Chapter 7: A strange feeling that is getting stronger

The blue hue of dawn slowly faded, replaced by the creeping light of the rising sun. This morning felt strange, as if something was subtly out of place.

Tapp... Tapp... Tapp... Tapp...

The sound of hooves echoed, pulling a wagon toward the Special District of Vlaghju City. The horse’s sturdy hooves struck the stone-paved road — neat, smooth, and shaped with careful precision. On the roadside, several Pulitore were busy sweeping the streets clean.

The atmosphere of the Vlaghju city district

The wagon swayed gently with the horse’s movement, while Grats sat quietly on the driver’s seat, eyes fixed on the road ahead. He exhaled a long breath, as if savoring the calm of the journey. His left hand reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a box of cigarettes. A moment later, his right hand fetched a lighter from the other pocket.

He drew a cigarette from the pack, placing the filter between his lips. With a composed motion, he flicked open a small metal lighter. His left hand shielded the flame from the breeze. Click—the flame flickered to life, touching the cigarette’s tip. The ember glowed red as he inhaled deeply. Thin smoke escaped from his nose and mouth, drifting away with the wind.

“Ffffhhaaah…”

Minutes passed, and the cigarette slowly burned shorter. The wagon rolled on through the special district, streetlights lined up like quiet sentinels. Their destination was getting closer.

In the distance stood a grand two-story house, majestic amidst its wide courtyard. A stone fence surrounded it, carved with intricate patterns across its surface. The wagon approached the gate, its wheels rattling softly against the stone road.

Grats gently tugged the reins, slowing the horse until it came to a halt. He stepped down from the driver’s seat and pushed the gate — surprisingly, it wasn’t locked. Returning to his seat, he guided the wagon through the open entrance.

The yard was vast, large enough to hold a grand garden. The wagon rolled along the stone path, closing in on its destination. Once again, Grats pulled the reins. The wagon stopped for good this time. He climbed down, walking toward the cabin to pull aside the curtain.

For the second time, I felt the wagon stop. The faint tremor beneath the wooden floor faded away. Ascella, who had been sitting silently this whole time, slowly stood up, eyes fixed on the still-drawn cabin curtain.

“Wake your mother. We’ve arrived,” she said as she moved toward the curtain.

“Yes, Sister Ascella,” I replied softly. It still felt awkward, that new form of address.

The cabin floor was wooden—hard and trembling with every turn of the wheels. Yet somehow, Mother had slept soundly through it all.

I gently shook her shoulder. “Mother… wake up…” I whispered. Her eyelids fluttered, then slowly opened, her gaze still heavy with sleep. Her fingers wrapped around mine.

“Chris?” she murmured weakly, her grip tightening.

“No, Mom, it’s me—Sinhart,” I said, and her eyes immediately widened.

“Sinhart? Have we arrived already?” she asked faintly, pushing herself up.

“Yes, Mom. We’re here,” I replied.

While I managed to wake Mother, Ascella was already standing near the curtain, her hand reaching out to draw it open.

“We’ve arrived!” a man’s voice called from outside. The three of us turned toward the sound.

“Oi… are you all still asleep in there?” he continued. This time, I recognized that voice—it was Uncle Grats.

Ascella pulled the curtain aside, letting in a rush of cool air.

“Stop yelling, Uncle Grats. It’s annoying,” Ascella said quietly as she stepped out of the cabin.

“How polite of you as always, Ascella,” Grats replied with a half-irritated smile.

Mother and I followed her out. The moment my feet touched the ground, my eyes met Uncle Grats’s. He smiled warmly at me and Mother.

“How was the trip? Comfortable enough?” he asked, his tone friendly—though his gaze lingered a little too long on me.

“Very comfortable. So much that I slept the entire way,” Mother answered with a small smile.

But something felt off. Uncle Grats looked uneasy, and Mother seemed to be holding something back. Ascella, on the other hand, avoided my eyes altogether—as if she didn’t want to be part of whatever this was.

“Sinhart, there’s something I need to tell you—” Mother began, but her voice was abruptly cut off.

The house door suddenly burst open with a loud creak, the wooden sound shattering the tense silence among us.

“Lord Grats, forgive me!” A woman in shabby clothes ran toward us, panting hard. “I… I couldn’t open the gate in time!”

“It’s not a problem, Ghyna,” Uncle Grats replied calmly, though the unease in his expression hadn’t faded.

Ghyna turned toward each of us one by one, until her gaze stopped on me. Her eyes widened, and a bright smile bloomed across her tired face.

“Ah… could this be Young Master Sinhart?” she said, her tone lively even though fatigue lingered in her eyes.

She bowed deeply before me, catching me off guard. “It’s an honor to meet you, young master. I’m a servant in this house,” she said after bowing. “My name is Ghyna—”

“That’s enough introductions. Let’s go inside,” Ascella interrupted, patting my shoulder before pushing me and Ghyna toward the door, leaving Uncle Grats and Mother behind.

“W–wait, Lady Ascella!” Ghyna yelped, stumbling under the force of her push. But Ascella ignored her completely, continuing to press forward until the three of us had passed through the terrace and entered the house.

Grats and Fyna simply watched them go, a faint look of relief softening their faces—as if they could finally speak freely. Moving calmly, Grats reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his box of cigarettes. He took one out and placed it between his lips.

His hand moved to another pocket, searching for his lighter. “Damn it, I forgot again… where did I put that thing?” he muttered under his breath. He walked toward the wagon’s driver seat, where the lighter was lying clearly in sight.

“Lord Grats, about our trip to Miosmo City—” Fyna began, but her words were cut short.

“No need to be so formal. Call me however you like,” Grats interrupted. He flicked the lighter repeatedly, but it refused to ignite.

“In that case… Brother Gra—” Fyna tried to sound more familiar, but he cut her off again.

“Don’t call me ‘Brother’,” Grats said firmly. The cigarette still dangled between his lips, muffling his voice. “When someone calls me that… it brings back bad memories from Butlyene.”

Fyna fell silent for a moment, lowering her gaze. “Then… just Grats, is that fine?”

“Yeah, that’s better. About the trip—we can leave anytime.” Click!—the lighter finally caught. Grats lit his cigarette, inhaled deeply, and exhaled a thin trail of smoke.

“I’m worried about Chris, but leaving without explaining anything to Sinhart—” Fyna’s voice trembled and trailed off, tears beginning to well in her eyes.

“Just lie to him. Telling the truth will only complicate things,” Grats said, his eyes following the smoke drifting with the wind.

“But— I… I’m scared,” Fyna whispered, her voice shaking as tears fell onto the ground.

Seeing her cry made Grats’s own eyes glisten. “It’s alright. Everything will be fine,” he said softly, trying to comfort her.

“When we arrive there, and when you’re by his side—” Grats’s words were cut off.

“I already told him… not to join a Periculosu-level mission! But he insisted, and look what happened! It’s my fault… all my fault… forgive me… please forgive me…” Fyna broke down, her tears streaming down her cheeks.

Grats said nothing, guilt weighing on him. But behind them, Ascella—who had been silent all this time—had been listening. Without a word, she stepped forward and hugged Fyna.

“Don’t blame yourself, Aunt Fyna. It wasn’t anyone’s fault,” Ascella said softly, as if pulling her away from her grief.

“Ascella… thank you,” Fyna whispered, slowly calming down as she returned the embrace.

“The only one allowed to blame himself here is Uncle Grats,” Ascella added, glancing sharply at him.

Grats’s expression shifted from sorrow to irritation. This girl… she talks exactly like her grandmother, he thought.

“You don’t have to worry about Sinhart, Aunt Fyna. I’ll be with him. You should save your worries for Uncle Chris instead—because Uncle Chris needs you more right now,” Ascella said with a faint smile.

Fyna looked at Ascella, gently brushing her hair. “Goodness, Ascella… you’ve grown up so fast,” she murmured softly.

“Don’t praise her too much,” Grats muttered, blowing out another puff of smoke.

“That’s why you should hurry up and grow up yourself if you want praise too, Uncle Grats,” Ascella shot back with a sharp look.

“You two sure get along well,” Fyna said with a smile.

“Hah!” Grats and Ascella responded at once.

Fyna chuckled lightly. “Grats, I’ll bring down Sinhart’s suitcase. We’ll be leaving right away,” she said, her tone now steady—no trace of sadness left.

“Alright. I’ll return the horses first. Ascella, help Aunt Fyna with the suitcase,” Grats replied, walking toward the wagon.

“That’s exactly why I came here,” Ascella mumbled under her breath, then moved to help Fyna with the luggage.

Together, they carefully lifted Sinhart’s suitcase down from the wagon.

“Ascella, I hope you can explain things to Sinhart…” Fyna began, but her voice faltered.

“Don’t worry, Aunt Fyna. Even though we just met, I already understand him quite well,” Ascella replied.

Fyna paused for a moment, her face shadowed by a brief look of worry.

“Sinhart… because he rarely leaves the house, his expressions sometimes worry me. Sometimes he looks… like someone else," Her said softly

“Are you sure you can handle it, Ascella?” Fyna asked, clearly worried. “If not, Ghyna—or I—can help.”

“I can do it.” Ascella tugged at the suitcase with all her strength. “Aunt and Ghyna already have your own things to handle, so I’ll take care of this,” she said, her voice trembling slightly.

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Thank you for reading this :3