Hope sighed.

  Not the kind of attention he was looking for. Then again, ever since landing in this world, attention had a way of finding him — whether he wanted it or not.

  Maybe it was about time he actually gave a true damn about it.

  “Alright, thanks for the notice, sis,” he said, waving lazily over his shoulder.

  She smirked. “Try not to make a mess of it, brother.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” He turned, boots finding the ledge. “Go polish your manners or something.”

  Her soft laugh followed him as he dropped from the wall, Air Gear catching his fall.

  He landed light and silent, brushing a few blades of grass from his sleeve before heading toward the meeting spot near the garden’s lower archway — a quiet stretch of stone paths and white lanterns, half-shaded by hedges and kissed by the last orange light of the setting sun.

  Two figures waited there.

  Tolan stood tall, still dressed impeccably even out of armour, his posture calm and easy — the kind of noble grace that seemed second nature to him. But it was the young woman beside him who stopped Hope in his tracks.

  Elayne.

  The fading sunlight spilled over her hair — pale gold and soft as silk, glimmering with hints of red and honey as it curled over her shoulders. Her eyes held the calm blue of the sky before dusk, steady yet bright. The white gown she wore shimmered faintly with each breath, silver trim catching the breeze so it seemed to flow like liquid light around her form. Her skin was fair and smooth, carrying a soft glow beneath the sun’s final rays.

  Hope blinked, frozen for just a second before forcing himself to move again.

  He cleared his throat, trying to sound casual. “Afternoon,” he said, though it came out a bit rougher than he’d meant.

  Tolan smiled faintly, that effortless noble ease never leaving him. “Afternoon indeed. I was starting to think you’d changed your mind,” he said with a light chuckle.

  Hope shook his head, trying not to stare too openly at Elayne beside him. “Well, how could I say no to escaping the endless noble chatter,” he said with a crooked grin.

  That earned a small laugh from Tolan — smooth, amused, but with the faintest knowing glint in his eye. “Oh, I understand that feeling all too well,” he said lightly. Then he glanced at the pocket watch at his belt, and his expression shifted, regret softening his tone. “Ah… curse my timing. My father’s called for me — something to do with the visiting envoys and those blasted formalities.”

  He sighed. “I hate to ask, but… would you mind going forward with the tour with just my sister? Elayne’s been looking forward to it, and I’d rather not keep the old man waiting.”

  Elayne’s gaze flickered up, her hands folding neatly in front of her.

  Hope blinked, his heartbeat picking up for reasons he couldn’t quite name. She looked aside, a faint flush colouring her pale cheeks as the sunlight brushed her hair. “Ehm… sure,” he managed, clearing his throat.

  Tolan smiled again, visibly relieved. “Then it’s settled. My thanks, Hope. I owe you one.”

  He gave his sister a brief bow, before striding away down the garden path.

  Silence lingered for a while— only the soft rustle of hedges and the faint sweetness of lilies drifting on the late afternoon breeze.

  Yet Hope’s pulse was anything but faint, hammering in his chest. For once, his usual calm — the sharp, steady focus that had carried him through blood and danger — just wasn’t there. He stared off to the side, lips pressed, searching for something to say. Anything. But when his eyes flicked back to Elayne, the faint blush on her cheeks sent his thoughts scattering all over again.

  Come on… get a grip.

  I killed a Lord-ranked beast after it nearly pierced my heart, for the void’s sake.

  He took a slow breath, steadying himself, and finally managed a faint, “So… shall we?”

  She nodded, her smile soft but nervous. “Of course.”

  They began to walk, side by side along the winding garden paths. At first, neither spoke much — their steps quiet on the pale stone, the air warm and filled with drifting petals. Hope pointed out a few things as they passed — the rose arches, the koi pond, the glass aviary beyond the hedges — but his words came brief and awkward, each one chased by silence.

  Yet, little by little, that silence eased. Elayne was the first to break it, her voice gentle. “My father was… impressed by you today.”

  Hope blinked, glancing her way.

  She smiled faintly, eyes lowered. “He’s usually so stern. I’ve never seen him speak so highly of anyone, let alone someone our age.”

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Hope scratched the back of his neck, unsure what to say to that. “Well… I, eh… thanks, I guess.”

  Elayne looked up at him then, a soft chuckle slipping through — the shyness easing just a little. “You know… well perhaps you don’t, since I heard you were raised outside the Western Vale, but… my father isn’t of noble birth.”

  Hope blinked, caught off guard. “He isn’t?”

  She shook her head lightly, her golden hair brushing her shoulders. “No. He was a soldier once — fought in the last war against House Feran. He served under your father, Lord Gregore Barion.” Her tone softened, touched with quiet pride. “He was knighted after the campaign, and later married into my mother’s family, taking her name — Kael.”

  Hope slowed his steps, listening. “So your father… fought with mine.”

  “Yes,” she said, glancing toward the horizon where the sun was slipping lower. “He still speaks of those days — though never easily. He says Lord Gregore was the kind of man others would follow into the void itself. He… he tries to live by that. To honour it.” She hesitated, then added, “That’s partly why he’s so harsh. Everything with him is duty, purpose, control. Even with my brother Tolan — he may seem carefree, but Father’s had him training for years in everything from diplomacy to sword forms. All to prepare him for the Game of Houses. He wants him ready to assist Lord Gregore and his scion however he can.”

  Hope gave a faint nod, not sure what to say. He’d only ever known Gregore Barion’s name, barely spoken to this ‘father’ of his. Yet between that moment at the Trial of Wits — the single clap that had silenced the stands — and now this story, he wondered if maybe the man wasn’t as cold as he’d thought.

  Elayne looked at him again, her voice softening. “That’s why what you said earlier… about truth — it struck them both, I think. Our fathers.” She smiled, the shyness in her tone replaced by a spark of humour. “They’re men of steel, not words. And, well — between us,” she added with a quiet laugh, “he said you gave that ‘toad’ exactly what he deserved.”

  Hope couldn’t help it — a short laugh slipped out before he caught himself, scratching at his cheek as if that might hide the grin tugging at his lips. “Did he now?” he said, trying to sound composed, though the warmth in his chest betrayed him. “Guess I should be honoured.”

  Elayne giggled, the sound light and genuine. “You should. Father doesn’t hand out compliments easily — especially not to boys who insult nobles in front of a crowd.”

  He laughed again, more easily this time. “Well, the toad started it.”

  “That he did,” she said, still smiling. “And you finished it perfectly.”

  The air between them felt different after that — easier, lighter somehow. Hope found himself walking a little closer without thinking about it. The gardens opened up ahead, the path curving toward a low stone terrace where the land sloped gently down toward the city.

  “Come on,” he said, nodding toward the rise. “There’s something I want to show you.”

  They stepped onto the terrace as the last light of the sun spread across the valley below. The city beyond the manor walls shimmered in gold and rose hues, spires and rooftops catching the glow like fire. From up here, it looked peaceful — almost unreal.

  Elayne drew in a quiet breath. “It’s beautiful…” she murmured.

  Hope didn’t answer.

  He just watched her — the way the wind played through her hair, how the sunset touched her skin like light through glass. The air felt still, heavy somehow, though nothing had changed but the colour of the world. The scent of lilies lingered faintly even here, mixing with the cool stone and the distant hum of the city below.

  Something twisted inside him — not sharp, not painful, just… strange. New. Like being caught between breath and heartbeat.

  Elayne turned slightly, as if to say something, then stopped when she saw him looking. For a heartbeat, neither moved. Her lips parted, the softest surprise flickering across her face — and then colour rose to her cheeks.

  But… she didn’t look away.

  Hope’s chest felt tight, his pulse impossibly loud in his ears. He didn’t think. He couldn’t. He just knew that something — some pull, quiet and certain — drew him forward.

  A small step. Then another.

  Elayne’s eyes widened just a little, but she didn’t retreat. Her breath caught — he heard it — and that sound alone seemed to echo through him.

  Then, before thought could ruin it, he leaned in and pressed his lips to hers.

  It was clumsy. Soft. Brief.

  But the world seemed to fall silent. The air, the light, the noise below — all gone. Just the warmth of her lips and the wild rush of his own heartbeat filling everything.

  When they finally parted, both stood frozen, eyes wide, faces flushed.

  Hope opened his mouth — to speak, to apologise maybe — but no words came.

  She didn’t move or speak either. For a moment, they just stood there, breath mingling in the fading light — both caught somewhere between shock and silence. Then, slowly, her expression softened; the surprise in her eyes gave way to something gentler. The corners of her lips curved into a small, trembling smile.

  Hope felt his throat tighten. He didn’t know why, only that seeing her smile like that made the world tilt again. He smiled back — hesitant, uncertain — and that was enough.

  The sun had almost vanished now, its last light spilling gold and crimson over the terrace. In that glow, everything felt softer — the air, the silence, even the space between them.

  She stepped closer, barely a whisper of movement, and the warmth of her presence reached him before her touch did.

  Hope didn’t fight it. Couldn’t. He leaned in, slower this time, the moment stretching thin and quiet before their lips met again.

  This one lasted.

  The world didn’t disappear; it stilled around them, hushed and whole. Her hand brushed his chest — a light touch, almost curious — then rested there, warm and steady, as though she could feel his heart trying to escape its cage. His own hand found her back, hesitant at first, before settling in the soft press of fabric and warmth.

  She felt real. Alive. Every heartbeat between them came too fast, too fierce, carrying a heat that wasn’t sharp like battle or fear, but something else — something that burned without pain.

  Her lips moved gently against his, shy yet certain, each breath between them shared, fragile, unhurried. The faint scent of her hair — lilies and sun — tangled with the fading light, and for once, Hope stopped thinking altogether.

  Her fingers slid up, tracing the side of his neck, sending sparks through his blood that no fight had ever kindled. His pulse roared, not from danger, but from nearness — from the way her touch seemed to quiet everything else.

  Hope drew her closer.

  The last light of day wrapped around them, painting gold over skin and hair as the sun sank low — their kiss burning softly against the world that faded to dusk.

  Patreon— 50 chapters ahead!