Location: Armathane, Palace Grounds Time: Day 77 After Alec's Arrival
Alec never liked courtyards.
They were too exposed, too curated, too performative. Places where nobles paraded gowns, merchants brokered favors, and guards lingered with bored alertness. But he found himself in one again, sitting on a stone bench outside the eastern wing, just past mid-morning.
He didn't wait long.
Serina arrived wearing a slate-blue riding cloak and simple walking boots, her hair tied back in a loose braid. She waved off the two guards that trailed her and approached without ceremony.
"No retinue? Thought you said you'd sent a maidservant?" Alec asked.
"No need," she said. "You're not dangerous. Yet."
"Yet?"
Serina tilted her head. "You've already pulled a city out of the mud and made my mother give you land. I'm keeping my options open."
He stood.
"Ready?" she asked.
"I'm always ready."
"We'll see."
—
They started in the older sections of the keep—long halls with low ceilings, floor tiles uneven from centuries of steps. Dust clung to window edges. The light here was dimmer, more honest. This wasn't the part of the palace they showed visiting nobles.
"Servants pass through here," Serina explained. "And old families. When they don't want to be seen."
She glanced sideways at him.
"You're not what I expected."
"What did you expect?"
"A man louder about his victories."
"I didn't build Grendale for praise."
"Then why?"
He thought about it. "Because I could."
She studied him. "That's not a reason most people trust."
"I'm not most people."
Serina grinned. "That's what makes this fun."
—
They moved on to the palace library—not the public wing, but the restricted collection, tucked behind the chapel hall. Serina produced a key from her sleeve and opened the arched door without pause.
"Does your mother know you're in here?"
"She knows I've read every shelf."
"Twice?"
"Three times."
The space inside was narrow but high—books bound in cracked leather, scrolls tagged with wax seals, diagrams of bridges, farming plots, family lines, merchant contracts dating back two hundred years.
Alec scanned the shelves.
"These are maps," he said.
"Records. Of failure. Success. War. Famine. My mother doesn't hide history. She watches it."
"She's smart."
"She's dangerous."
"So are you."
Serina met his gaze. "Maybe."
She moved past him, pulling a scroll from a higher shelf and letting it roll onto the reading table. "This one shows the original layout of the outer city wall. The northern expansion failed. The planners didn't account for wind erosion on the far slope. Half of it collapsed twelve years later."
Alec leaned in, scanning the markings. "They relied too much on surface foundations. No deep pilings."
"I thought you'd like this."
"I do."
They didn't talk for a while. Just read. Studied. Occasionally swapped scrolls without speaking.
It was... easy.
That surprised him more than it should have.
—
An hour later, they walked the upper balcony overlooking the north gardens. The view was clean, layered with terrace steps and green hedges, but Alec was watching Serina now—not the landscape.
"You're sharp," he said.
"Most people forget that."
"I didn't."
She looked at him. "That's rare."
He considered her carefully. "What do you want, Serina?"
"Now?"
"In general."
She walked to the edge of the railing and leaned on it.
"Not to be a puppet. Not to be forgotten."
"Easy to say. Harder to achieve."
"I know. That's why I'm showing you the castle. Because if you're going to build a future here, I want to understand the man who'll shape it."
He walked over, stood beside her.
"I'm not trying to be king."
"I know. That's what worries me."
He raised an eyebrow. "Explain."
"People like you—who don't want the throne—tend to change the whole system instead."
She was right.
He didn't say that.
Instead, he asked, "Do you believe in legacy?"
Serina paused.
"I believe in memory. Legacy is just memory other people keep for you. Or forget."
"That's a dangerous answer."
"It's an honest one."
Alec nodded. "Then I'll give you mine: I'm not here to be remembered. I'm here to shape what gets remembered."
They didn't speak after that.
But they stood there, side by side, for a long time.
—
Their final stop was an old watchroom above the outer training yard. It was dusty, with cracked benches and a table that once held maps. Now it just held cobwebs.
"No one comes here?" Alec asked.
"No one important," Serina said.
"Good."
He sat on the bench and stretched his back. Serina sat across from him, pulling her cloak tighter.
"You don't talk much about your past," she said.
"There's not much to tell."
"There's always something."
Alec looked at the cracked ceiling. "I was raised in a holding. Not a family. Taught to build. Think. Solve. There weren't games. There weren't stories."
"No people?"
"There were instructors. Analysts. A few others like me."
"And how did you get here?"
"There was an accident," he said. "An experiment. Something went wrong—or maybe right. I don't know."
"What's an experiment?" she asked.
"It like trying to find out how and why something works the way it does"
Serina didn't respond for a moment.
She didn't quite get it an "experiment" brought him to Branhal.
"And where exactly are you from?" she asked.
"Faraway, across time and space."
That was another thing he said that she couldn't full comprehend but she understood.
Then she asked, "Do you ever miss it?"
Alec looked at her.
"I don't know what missing something feels like."
She nodded. "Then I hope you learn."
He blinked.
She stood, brushing off her cloak.
"I don't pity you," she said. "You're not broken. But you're… unfinished."
"And you want to finish me?"
"No," she said. "I want to see what you build when you start feeling something real."
Alec stood too.
"I'm learning."
"Good," she said. "Because this place—Midgard—it needs more than systems and structures. It needs someone who gives a damn."
He looked at her. "I'm trying."
She smiled faintly.
"Try harder."
—
They returned to the main wing without a word. The sun had shifted; the hall was brighter. Alec felt it—not comfort, but a kind of clarity.
He wasn't alone anymore.
Not fully.
Serina stopped near the stairwell.
"Tomorrow," she said, "I'll show you the upper gardens. And the council quarters."
"I'd like that."
"Get some sleep tonight. You'll need it."
"I will."
She started to turn, then hesitated.
Then, quietly: "Thank you. For walking with me."
He almost replied something sharp. Something guarded.
But he didn't.
"You're welcome."
And this time, he watched her walk away not out of curiosity—but because he wanted her to stay longer.