Echoes of Kindness
Ronan awoke, muscles stiff from cramped postures to which he had succumbed in sleep. The air was redolent of dying embers and bread far off somewhere in the distance. He blinked against the low morning rays, slowly adapting to the unknown surroundings.
The campfire had long since died, leaving only a few embers glowing faintly in the fireplace. Chatter and laughter from the night before had given way to an eerie silence. Everyone had gone.
But something was different.
A shawl had been draped over him and Isaac: It was a simple, old, worn kind of fabric but warm nevertheless. Ronan traced its rough texture with his fingers, and the warmth spread in his chest. He wasn't used to this—kindness without ulterior motives.
He turned towards Isaac, who lay beside him, all curled up and breathing evenly in his sleep, and he thought it strange how someone he had known only for a few hours already felt familiar.
A memory arose of cold, damp walls, the scent of rust and decay, and the flickering light of a lantern. The bunker. The place he survived in for years, where one had to keep their head down and look out for themselves. No warmth. No kindness.
Except for Lukas.
Ronan swallowed hard. Lukas was the only one who had ever shown him a shred of humanity. And Lukas had died for him.
A steely resolve set in Ronan's bones. Lukas's sacrifice would not be in vain. And with Isaac beside him, another life hung in the balance. He could not afford to fail.
Ronan shook his thoughts away, took a deep breath, and stood. He had to make some money while he waited for Flint. Probably a little extra would help, especially with another mouth to feed.
Shadows Among the Wealthy
The streets buzzed in movement, but not in the way Ronan had expected; instead, of nobility parading their riches, the city breathed life's essence by servants of simple yet well-kept clothes hurrying about their work.
He realized that stealing here would be different. These people were different from members of the Hollow Coin gang or corrupt merchants in the lower districts. They were kind. They had also fed Isaac. They had also shared warmth with him.
Stealing from them felt... wrong.
Ronan sighed and adjusted his tattered cloak, made his way toward the grand shops lining the central market. An expensive jewelry store caught his eye-polished glass windows displayed golden necklaces and gemstones fit for a royal.
If there were any chances to be hired, this would be the place.
Gathering every heart, he stepped inside. The whole wood and lavender smell divinely greeted him. The house was crystal clear, full of gleaming display rooms and chandeliers, shining as though ever starlight could find birth within the imagery of glinting itself.
Without taking another step, a sharply dressed man came forward-his very persona rendered him manager, with a forced smile-those two eyes betrayed anger.
"Can I help you?" - asked in a high clipped voice, with air of thinly veiled disdain by the manager.
Ronan straightened. "I seek a job; do you have available openings?"
The polite facade of the manager crumbled. He laughed with, arms folded across him, "Job? Here? Do you even know where you are?"
Ronan let his face remain impassive. "A jewellery store."
"Of the elite-jewellery store. And you-"the man sneered, pointing to Ronan's shabby attire. "-are hardly the type of employee we hire."
"I learn fast. I'm good with my hands."
The manager laughed briefly, shaking his head. "I'm sure you are. But we don't need street rats handling precious gems. Get out."
Ronan clenched his jaws but could not voice out anything he had been taught about these types of men-men that thought they were better than others simply because they were wealthy. Putting up a fight wouldn't do him any good.
In no time, he turned and left, twisting his stomach with disappointment.
Hunger and Opportunity
Hours went by, and Ronan had found no work. He sat with hunger pangs rolling through his abdomen, exhaustion weighing down his limbs. At last, he turned around and walked toward the food joint where he had first met Isaac.
As he entered the place, he saw Isaac working busily, running between tables with his arms full of empty plates and wiping off the surfaces. The boy's small frame moved quite rapidly about the floor, and the look on his face was that of deep attraction.
Ronan scowled; Isaac should not have to work this hard just to have something to eat.
The moment Isaac saw him, his face lit up. "Ronan!" He rushed over and thrust a plate of food into Ronan's hands. "Here, eat. You look like you are about to collapse."
Ronan hesitated, guilt creeping in. "I should be taking care of you, not the other way around."
Isaac shrugged. "I don't mind. Besides, I like helping here. The people are nice."
Ronan settled down; his stomach gave him no choice. He ate fast, letting the warmth feed his weariness. But while chewing, his mind was racing. He had to get a job. Soon.
Finishing, he left Isaac tending to the tables and resumed the search. It was not long before he found himself standing in front of an enormous building, the likes of which he had never seen before; its grandeur made anything he had ever encountered look shabby. The nobles in fine clothes strode in and out under conversation tainted with the arrogance only the rich could possess.
He had no intention of stepping inside after his last attempt. But just then, a vivid discussion caught his attention.
"You know how important he is! Why did you act like that?'' a woman scolded from the doorway, her voice laced with frustration.
"He was rude first! Just because he has money and power doesn't mean he can treat us like dirt!" a younger, angrier voice snapped back.
Ronan leaned against the wall, listening. The argument culminated with the younger man storming out, face flushed with anger.
A moment later, the manager came out with a foul look and cursing to herself. Ronan wasted no time. He stepped in.
"What?" the manager shot unceremoniously, obviously still in a bad mood.
Ronan maintained an even tone. "I am looking for work. Do you have any openings?"
The manager's frown wavered. Mild interest now colored her gaze as it swept over Ronan, critically assessing him. Ronan remained motionless, allowing her to stare.
Then, slowly, the woman broke into a grin.
"Interesting," she mused. She circled Ronan, her keen eyes examining every detail of his lean frame, the way he carried himself, the rare combination of silver hair and brown eyes.
Ronan had remained mute, but he felt a change.
Whether or not he had just found one was anyone's guess.
The Silver-Tongued Manager
"O, welcome to Velvet and Vervain: I am Seraphine, the manager, and you, my dear, are at the right place.," the woman whispered, smouldering as silk and curling her lips in knowing smile.
Before Ronan could take a breath, she continued, "So when can you start working?"
His mouth opened to say he needed time to think about the offer, but instead, replied her with a "Right now."
Instantly, he felt as the words released him-the faint whisper of magic lifting from within, subtle but unmistakable- and a tightness around his stomach. He had run into charm magic countless times before, but it was terrorizing in how easily Seraphine maneuvered her way around it.
Charm anchor cards are rare but very recognizable. They have a knack for making their needs your own; you find that your will has been modified without your knowledge. And he was now caught in it.
Seraphine's smile grew even wider, the kind that would indicate she could sense his realization. "Excellent, now let us get you clothed appropriately."
He protested before being whisked away to a back room where a set of neatly pressed uniforms awaited him. The drapes were finer than anything he had ever owned-black and gold-trimmed, crisp with embroidered patterns exuding luxury. He hesitated before pulling it on feeling an odd sense of displacement. He had, however, spent a lifetime on the outside stealing from the rich instead of serving them. But here he is.
As soon as he made the move in his new uniform, Seraphine clapped her hands. "Perfect. Now I'll give you the tour."
The store was vast, two floors of lavish displays of silk, velvet, and gold-threaded garments. Rows of jewelry glinted under enchanted lighting, and walls were lined with perfumes that cost more than some people earned in a year. Ronan's job was simple: assist the wealthy clientele, help them shop, carry their purchases, and make suggestions where needed.
"You'll earn fifteen silver coins a week," said Seraphine; this translates to one and a half gold, not bad for a newcomer, huh? Her gaze was sharp, measuring him even as she smiled.
Ronan nodded, mind racing at the possibilities. One week's work would suffice to get him and Isaac off the streets. For now, assuming the role of a humble shop assistant might well be the better option.
A New Beginning
With the day winding down to a close, Ronan was almost unaware of how very tired he truly felt. His feet were sore, and his sore arms were from carting heavy bags, but he had done it-his first day of honest work. He had thought that he would hate it, but instead he almost felt...something else. Maybe quiet pride.
Seraphine came over as he was preparing to leave. "And? How was your first day?" There seemed to be something in the tone, as if she were expecting disappointment.
Ronan hesitated for a while and replied, "Good. I will be back tomorrow."
Something softened in her eyes. "Glad to hear it. See you then, Ronan."
Then he left the shop and walked toward the food joint to pick up Isaac, as promised. By the time they had reached their tent, the night had fully set, and once more, the small gathering of servants sat around the bonfire in hushed murmurs and laughter.
"Look who finally decided to show up!" one older man teased as Ronan and Isaac made their entrance.
Ronan smirked. "Miss me already?"
"Hardly," chimed in another lady with a chortle. "But we did save some gossip for you."
He and Isaac settled in, and stories flourished-trivial, scandalous, and downright silly.
"Did you hear about Lady Mirabelle?" a young servant whispered, conspiratorially. "She thought her reflection in the enchanted mirror was an intruder and tried to fight herself!"
There was a ripple of laughter from the group.
"And Lord Cedric?" another joined in. "Apparently, he was caught sneaking into the kitchens at night to steal sweets. The cook finally enchanted the door to scream every time he tried!"
Isaac snickered. "Sounds like something I would do."
"Oh, and the best one—Duke Everard's son challenged a street magician to a duel, thinking he was a fraud. Turns out, the magician was an actual sorcerer, and the poor duke's son levitated upside down for an hour."
Laughter continued, warm and light, soothing the weight Ronan had borne for too long. For the first time in years, he felt he belonged.
The following few days passed in a blur of work and brotherhood. Ronan had banned Isaac from working, insisting he was earning more than enough for both of them. Soon they could rent a little place for themselves.
On the evening of his first payday, Seraphine asked him to step aside.
"You did brilliantly, Ronan. A couple of royals even tipped you." She handed him a small pouch. "Here you go-your wage for the first week."
Ronan opened the pouch, and his eyes widened at the sight of two gold coins and five silver ones.
He couldn't hide his happiness, and impulsively hugged Seraphine with heartwarming gratitude; "Thank you".
Seraphine stiffened somewhat but did not pull away; rather, her expression changed for a moment.
Not charming.
Something else.
Power.
There was something about Ronan, something she had touched just a little in that exchange; an imposition, a force, something blocked-maybe hidden but still clearly there.
She shook off the feeling. It wasn't her matter.
"Don't spend it all in one place," she said with a grin, and off he went, eager to tell Arthur.
A Place to Call Home
As flames crackled in the center of the circle, Ronan, sat a little taller, pride brimming in his chest. He looked around at the familiar faces-those who became his makeshift family soon in these days-and announced, "I got my first payment. We'll soon rent out a place."
Suddenly, there were cheers and applause for him, and warm smiles to welcome his words. Isaac beamed at him, eyes shining with eyes of excitement.
"Would we not see you guys anymore?" asked one of the older men, Nolan, his voice somewhat full of sadness.
"No, no, we will still come every night," Ronan quickly reassured them. He wasn't going to detach himself from the only real bonds formed, and he was still waiting for Flint.
"I'm not going to mention how close they are, but very close: one or two houses down," said another voice, pointing toward an old run-down house that had a faded "To—Let" sign barely a few feet away.
"Yes! Yes! We should, Ronan!" Isaac said, practically bouncing in his seat.
And Ronan hesitated a moment, his fingers grazing over his coins in his pocket. He had never seemed to have such luck-not through bunkers, not even through alleys, not while betting his life for scraps. But perhaps this was not his fortune. Perhaps it belonged to Isaac. And if Isaac had good fortune, so may have Ronan taken his share.
"Of course. Let's talk to them in the morning," he echoed.
At the first ray of dawn, they were facing the house owner's gruff-looking, bushy-bearded face, the calculating eyes looking at them. The house was rented at ten silver coins or one gold coin a month, payable upfront.
Ronan didn't think twice and handed over the gold coin, the hardest coin he has ever worked for, sounding symbolic of something deeper-stability, security, perhaps even a future. The man growled approvingly, handed them the key, and just like that, they were settled.
The first thing they did was take a hot shower, scrubbing away the grime of the streets. Shiny after having been clean for a while, they went to the food joint down the street and enjoyed a hot and peaceful breakfast.
Ronan left Isaac in their new place and set out for work. As he walked, something quite peculiar seemed to echo within him.
He could get used to this… having a home.
Wait…
The thought felt like a lightning bolt to his chest. Home. He had that before, didn't he? With a man. Important. Someone who made him safe.
But no matter how he racked his brains, he could not remember. There was just a blank area in his memory.
He reached the shop where he worked before he could dwell too long over it.
The last customer
Velvet & Vervain had been even busier. The Ethereal Masquerade was next in a vast parade of yearly solemn occasions for young magicians of noble birth to meet their possible partners and display their abilities.
Inside the shop, it was all silks and lace, shimmering enchantments stitched into every piece of cloth. Royals and noble-born magicians were darting about, searching for an outfit that would outshine those of a rival. Ronan rushed around helping customers with combos of fabrics that complemented skin tones, pinning collars, suggesting accessories that would lift the outfit.
And the tips! Oh, the tips were raining. More than he had thought. More than he had dared to hope.
Exhausted but feeling happy, he had ended his day just before the store closed down. The last few stragglers were purchasing things here and there for their needs.
And then the bell chimed.
A young man entered, his posture graceful, his aura different from the others. He was about the same age as Ronan, maybe a bit older, darkly-eyed, and exuded a confidence with such effortless grace.
"Are you still open?" he asked, his voice rich and calm with a tinge of politeness.
"Sorry, we we-maybe-Jetron paused in his refusal as their eyes locked.
An odd, almost electric sensation settled in his belly. A current, as if the gravitational pull were shifting around him, trying to drag him in. There hung a sense of recognition at the edge of his awareness, yet there was no memory tied to it.
Like meeting someone special.
Like special, special.
A skip in his heartbeat.
"Sorry?" the young man nudged again, tilting his head slightly.
Ronan swallowed, composing himself. "Sorry. Please, do come in. I am Ronan, and I will be making an appointment for you," he said.
The young man smiled-an almost imperceptible yet knowing smile. "Hi, Ronan. I am Caelan of the Marrowen family. Sorry for coming so late, but I am in dire need of an outfit for the ball. The place I initially ordered from messed up my outfit, and I really don't have any other choice."
Ronan nodded and led him down the aisles, showcasing various suits, cloaks, and accessory pieces. Caelan was decisive but kept eyeing Ronan. Not just polite, casual glances, but lingering ones, carrying something unreadable.
The sense of it was mutual. The connection. The pull.
Something was amiss, though. His chest felt constricted, and his heart was not following its steady course. An unease wound around his stomach, nagging him that something was off.
And one thing he had learned was to never disregard that feeling.