The golden hues of dawn stretched across the marketplace, casting a warm glow over the bustling streets of Orvithar, the ancient land known for its thriving trade and rich history. Stalls lined both sides of the street, filled with exotic spices, glistening fabrics, and rare artifacts from distant lands. Merchants called out to passersby, each trying to outbid the other with promises of the finest goods.
Amidst the chaos, a tall figure moved with quiet grace, his presence commanding attention despite his reserved nature.
Zehron Astravahn.
He stood with an effortless composure, his broad shoulders and lean frame draped in simple yet well-fitted dark attire. His dark hair, swayed slightly as he walked. His piercing, bright light green eyes, sharp and unreadable, scanned the market with quiet observation. There was an air of calm authority about him—one that made people instinctively step aside, even though he never demanded space.
Unlike the merchants and workers who bustled about, talking and laughing, Zehron was silent. He had little interest in idle chatter. He was here for a reason.
At the entrance of a large stall, a plump, middle-aged merchant named Jorvan stood with his hands on his hips, eyes narrowing as he inspected Zehron.
"You're the new worker?" Jorvan asked, rubbing his chin. "Didn't expect someone… like you."
Zehron gave a small nod..
Jorvan raised an eyebrow. "Not much of a talker, huh?"
Silence.
Jorvan sighed, already feeling a headache coming on. "Alright, listen here, lad. You'll be moving crates, organizing stock, and keeping an eye out for thieves. You got a problem with that?"
Zehron shook his head.
Jorvan squinted. "Do you speak?"
A pause. Then, in a deep, quiet voice, Zehron replied, "When necessary."
Jorvan groaned. "Great. Another one of those types. Just what I needed." He waved a hand. "Fine, fine. Just get to work. And try not to scare off the customers with your brooding."
Zehron simply turned and walked toward the storage area, where stacks of heavy crates awaited him. As he began lifting them with effortless strength, some of the younger workers nearby stopped to stare.
"Whoa…" One of them whispered. "He's carrying those like they weigh nothing!"
Another nudged his friend. "Yeah, but did you see his face? He looks like he hasn't smiled in a decade."
Zehron ignored them. He wasn't here to make friends. He was here to work.
Zehron sat on a wooden crate in the shade, quietly sipping water from a clay jug. He had just finished unloading several sacks of spices, and though he wasn't tired, he was glad for the break. The bustling market sounds filled the air—merchants haggling, children running, and the scent of freshly baked bread mixing with the sharp aroma of dried herbs.
"Oi, you're new here, aren't you?"
Zehron glanced up. Two men stood nearby, both dressed in simple, somewhat worn clothes. The one who spoke was grinning widely, his light brown hair messy from the wind. His eyes gleamed with mischief.
"I'm Orien! This here is Vaelen," he said, clapping the taller, more reserved man on the back. Vaelen, with dark hair neatly tied at his nape, gave a short nod, his expression calm but unreadable.
Zehron didn't respond immediately, simply giving a slow nod in acknowledgment.
"You don't talk much, huh? That's alright, we'll do the talking!" Orien plopped down beside him while Vaelen chose to stand, crossing his arms.
For a while, they simply sat in silence, watching the market life unfold.
Then, out of nowhere, Orien let out a dramatic sigh. "Man, it's unfair."
Zehron raised an eyebrow slightly, but Vaelen beat him to the question. "What now?" he asked in a dry tone, clearly used to Orien's antics.
"This guy—" Orien pointed at Zehron with a lazy hand gesture. "—look at him! Tall, lean, got that sharp jawline, those stupidly perfect eyes—tell me, Vaelen, where's the fairness? Why does someone like him get to look like that while we're out here looking like commoners?"
Vaelen exhaled through his nose. "And what do you plan to do with this information?"
"Simple," Orien said, now looking directly at Zehron. "I have a younger sister! She's unmarried, and while we may not have riches, we'd at least like to have a man with a gold appearance in our family. Imagine, if she married you, our nieces and nephews would be stunning! A family full of beauties!" He placed a hand on his chest as if it were his life's greatest wish.
Zehron, who had been listening silently, finally spoke. "I'm taken." His tone was cool, dismissive, but not harsh.
Orien blinked. "…What."
Vaelen smirked. "Good."
Orien shot him a betrayed look. "You approve of this rejection?"
"I approve of not making a fool of ourselves," Vaelen said, shaking his head.
Orien groaned dramatically, clutching his heart as if mortally wounded. "Fine, fine. But just know, Zehron, I was ready to make you family. And I don't say that to just anyone!"
Zehron sighed. "Unfortunate," he said flatly, standing up as Jorvan called him back to work.
As he walked away, Orien grinned. "I like this guy. What do you think, Vaelen?"
Vaelen watched Zehron's retreating figure, then shrugged. "He doesn't seem to care."
"That's the best part," Orien said cheerfully. "It means we can bother him more."
---
One Month Later
The midday sun cast a golden glow over the bustling market square. Merchants shouted their prices, customers haggled, and the scent of fresh bread, dried herbs, and roasted meat filled the air. Among them, Zehron worked tirelessly, lifting heavy sacks, arranging goods, and assisting customers. His movements were swift and precise, his expression calm as ever.
Orien, wiping the sweat off his forehead, let out a dramatic sigh. "Zehron, do you ever not look like a statue? You've been here nearly a month, and I think I've seen you blink maybe twice!"
Vaelen, stacking crates nearby, shook his head. "Unlike you, Orien, he actually works instead of running his mouth."
Zehron ignored their banter, continuing his task.
Orien pouted. "It's so unfair. He doesn't even look tired after all this work. Meanwhile, I feel like I've aged ten years." He placed a hand on his chest, feigning distress. "At this rate, I'll have wrinkles before I even find a wife!"
Zehron finally spoke, though his tone remained flat. "You should focus on working instead of worrying about your face."
Vaelen smirked. "He's right."
Orien gasped, clutching his heart as if mortally wounded. "You too, Vaelen? Betrayed by my own friend!"
Zehron sighed but said nothing, used to Orien's theatrics by now. Despite his quiet nature, he had grown accustomed to the two. They were persistent, always dragging him into their conversations. At first, he hadn't cared much for them, but now, he found their presence oddly familiar—though he'd never admit it.
Vaelen, ever the observant one, glanced at Zehron. "You planning to stay long?"
Zehron paused for a moment before answering. "For now."
Orien grinned. "Good! I was afraid you'd vanish like a shadow one day."
Zehron ignored him and continued working.
.
.
In the grand dining hall of the Solea estate, warm candlelight flickered against the polished wooden walls. A long table was set with a lavish feast—roasted meats, freshly baked bread, exotic fruits, and delicacies brought from overseas.
Seated at the head of the table was Lord Aldric Solea, the patriarch of the family, a man of strong presence, sharp eyes, and a quiet but commanding aura. Beside him, Lady Marielle Solea, his wife, carried herself with elegance and grace.
On one side of the table sat their three sons, Erevan, Lucian, and Felix, who had recently returned from their travels. They had been away for months, if not years, and were largely unaware of recent family matters.
At the other end sat Elvienne, the youngest and only daughter, her beauty and poise catching the soft glow of the chandelier above. Next to her was their visiting relative, Lord Vaelis, along with his daughter Selphina Vaelis.
Selphina, though smiling politely, clenched her hands under the table. She watched as Elvienne was showered with attention—her parents inquiring about her well-being, her brothers joking with her as if no time had passed. It was always the same.
"She gets everything so effortlessly," Selphina thought bitterly, glancing down at her untouched plate. "She doesn't even need to ask, yet she has their love, their protection, their wealth... Meanwhile, I have to fight for every little thing."
Lucian, the middle brother, who had been absent due to his military service, glanced at his sister with mild surprise. "You've grown even more, Elvienne. Do the men in the city chase after you yet?" he teased.
Erevan chuckled. "If they do, I hope Father is scaring them away."
Lord Aldric scoffed but didn't deny it. "No decent man has approached yet."
Elvienne, used to their teasing, only smiled. "I think you overestimate my popularity, dear brothers."
Felix, the scholar, leaned in with a smirk. "I don't think we are. You should have seen the way the young noblemen at the Academy talked about you."
Selphina gripped her fork tightly. It was always like this—Elvienne, the perfect daughter, admired and adored. She fought back the urge to roll her eyes.
Just then, Lady Marielle turned her attention toward Selphina. "And what about you, dear? How have you been?"
Selphina quickly composed herself and smiled sweetly. "I've been well, Aunt Marielle. Though, I must say, it must be nice to live so comfortably, without a worry in the world."
Elvienne caught the slight edge in her tone but chose to ignore it. "Comfort is relative, cousin. We all have our burdens, don't we?"
Selphina's smile twitched, but she said nothing.
Selphina, seeing an opportunity, smiled sweetly but with a hidden glint of malice in her eyes. Leaning slightly forward, she turned to Elvienne with feigned curiosity.
"Oh, by the way!" she said in an overly cheerful voice. "I heard you attended the Celestara Festival this year?"
Elvienne's hands stilled for a fraction of a second before she calmly lifted her goblet to take a sip.
The room grew quiet for a moment. Lord Aldric, Erevan, Lucian, and Felix all turned to look at her, their expressions ranging from mild surprise to curiosity. Only Lady Marielle remained composed.
Selphina, delighted by their reactions, pressed on, tilting her head with an innocent smile. "There were quite a lot of whispers about you in the land. You seem to have gained quite the… popularity."
Erevan raised a brow. "You went to the Celestara Festival?"
Felix chuckled lightly. "And here I thought our little sister wasn't the type to sneak around."
Elvienne remained poised. "It wasn't a secret. Mother knew." She glanced at Lady Marielle, who simply gave her a small nod.
Lord Aldric's voice, calm yet firm, cut through the conversation. "That's not what concerns me." He set his fork down and fixed his daughter with a scrutinizing gaze. "What concerns me is whether you are still involved with Lord Caelan of the Vebong Clan."
At the mention of the name, Elvienne's expression finally faltered for the first time that evening.
Lord Caelan—the heir of the Vebong Clan.
A noble family with immense influence, known for their power in trade and politics.
Erevan frowned. "I thought it was already over between you two?"
Elvienne exhaled quietly and set her goblet down. "It is over."
Lady Marielle stepped in smoothly, her voice gentle yet firm.
"Now, now, let's not make a big deal out of this." She offered a calm smile, glancing at her husband and sons. "Elvienne might have simply gone to the festival with her friends. Considering the Celestara Festival only happens once every five years, it would be a shame if she missed it."
There was a brief pause before Lord Aldric sighed, leaning back slightly, as if letting go of his suspicions. The brothers exchanged glances, seeming somewhat reassured.
Just as the tension was about to settle, a soft chuckle broke the silence.
Selphina.
She covered her lips with her fingers in a delicate, ladylike manner before shaking her head slightly. "Oh, of course! That makes perfect sense, Aunt Marielle." Her tone was light, almost sweet. "I suppose I must have misunderstood things."
She then turned to Elvienne, her eyes filled with feigned innocence. "I sincerely apologize, cousin, if I caused any unnecessary commotion."
But then, Selphina sighed, tilting her head slightly. "It's just that... you see, there were some rather interesting whispers going around."
Shaking her head as if amused. "Oh, but you see, cousin, people have been quite interested in the lady of the Solea family's love life. And, well… I must admit, I'm rather curious myself!" She smiled sweetly, eyes gleaming with false excitement.
She leaned forward slightly, clasping her hands together. "After all, it's only natural, isn't it? A young, beautiful lady like you, attending such a grand festival… and, oh! Some people even claimed they saw you holding hands with a man."
Selphina let out a small, delighted gasp, as if she had just remembered something thrilling. "Please, do tell us, lady Elvienne! Who is this mystery man?"
Her tone was playful, almost affectionate—but the sharp glint in her eyes told a different story....