The first thing Aurèlle noticed was the sound.
Not noise.
Sound.
Erindor did not roar the way she remembered from dockside errands. It thrummed — layered voices, carriage wheels over cobblestone, distant bells marking the hour, laughter rising from café terraces.
The city did not overwhelm.
It welcomed.
They disembarked with measured grace. Two house servants waited near the dock entrance, already informed of their arrival. A third trailed behind with a ledger tucked beneath his arm, prepared to record purchases.
Their stepmother might not have come.
But appearances would be maintained.
Dahlia adjusted her gloves as one servant lifted their travel trunks.
"We're being watched," she murmured.
Aurèlle followed her gaze.
Not suspiciously.
Assessing.
Here in Erindor, nobility was not announced — it was recognised. Their cloaks were finely tailored. Their posture correct. The servants walking half a pace behind made the hierarchy clear.
For the first time in years, Aurèlle did not feel like an inconvenience moving through the city.
She felt placed within it.
They passed beneath the archway leading from the harbour district into the central market quarter — and the city unfolded fully.
Buildings rose in curved façades of pale stone, their upper stories tilting slightly outward as though leaning in to listen. Windows were framed with carved ivy motifs, and in some cases, living vines truly did climb along the masonry, guided by subtle enchantments that kept them from overrunning the structures.
Balconies overflowed with greenery.
Lanterns of coloured glass hung suspended across narrow streets, catching sunlight and scattering it in fractured jewel tones across the cobblestones below.
Trees had been planted deliberately between shopfronts, their roots protected by wrought iron grates etched with the sigil of Silvera. Their branches arched overhead, softening the geometry of stone.
This was no grim capital of smoke and soot.
This was a city that had decided beauty was a form of power.
Crowds moved in elegant currents.
Nobles in layered silks and tailored coats strolled beside merchants in well-kept linen. Apprentices darted between them carrying parcels. A group of scholars argued animatedly outside a café terrace where porcelain cups steamed with spiced tea.
The scent of baked bread drifted from one direction.
Citrus and roasted nuts from another.
Fresh ink and parchment from somewhere ahead.
Aurèlle slowed without realising.
She had walked these streets before — but always with her eyes lowered, carrying parcels for her stepmother, acutely aware of her place.
Today, her hands were empty.
Today, she walked beside Dahlia.
Not behind.
Dahlia noticed her pause. "You're smiling."
"I am not."
"You are."
Aurèlle tried to suppress it, but the smile lingered.
"It looks different," she admitted.
"What does?"
"The city."
Dahlia's gaze swept across the market square. "It hasn't changed."
Aurèlle shook her head softly. "No. I have."
That was the truth of it.
Erindor had always been this — alive, layered, golden under the afternoon sun.
But she had never allowed herself to belong to it.
Now, walking with servants at her back and coin in her purse, she felt something unfamiliar settle into her spine.
Dignity.
They moved deeper into the market district.
A glassblower's shop displayed delicate orbs that shimmered faintly from within, each holding a captured wisp of coloured light. Across the way, a tailor adjusted a nobleman's sleeve with swift precision while enchanted needles hovered nearby, stitching in silent synchrony.
A flower stall burst with late-season blooms, petals impossibly vibrant.
Dahlia leaned closer. "If we're not careful, we'll spend everything before we reach the bookshop."
Aurèlle laughed quietly. "We start with what we need."
"And then?"
Aurèlle's eyes flickered toward a jeweller's display — subtle rings set with small resonance stones.
"And then," she said carefully, "we see."
They passed a fountain at the centre of the square. Water arched gracefully upward before cascading into a wide basin carved with scenes from Silvera's founding. Children leaned over its edge, daring one another to touch the enchanted surface where tiny motes of light swam like fish.
Aurèlle felt lighter with every step.
Not because the city had changed.
But because she no longer walked it as punishment.
She walked it with purpose.
Ahead, the street narrowed slightly, curving toward a row of older establishments — their signage carved rather than painted, their windows deep-set and shadowed.
Dahlia followed her gaze.
"There," she said softly.
The bookshop stood modestly between a mapmaker and a seller of writing instruments. Its sign hung from a wrought iron bracket shaped like an open tome, pages frozen mid-turn.
The windows were filled with stacked volumes — some bound in deep leather, others in pale linen. A faint golden glow emanated from within, warm and steady.
Aurèlle stopped just short of the entrance.
The servants halted behind them, respectfully distant.
She had carried books for others before.
Selected them.
Delivered them.
Never chosen them for herself.
Dahlia watched her carefully.
"Well?" she prompted.
Aurèlle exhaled slowly.
"This is the first thing," she said. "That's entirely mine."
Dahlia's expression softened.
"Then we go in properly."
Not hurried.
Not apologetic.
Properly.
Aurèlle reached for the door.
For the first time in years, she did not feel like a tolerated presence in Erindor.
She felt like what she was.
A nobleman's daughter.
A future student of Aurelith Academy.
A girl standing on the threshold of her own becoming.
She pushed the door open.
And stepped inside