Clara's hands clenched into tight fists, her knuckles whitening as a flicker of annoyance and anger crossed her face, gone as quickly as it appeared. Her jaw tightened, teeth grinding for a fleeting moment, as the sting of Elios's words sank in: Ethan, the man she had loved, had married another woman, dismissing her feelings like a fleeting breeze. The news was a blade, sharp and unyielding, slicing through the fragile hope she had clung to.
Her mind drifted, unbidden, to a memory bathed in the golden glow of an evening sun. She stood before Ethan in the heart of Willow bridge, in front of the Bellasguard Goddess Temple, its marble statue of the deity of beauty and protection gleaming softly. The townsfolk revered the goddess, their prayers rising like incense to her serene visage. A cool breeze had caressed Clara's face that day, carrying the scent of blooming jasmine and the promise of something eternal. Her heart had pounded as she poured out her love, her eyes alight with vulnerability and hope. Ethan had stood silent, his expression unreadable, the setting sun casting long shadows that seemed to swallow her confession whole.
The memory stung because it mirrored the story Elios had just shared about Huixin, a woman whose love had been returned in full—an idyllic tale of mutual devotion. Clara's love, however, had been one-sided, a solitary flame flickering in the wind. The parallel was cruel, and it gnawed at her composure.
Lost in his own thoughts, Elios barely noticed the shift in Clara's demeanor. His mind wandered to boyhood days spent with Ethan—carefree afternoons by the lake, laughter echoing through the willows. He was so absorbed that he missed Clara's sudden question, her voice cutting through the silence like a pebble disturbing a still pond.
"Did he mention anyone when he was about to marry?" Clara's tone was calm, commanding, but a thread of frustration wove through it, betraying the storm beneath her surface.
Elios blinked, snapping back to the present. "What? Madam, did you say something?" His voice was apologetic, his hazel eyes wide with confusion. He hadn't heard her, too entangled in nostalgia.
Clara's gaze met his, sharp and searching, but she said nothing. The fire in her chest dulled to an ache. "No… nothing," she murmured, her voice softer now, as if the effort to repeat herself was too much. Perhaps it was Elios's innocent expression—his open, guileless face—that doused her resolve. She couldn't bring herself to press him further.
Elios shifted uncomfortable, avoiding her eyes. He turned his attention to the lake, its surface shimmering under the midday sun, fringed by weeping willows that dipped their branches into the water. The silence between them thickened, heavy with unspoken words. Tension coiled in the air, and though Elios felt a prickle of nervousness, he maintained a professional facade, his posture rigid, his expression neutral.
The quiet stretched, reclaiming its dominion as if Clara's question had never disrupted it. The world around them seemed to hold its breath—the rustle of leaves, the distant chatter of townsfolk, all muted by the weight of their unspoken thoughts.
Then, a new voice shattered the stillness, bright and clear as a bell. "Mister, if you don't mind, would you help me pick that ball floating in the lake?"
Clara and Elios turned to see a small girl standing a few paces away, her dark braids bouncing as she pointed toward the water. Her eyes, wide and pleading, sparkled with innocence. Behind her, a gaggle of children—each as lively as a spring rabbit—watched with intense stares. The girl, clearly the culprit who had kicked the ball into the lake, bore the weight of their expectations. She glanced back at her friends, hoping someone else might volunteer, but their gazes remained fixed, unrelenting.
"Please, help me pick the ball," she pleaded again, her voice trembling. From her pocket, she took out two copper coins, each stamped with the stern profile of Magnus, the founder of the Ajanta nation. She held them out to Elios, her small hand trembling. "Please… take these." Her eyes glistened, teetering on the edge of tears.
Elios's heart softened at the sight. The girl's earnestness, her determination to solve her mistake, stirred something warm within him. He wanted to leap to her aid, but Clara's presence beside him tethered his impulses. He glanced at her, seeking permission. "Madam, if you don't mind, may I help the little girl?" His voice was low, laced with politeness, his eyes respectful.
Clara's expression remained unreadable, but she gave a dismissive wave, a silent gesture of assent. Relief washed over Elios, and he rose swiftly, a grin breaking across his face. "Let's go," he said to the girl, whose face lit up with a radiant smile, as if his agreement had lifted a great burden.
"So, where's your ball? I don't see it," Elios asked, scanning the lake's edge.
"There!" The girl pointed excitedly. "It's stuck in the branches of that willow tree, floating on the lake." Sure enough, a bright red ball was entangled in the drooping limbs of a willow, its branches swaying gently as if claiming the prize for itself.
"Got it," Elios said, his tone cheerful. "Mister, if you pick it, I'll give you these coins!" the girl insisted, thrusting the coins toward him again. Her right hand extended the payment, while her left clutched her dress, her face a mix of determination and sorrow. The coins were no small sacrifice; they were a gift from her mother, meant for a treat at the market.
Elios noticed the girl's expression—her bravery masking a quiet grief—and his heart swelled. This was no ordinary child. He recognized her as Eluphia, the daughter of Franklin, a wealthy landowner and one of Willow bridge's young leaders. Her mother, Sophia, was known for her strict financial discipline, a stepmother who loved Eluphia fiercely but insisted she learn the value of every coin. The two coppers were likely all Eluphia had, and offering them was a gesture of immense resolve.
The sight was too much for Elios. A laugh burst from him, bright and unrestrained, his eyes crinkling with mirth. Tears—born of joy, not sorrow—glistened at the corners of his eyes.
"Mister, what happened? Why are you laughing?" Eluphia's voice was tinged with worry, her brows knitting in confusion.
"Nothing, don't worry," Elios assured her, still chuckling. "But… why are you laughing?" she pressed, her concern deepening.
Elios grinned, crouching to her level. "It's your face, little lady. You look like an innocent baby trying so hard to act grown-up. It's adorable." His tone was warm, teasing but kind.
Eluphia's cheeks puffed out in indignation. "I'm not a baby! I'm an adult, and I'm not crying—you're the one crying!" Her voice quivered, her eyes brimming with unshed tears as she refuted his claim.
Elios raised his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, my lady, I stand corrected. You're no baby. Shall we get that ball now?" His voice took on a playful, childish lilt, matching her energy.
"O-okay," Eluphia agreed, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.
Elios straightened, shedding his outer tunic to reveal a lean, muscular frame honed by years of labor. With a confident stride, he approached the lake's edge, the children cheering behind him. He waded into the cool water, the willow's branches just within reach. The ball was stubbornly entwined, but with a gentle tug, he freed it, holding it aloft triumphantly. The children erupted in applause, Eluphia's face beaming with gratitude.
As he returned to shore, Eluphia rushed forward, clutching the ball. "Thank you, mister!" she exclaimed, then hesitated, holding out the coins again. "Here… take them."
Elios shook his head, kneeling before her. "Keep your coins, little lady. Buy yourself something sweet at the market. Helping you was reward enough." His smile was genuine, his eyes soft.
Eluphia's face brightened, and she clutched the coins tightly, as if they were a treasure restored. "Thank you!" she said again, before scampering back to her friends, who swarmed her with excited chatter.
Elios returned to Clara, his tunic damp and his mood lighter. She had watched the exchange in silence, her expression unreadable. As he sat beside her, the tension from earlier seemed to linger, but it was softer now, diluted by the warmth of the moment.
"Kids, huh?" Elios said, attempting to bridge the gap.
Clara's lips twitched, not quite a smile. "Indeed." Her voice was neutral, but her eyes held a flicker of something—perhaps appreciation, perhaps melancholy.
The lake sparkled under the sun, and the willows swayed, whispering secrets to the breeze.
A moment later, Clara rose, her face shifting from cold envy to calm resolve, eyes lost in thought. Elios's muscular form and face, eerily reminiscent of her beloved Ethan, haunted her mind.
Without a word, Elios followed her silent steps, the air thick with unspoken tension as they moved from the lake.
Don't know what is happening inside Clara's mind. But a subtle change happened after seeing Elios naked body and her face was unable to readable. Probably she also doesn't no what is happening.