"Sister Vienna, it's a pleasure to meet you!" Noella said with an elegant curtsy, delicately holding the hem of her crimson dress.
"Haha… you're looking more and more beautiful and noble by the day," Vienna replied with a calm smile. "I bet the family must be proud of you—especially that grumpy old man."
"Hehe, you jest, Cousin." Noella chuckled, her eyes twinkling. "Uncle has his own matters to attend to. He's been very busy lately."
Vienna gestured gracefully. "Come, let's head inside."
She led the way into the mansion, her voice dropping slightly with concern. "What's the matter? Don't tell me… another invasion?"
Noella nodded solemnly as the entourage followed behind.
"Yes, very likely. That's why Cousin Rodrigo and Uncle have been working tirelessly to manage the kingdom's internal affairs. You know how it is… chaos on the borders, political unrest within."
Vienna let out a soft sigh. "Just when we thought we could breathe easy."
"It's never that simple," Noella said, her voice crisp with a sense of duty. "The more peace we seek, the harder we must fight for it."
After that, as Vahn was signaled to stay behind, he couldn't hear anything more.
But it was enough. He had confirmed and heard everything he had read in the story.
So far, nothing major had changed. Everything was in place.
Tomorrow, he just needed to find a way to join the tour group heading to the city.
And then... hehe.
---
Later that day, Vahn returned to his assigned duties in the garden.
The sun hung low over the horizon, casting golden rays across the neat rows of flowering hedges and trimmed grass. His hands worked rhythmically, trimming wild growth with a pair of shears, but his mind drifted elsewhere.
Oddly enough, he found peace here. Among the roses, marigolds, and creeping vines, there was a quiet that made the world feel... manageable. Predictable.
He knelt down, running his fingers across the freshly watered soil. It was soft, still warm from the day's light. A butterfly fluttered by, and he let it land on his finger for a brief moment before it flitted away.
It had become his routine. Manual labor during the day, but mental sharpening in stolen moments of privacy.
Once the garden work was done and the sun had dipped beyond the estate walls, Vahn crept away to the hidden shed near the stables—his unofficial sanctuary.
There, he sat cross-legged in the dark, slowing his breath, forcing his heartbeat into a steady rhythm. He closed his eyes and whispered internally:
Fear. Remember the moment. The pain, the helplessness.
He forced the image forward—the brutal memory of a truck's blaring horn, the blinding headlights, the cold, merciless pavement. His ribs shattering. The weight crushing him like a bug.
His body tensed. His fingers trembled.
Then, something clicked.
A strange sensation surged within him, like icy threads weaving through the veins in his skull.
He opened his eyes.
His perspective changed to third person, like how a narrator describes a scene from a story.
Not only that, he now had extraordinary senses. The whisper of the wind became loud as thunder. Every creak in the wooden shed was crystal clear.
Omniscient Viewpoint.
But it only lasted for over a minute before collapsing, leaving him lightheaded and dizzy.
Sweat poured from his forehead.
"Huff, huff!"
He collapsed onto his side, gasping.
Still, a small, victorious smile tugged at his lips.
Longer than yesterday. The control is improving.
Later that night, as the estate lights dimmed and most servants retired to their rooms,
Vahn received the usual task. To give her massage.
"Come in," came the soft, composed voice.
Inside the room, lit by a faint golden lamp, Vienna Castros reclined on a plush velvet chaise, her robe draped loosely around her shoulders. The scent of lilac and sandalwood filled the air.
"You're late," she said, though her tone lacked irritation.
"I had garden duty and night rounds. Forgive me, Madam," Vahn replied, bowing politely.
She gestured to the floor beside her with a curl of her fingers. "You may begin."
Vahn moved behind her, kneeling down, his fingers already tracing her shoulders with practiced familiarity.
Vienna's robe slipped slightly, revealing her pale skin, and he began to work—pressing, kneading, releasing the knots in her muscles.
"You've improved," she said after a while, eyes closed.
"Ah, that's because I try my best to serve, madam."
There was a long silence before she spoke again:
"You saw her today, didn't you?"
Vienna's voice was calm, almost casual—but the sudden change in topic and the way her eyes stared past the golden rim of her glass told another story.
Vahn, who had just finished tidying the scattered cushions, straightened and glanced over. "Yes. Ahem… you're referring to your guest, Madam?"
"Yes," she said, swirling the wine in her glass slowly. "Noella."
She leaned back, letting her robe slip a bit more off her shoulder, eyes now fixed on the ceiling.
"She's beautiful, isn't she? Refined. A proper noble. A Prodigious Soul Evolver too. Not like me. I'm just… an unruly woman who never listens to anyone. That's what people say.
What about you, Vahn? You think so too, right?"
Her tone was light, but it carried the heavy undertone of something fragile and bitter trying not to crack.
"Hah… it's fine. You can speak freely. I won't punish you even if you say something offensive. I just want to hear the truth. For once."
She turned her head slightly, not to look at him, but to give him space—as if she already knew what she'd hear and didn't want to see the confirmation in his eyes.
To anyone else, it might have seemed like she was asking a servant for an honest opinion. But Vahn saw past the words. She wasn't asking him. She was asking herself. Looking for a reflection in someone else's gaze.
Vahn took a breath, carefully considering what to say.
The truth? That she was obnoxious. Proud. Often unreasonable. The kind of woman who would have tossed her own staffs and slaves to the dogs if they bored her or failed her expectations. If he hadn't made himself valuable, he would've long been sent back to the Arena, shackled and bloodied.
And yet…
He also knew that this woman—flawed and dangerous—was the same person who would one day become the Archon's main wife. In the story, she was infamously possessive of the protagonist. Jealous. Aggressively protective. Some readers found it charming. Others, unhinged.
Maybe Archon had a kink for difficult women, Vahn mused grimly. Or maybe he just wanted someone to act like the mother he never had.
But he couldn't say any of that out loud.
So instead, Vahn gave a faint smile, lowering his gaze.
"Madam… it's not my place to compare nobility. But I know this. Beauty fades. Titles shift. But people remember the ones who stand unshaken when the storm comes. You may call yourself unruly, but I've seen how this house runs because of your command. That strength matters more than any painted mask."
Vienna blinked.
Then she laughed softly, the sound tinged with disbelief.
"That's such a servant-like answer."
"Maybe. But it's what I believe."
For a moment, there was silence. A long, pregnant pause that filled the room with unsaid truths and quiet understanding.
Vienna didn't respond right away. She just lifted the glass to her lips, took a slow sip, then looked away.
"You may leave."
Vahn bowed and turned, walking out the door. But just before he stepped past the threshold, her voice called to him again, softer this time.
"Thank you."
He didn't respond. Didn't need to.
Because even a snake can shed its skin, and even a thorned rose still blossoms under the right sun.