Days had quietly passed since Klen began handling his duties across the mansion. What once seemed too much for him had become manageable — almost routine. He had learned to balance the endless tasks: coordinating the servants, ensuring the kitchen's supplies, managing the guest ledgers, and assisting Lyra when needed.
Fole noticed his steady progress. Though the old butler said little, Klen often caught him observing in silence, arms crossed, that faint approving gleam in his eyes. It was wordless praise — the kind Klen understood best.
But even with that, something inside him stayed restless. He was always expecting more — more to do, more to prove, more to fix.
That morning, Klen awoke early as always. He cleaned up, adjusted his uniform, and stepped into the hall. But immediately, something felt off. The mansion — usually humming with soft footsteps, voices, and the faint sound of doors opening — was… still.
Too still.
He walked down the corridor, scanning each room he passed. No trace of Lyra. No sign of Fole. Even the maids moved about quietly, whispering among themselves.
Finally, he spotted Marna in the kitchen, tidying the counter.
"Marna," he called.
She jumped slightly, turning around. "Oh, you scared me! Morning, Klen. You're up early."
"I always am," he said, stepping closer. "Do you know where Lady Lyra and Fole are?"
Her hands froze mid-motion. "Oh. You didn't know?"
He frowned. "Know what?"
"They left before dawn," she said carefully. "Lord Morin called them out of the city. Some urgent matter."
Klen blinked, processing that. "They left… without telling me?"
"I think it was sudden," Marna said softly. "They probably didn't want to wake anyone."
"They could've told me," he said, voice tightening slightly. "At least informed me about their absence. What if something happened?"
Marna tilted her head. "You're worried about them?"
He hesitated. "…I'm responsible for them when Fole isn't around. That's my duty."
She crossed her arms, leaning against the counter. "You care too much for someone who keeps saying 'duty' all the time."
He met her eyes, calm but firm. "Duty and care aren't different things."
She smirked faintly. "Maybe not for you."
He sighed quietly, letting it go. "…When will they be back?"
"Tomorrow, most likely," she said, resuming her cleaning. "So, since the house isn't running at full tilt today, we've got time to breathe."
"Breathe?"
"Yeah," she said brightly. "You ever heard of that?"
"I've heard of it," he replied dryly. "Rarely practiced it."
Marna laughed. "Then today's your lucky day. No Lady, no Fole — just us and the peace and quiet. Let's actually take it easy for once."
He thought about refusing. He really did. But looking around at the eerily calm halls, he sighed and nodded.
"…Fine. But if something needs to be done, we'll handle it properly."
Marna grinned. "I wouldn't expect anything less, Mister Perfectionist."
The day drifted by, slow and light.
They worked together, tending to light chores — folding linens, sweeping corners of the mansion most people forgot existed, and occasionally sitting down to rest.
"Hey, you missed a spot," Marna teased, pointing to an invisible patch on the window he'd just polished.
"I didn't," Klen said flatly.
"You totally did."
He handed her the cloth. "Then do it yourself."
"Someone's getting bold," she said with mock shock.
He shrugged, faint amusement flickering in his expression. "Maybe I'm finally relaxing."
"Good," she said. "You should smile more. You look less scary that way."
He raised an eyebrow. "Scary?"
"Yeah. You've got that serious face all the time — it's like you're scolding people with your eyes."
"I'm not scolding anyone."
"Try telling that to your eyebrows," she said, giggling.
He shook his head, muttering, "Unbelievable."
By noon, they stepped outside into the warm sunlight of the courtyard. Klen retrieved his wooden practice sword and began his drills, slow and controlled.
Marna watched quietly from a bench, her playful mood softening as she studied his movements. His strikes were precise, the rhythm steady — every motion deliberate, every breath calm.
"You've changed a lot," she said softly.
He paused mid-swing. "How so?"
"You used to flinch every time someone raised their voice near you," she said. "Now you're out here swinging that thing like it's an extension of your arm."
He gave a small chuckle. "Maybe I've just learned how to focus."
"Or maybe," she said, "you've just learned not to be afraid anymore."
He didn't reply — but she could tell her words struck somewhere deep.
As evening fell, the two sat together on the back steps overlooking the garden. The sunset stretched across the horizon, painting the sky in orange and violet streaks.
"Feels weird without them here," Marna said quietly.
"Yeah," Klen agreed, his tone distant. "The mansion feels… empty."
"You miss her, don't you?"
He blinked. "Lady Lyra?"
"Who else?" she said, smirking faintly. "Don't act all professional now."
He looked away. "…It's not that."
She leaned closer. "Then what?"
He stayed silent for a long moment before replying, "It's just… when things go quiet like this, I start thinking about how much can change in a day. It makes me uneasy."
Marna's teasing faded into something softer. "…You're scared?"
He exhaled through his nose. "Not scared. Just …aware."
"Of what?"
He turned his gaze toward the fading light. "…Losing what I have."
For a while, neither spoke. The wind brushed against the trees, carrying the faint scent of flowers from the garden.
The next day was calm again. They spent the morning cleaning the hallways and organizing the study. But that night, they returned to the garden once more, beneath a sky filled with stars.
Marna leaned back on the bench, gazing upward. "You know… I'm glad we had these two days."
Klen glanced at her. "Why's that?"
"Because I finally got to talk to you like this," she said, smiling faintly. "Without Lyra or Fole around. Without all that tension."
He smiled a little. "You could've just asked."
"You're impossible to catch alone," she said, chuckling. "Always working, always running off. You'd think you were trying to avoid me."
"I wasn't," he said quickly.
She giggled. "Relax. I'm joking."
A pause lingered — softer this time, comfortable.
Then her tone shifted, quiet and sincere. "Tomorrow is when your trial will begin, huh. Klen… if you don't make it through this test—"
"I will." He cut her while talking.
"I know," she said quickly. "But if you don't… just know that you've made this place better. You made me better. And… you are the only friend that I have here."
He blinked, caught off guard. "Marna…"
"I mean it," she said, eyes glistening faintly under the moonlight. "You've always been steady, even when everything around you was falling apart. You don't talk much, but you listen. And sometimes, that's all someone needs."
Klen looked down, fingers tightening around the edge of the bench. "…You shouldn't talk like that. I'll pass."
"I know you will," she said softly. "But even if you don't… you'll still be you. And that's enough."
He turned toward her, voice quiet but firm. "You're the first person who ever said something like that to me."
She smiled faintly. "Then you better remember it."
He did.
They stayed there long into the night, their quiet conversation blending with the hum of crickets and the whisper of wind through the leaves. It wasn't grand or dramatic — just two people sharing a moment they both knew they might not get again.
The next morning, carriages rumbled outside. Lyra and Fole had returned.
Klen met them in the hall, bowing formally. "Welcome back, milady. Sir Fole."
Lyra smiled. "You look well, Klen. I hope the mansion wasn't too boring without me."
"Quite the opposite," Marna said, walking up behind him. "He's been impossible to slow down."
Lyra laughed softly. "That sounds like him."
Fole gave Klen a short nod. "Everything was in order upon our return. You've done well."
"Thank you," Klen said simply.
As they moved past him, he caught sight of his reflection in one of the hallway mirrors — composed, calm, but beneath it all, determined.
Tomorrow, the real trial would begin.