The manor had changed little since Serion last walked its halls.
The scent of lavender oil lingered faintly in the high ceilings. The floors gleamed beneath his boots, polished to perfection, though he noticed a scratch along the stairway railing. The staff bowed low, but their glances flickered toward the quiet girl who stood beside him—her.
She had greeted him calmly, smiling faintly with downcast eyes. The same way she always did since the accident. Graceful, silent, obedient.
But something had changed. He couldn't place it yet, but it was there.
Her steps had been lighter. Her pauses more controlled. Her cane never tapped against a wall.
Serion Caelora had spent years learning to read people. Politics required more than sharpness; it demanded instinct.
And right now, his instincts whispered, Something is different about Luna.
Still, she looked so delicate standing beside him—dressed in violet, silver hair braided neatly down her back. The very image of fragility.
He let it be. For now.
"You should rest, brother," she said softly as they reached the marble landing of the second floor. "You've been riding all day."
"I'll rest when I've reviewed the ledgers," he muttered, but her expression, though unreadable to anyone else, silenced him.
He sighed. "Fine. After dinner."
She smiled again—so quietly that it reminded him of her mother. That brief, sad smile that said more than words.
Dinner was quiet but comfortable.
The long mahogany table was set for two, though only the first six feet of it were used. Candles burned low, reflecting in polished wine glasses and silver bowls. Maela served roasted duck, seasoned potatoes, and a clear vegetable broth.
Serion kept watching his sister from across the table.
She ate with practiced precision. Her spoon never clinked. Her posture was impeccable. And yet—
"You're sitting straighter than before," he said suddenly.
Luna tilted her head gently toward him. "Maela's been helping me exercise my spine during the day. I want to move more easily again."
He studied her. "You've barely moved beyond the inner halls for the last four years."
"I know," she said softly. "But… I think I'm ready to change that."
He frowned. "Are you feeling ill again? Light-headed?"
"No," she replied smoothly. "Just… different."
He didn't press. But his mind held onto the word like a warning bell.
The next morning, sunlight spilled over Caelora Manor's west gardens, gilding the cobbled paths and frost-kissed grass in pale gold. The air was cool, but not cold.
Serion rarely invited anyone on his walks. Especially not Luna.
But today, he found himself outside her drawing room, standing like a man unsure of how to knock.
When the door opened, she was already standing, cane in hand.
"You're early," she said lightly.
"You always wake before the sun," he replied.
He held out his arm. "Come. Let's walk."
They moved slowly through the side gardens, a steady silence between them.
It felt surreal—Serion's armor replaced with a black high-collared coat, his steps matching hers. Birds chirped in the hedges, and wind rustled through tall oaks as the siblings strolled down the stone path.
"I missed this," Luna said after a while.
"This?"
"Walking beside you."
He paused briefly, then continued forward. "You always said you didn't like the outdoors."
"I think I was just afraid," she admitted. "Back then."
He didn't answer, but the tension in his shoulders softened.
After a moment, she asked, "How was the capital?"
He exhaled. "Annoying. A circus of masks and lies. The merchant's guild is trying to secure exclusive contracts with the southern duchies, and the crown won't act unless their own taxes are threatened."
"And did you win?"
He smirked faintly. "Always."
"I'm glad."
They walked another few steps before she said, casually, "May I go to the market tomorrow?"
He stopped.
The silence that followed was like the snap of frost on spring leaves.
"You want to what?" he asked, turning to face her fully.
"To visit the local market," she said innocently. "Just nearby. I heard the florists have moonlily tea this season."
His expression tightened. "You… want to leave the manor?"
She tilted her head, eyes just a little too blank. "Just the town square."
"You haven't been outside the estate grounds in four years, Luna."
"I know."
"You collapsed from fever less than a week ago."
"I'm feeling better now."
His voice lowered. "And how exactly do you plan to navigate the marketplace, sister?"
"I will take Maela. And my cane. I'm not asking to go alone."
His eyes searched her face.
And for one, brief moment, something flickered in his expression—a crack in the mask.
"Luna," he said quietly. "Look at me."
She turned toward his voice.
His breath caught.
For a heartbeat—just one—he thought she met his eyes.
But she didn't react. Didn't flinch. Her gaze remained perfectly unfocused.
Still, that moment left a mark.
He turned away, jaw clenched. "You may go."
Luna blinked. "Truly?"
"But you'll take two knights," he added firmly. "And Maela. And the steward. I'll not have you unattended."
"Of course," she said, barely containing the joy in her tone.
He turned away so she wouldn't see the worry in his eyes.
They continued walking in silence.
Behind his calm expression, Serion's thoughts spun.
She's changed.
Her voice was more composed. Her posture straighter. Her movements too deliberate, too aware for someone blind.
But she still stumbles like she can't see. Her hands still feel for the edge of the bench. And yet…
That moment when he thought she had looked him in the eyes—he couldn't forget it.
Perhaps he was imagining it. Or perhaps he was too desperate to see hope where there was none.
But one thing was certain:
Luna was acting more alive than she had in years.
He clenched his fists behind his back.
She wants to live again. She's trying to fight. That's good.
But with that hope came fear.
The same fear that had haunted him since the accident. Since the day he held her limp, bleeding body in his arms and screamed at the heavens. Since the day he buried their parents and took the title of Marquess at only eighteen.
He had caged her in this manor not out of cruelty—but out of terror.
If she left, if she wandered too far, if she fell sick again—what if he couldn't protect her? What if this fragile thread of recovery snapped?
He had sworn to protect her, and he had failed once.
He would not fail again.
That night, Serion sat in his study long after Luna had gone to bed.
The candlelight cast deep shadows across the bookshelves. A thick ledger lay open on the desk beside an untouched glass of wine.
Inside his coat pocket was a letter. Sealed in dark blue wax. The healer's signature curved across the back.
My lord, as you requested, I have begun discreetly searching for magical remedies that may restore sight to those with spiritual trauma-related blindness. Most options are theoretical, but I will continue my research...
He read it twice before folding it again.
If there is a cure, he thought, I will find it.
He looked toward the window, where a faint light still glowed from Luna's chamber.
"I'll make you whole again, little moon," he whispered.
"And then… maybe you'll smile for real."