These days, the vampires looked the same as always—calm, expressionless, gliding through their routines—but their eyes lingered just a little too long whenever a certain silver-haired boy walked past. Conversations paused. Steps slowed. Some even forgot what they were carrying mid-stride.
The boy's eyes were too striking, too bright; his hair caught the light like liquid silver whenever the wind stirred it. It was distracting in a way none of them wanted to admit.
And as they watched the little bird their general had taken in—watched him wander under the sunlight, watched him smile politely at everyone—it filled them with sudden, collective understanding.
No wonder Sir Melchior brought him back.
Of course he did.
The little birdy was always outside under the big tree—reading quietly, dozing with the white fox curled beside him, or hovering near Lila asking if there was anything he could help with around the castle.
