The wind carried the scent of rain long before the clouds ever reached the sky. Lucien stood on the balcony of Aeris's estate, his fingers brushing the stone railing, feeling the chill of the morning air bite against his skin. Below, the garden glistened with dew, and the world felt… still. It was a silence that didn't crush him.
For the first time, he didn't feel like he was drowning in his past.
Behind him, the door creaked open.
"You're up early," Aeris said softly, stepping onto the balcony with two mugs of warm tea. "Didn't sleep?"
"I did," Lucien replied, taking one of the mugs with a nod of thanks. "I just… didn't want to miss the sky."
They sipped in silence for a moment, letting the cool breeze pass between them.
"You seem different today," Aeris noted, watching him carefully.
Lucien gave a faint smile. "I feel… lighter. Like maybe I'm starting to exist here. Not just survive."
Aeris tilted her head, a curious look in her eyes. "Is that because of your magic?"
"No," he replied, turning to face her fully. "Because of you. You gave me space. Time. Safety."
She looked away, a faint flush dusting her cheeks. "I didn't do that much."
"You did enough," Lucien said. "That's more than I ever had before."
Before she could respond, a knock rattled the balcony doors. A guard stepped forward, bowing deeply.
"Lady Virell. A messenger has arrived from Lyndell. They request urgent assistance—mana storm damage. Injured, missing, panic everywhere."
Aeris's posture shifted instantly, her calm replaced by command. "Get the riders ready. We leave within the hour."
The guard bowed again and retreated.
Lucien took a deep breath. "I'm coming with you."
She frowned. "Lucien—"
"I'm not going to fight," he said quickly. "But maybe I can help. I want to try. Please."
There was hesitation in her eyes, but then she nodded.
"Then stay close. And don't overdo it."
The journey to Lyndell was swift. Aeris's company rode flying carriages—mana-driven vessels shaped like sleek boats, gliding through the sky with a hum. Lucien sat beside her, knuckles white on the rail, eyes wide as the clouds passed beneath them.
It should've been beautiful.
But the sight of Lyndell tore beauty from the skies.
The small island village was a wreck. Half the homes were damaged or toppled. The trees that had once surrounded the main square were splintered or scorched. People cried out in the streets, clutching the wounded or searching through rubble.
Aeris jumped down first, barking orders to her guards. "Help the injured, find shelter for the rest. Prioritize the children!"
Lucien followed slowly, unsure at first, until he saw a young boy trying to pull his mother out from beneath a collapsed awning. The mother wasn't moving.
Without thinking, Lucien rushed over, calling for help. Two guards joined him, and together, they lifted the beam. Lucien knelt by the woman, pressing his ear to her chest. Her breathing was faint—but there.
"She's alive!" he shouted. "Get her somewhere safe!"
The boy clung to Lucien, sobbing. "Thank you, thank you, mister…"
Lucien didn't answer. He just hugged the boy, eyes stinging.
Hours passed like waves—painful, heavy, and relentless.
By nightfall, the square had become a makeshift triage camp. Aeris's guards set up tents and distributed supplies. Lucien wandered from one to another, his heart aching with every glance, every wound.
But what struck him most was the silence.
So many people… and yet no one sang. No humming. No comfort.
He found a piece of charred wood and strung wire between two broken beams from a fallen stall. It was crude. Barely a harp. But he sat, ran his fingers along it, and plucked.
A note.
Then another.
Soft. Shaky.
Then, music.
The chords weren't perfect. The rhythm was uncertain. But his heart filled each space between the notes.
As he played, something shimmered.
A faint glow gathered at his fingertips, golden and warm. It danced in the air, wrapping around the children who sat nearby, pulling them closer. Some stopped crying. Some smiled.
And then, the world changed.
His magic awakened—not in fire, not in lightning—but in emotion.
A field of light bloomed around him. The broken square faded away, replaced by a vision: a field of sunflowers under a warm sky. The wounded were standing, whole. The scared were laughing.
They weren't healed.
But for a moment… they forgot the pain.
And that was enough.
Aeris watched from a distance, her ice-blue eyes wide. The other guards stood in silence as the illusion unfolded around them—a concert of emotion that needed no words.
She stepped forward slowly, kneeling beside him as the notes faded.
Lucien looked at her, cheeks wet with tears he didn't remember shedding.
"Did I… do that?" he whispered.
Aeris nodded. "You reached them."
He stared at his hands, still trembling. "I didn't know I could."
"You didn't need to," she said. "You felt it. And so did they."
That night, they stayed in the village. Aeris insisted he rest—though Lucien had to be bribed with hot soup and a blanket. He was spent, body and heart.
As the moon rose high, he found himself on the roof of one of the repaired homes, alone with the stars.
Aeris joined him again, silent as ever.
"Why do you keep finding me like this?" Lucien asked, a smile tugging at his lips.
"Because you're loud," she teased, and he laughed.
She hesitated, then added, "You did more today than you know."
Lucien nodded slowly. "For once… I feel like I belong."
"You always did. You just didn't believe it yet."
He looked at her, his voice soft. "Thank you, Aeris."
She held his gaze. "No, Lucien. Thank you."
And then, without planning, he sang.
Soft and low, a lullaby his grandfather once hummed. His voice carried into the stars, carried the memories, the pain, and the hope that bloomed in his chest.
Below, the village listened.
And for the first time in his new life, Lucien didn't feel like a broken boy with a cursed past.
He felt alive.