance—a chance to start anew, away from the nightmares of his past.
"You'll be fine here," Feather continued, his voice softer now. "I'll make sure of it. And I'll make sure Jorg is taken care of too. You don't need to worry."
Asche looked away, fighting the emotions welling up inside him. "Thank you," he whispered, barely audible.
Feather smiled and stood, clapping his hands together. "Now, enough with the serious talk. Let's get you settled in."
Feather led Asche out of the room and down the hall, where they reached a staircase. From there, the view of the bustling mansion was even more striking, servants moving efficiently through the halls.
"Ah, Asche!" Feather called out, his voice bright and lively again, bringing Asche's focus back to the present.
Asche hurried up the staircase, his shoes clicking sharply against the polished stone. At the top, Feather gave him a quick once-over with a grin.
"You're looking sharp," Feather said, eyeing Asche in his new uniform that he just changed into. It was simple but clean—a gray tunic with blue flower embroidery and a silver clasp at the collar. "Not bad for your first day."
"Thanks," Asche replied, adjusting the fabric awkwardly. He wasn't used to these finer clothes, but they were better than the rags he had worn just hours ago.
"What do I need to do first?" Asche asked, unsure of what to expect next.
Feather's grin widened. "You, my friend, are now officially my left chamberlain." Asche had signed the paperwork and arrangements for Jorg to be in Feather's stewardship. Meaning Jorg's education, clothing and future would be catered for from Feather's personal funds.
Asche blinked, startled. "Left? What does that mean?"
Feather shrugged casually. "Don't worry about the title. It just means you'll be working under Leander, the right chamberlain."
"I'll do my best," he said, his voice steadying with determination.
Feather led him to an office, where Leander was already sitting at a large wooden table in the middle, papers scattered in front of him. Leander looked up as they entered, his expression neutral but tired. He had the air of someone who had seen both privilege and responsibility and wasn't sure which was heavier.
"Leander, this is Asche," Feather said, gesturing between them. "Asche, meet Leander. He's been handling too many things for too long and if I don't relieve him of some of his duties, he'll likely murder me. You'll be working together from now on."
Leander gave a sharp, appraising look, taking in Asche's presence. He nodded once, his voice low but firm. "It's good to meet you, Asche. I could use the help." He was a strict looking, blonde haired, brown-eyed young man.
Feather clapped his hands together with a smile. "Great! I expect you two to work well together. Leander's brilliant with details, but even he could use a hand. You'll focus on the organizational side—keeping track of schedules, letters, and whatever else needs doing. Toddles." Feather wasted no time in vanishing.
Leander gave a brief smile, his posture stiff as he bowed his head slightly. "I'm glad you're here. This load is a lot for one person."
Asche nodded quietly, still processing everything.
"And what is going on here?" A smooth feminine voice drawled.
"Ah! Lady Heather!" Leander surprised, got up and bowed formally. Asche himself was surprised. He didn't notice anyone behind him. Not to mention he stiffened slightly at the mention of Heather. He'd heard a lot about Feather's twin sister. From what he gathered, Heather was every bit as sharp as Feather, maybe even sharper. She was known for being fiercely independent and exceptionally intelligent. Asche wasn't sure how she'd take him, but given what Feather had said so far, he hoped she wouldn't mind too much.
"So, you've decided to keep him," Heather remarked, her voice low but not unfriendly, her eyes never leaving Asche for long.
Feather grinned, the lightness returning to his expression. "Yes, I've decided to give Asche a proper role in the household. He's my left chamberlain now, and he'll be handling the organization and management. I want you to support him and make sure he's settled in properly. He's important to me."
Asche felt a flush creeping up his neck at the blatant favouritism. He wasn't sure what to do with the weight of that statement. He had come to expect nothing but anonymity, blending into the background. The idea that he was considered important was a strange, uncomfortable sensation.
Heather raised an eyebrow at Feather's words, the briefest flicker of surprise crossing her face. But she masked it quickly, her expression returning to something neutral, if not slightly amused. "Favour him, huh?" she repeated, her tone a bit sharper, as if testing the waters. Her gaze shifted back to Asche, eyes narrowing slightly as she assessed him, sizing him up like a puzzle she was trying to solve.
Feather beamed, oblivious to the tension. "Absolutely. "
Heather's eyes remained fixed on Asche for a moment longer, her scrutiny unyielding. "I'll do what needs to be done," she finally said, her voice steady and almost impersonal. "But if he's going to be part of this household, he's going to have to prove himself. No one gets special treatment here unless they earn it, Feather."
Asche swallowed hard, feeling the weight of her words. The expectation was clear: if he was going to stay, he had to be useful. He had to prove he could handle this new life. He didn't speak, unsure of how to navigate this new dynamic.
Heather gave him one last, penetrating look before turning to leave. "I'll make sure the household knows," she said curtly, the door clicking shut behind her. "Welcome to the family, Asche."
As the door closed behind her, Asche felt a strange mix of relief and anxiety. The pressure was on now. He was here, in a world he didn't belong to, and now he had to show he could keep up. He wasn't sure how, but the feeling of responsibility was inescapable.
Feather, ever the optimist, clapped Asche on the back with a cheerful grin. "Don't worry about Heather. She's just a little more serious than me. You've got this, Asche."
Asche nodded quietly, trying to steady his nerves.