Chapter Six : The New "Maid"
By the time I returned, the sun had climbed higher. A little warmth, a little wind—just enough to make me feel the weight of what I was carrying.
The elf looking girl, Sylvia, walked behind me, now in a modest looking dress. Her pale skin looked cleaner, but her body was still too frail. Her silver-white hair was damp, hanging loosely around her tired eyes.
She said nothing. Neither did I.
When we arrived, Sasha was already waiting at the door.
Her eyes instantly darted past me—to Sylvia.
"…Who is this?" she asked, tone sharper than expected.
"A new maid," I replied casually, walking past her. "Picked her up on the way. She'll help me around."
"...A maid?" Sasha echoed. She looked from me to Sylvia again. "…Since when do you bring in strangers without asking me first?"
I gave her a small smile. "You've been busy. And I needed extra hands."
It wasn't a lie. But it wasn't the truth either.
Sasha didn't say anything, but the silence that followed was louder than words. Her lips formed a tight line. She stood stiffly, hands clutching her apron.
"You didn't say anything about this this morning," she muttered under her breath. "Or last night."
I pretended not to hear.
Then, without warning, Sasha stepped forward and gently took Sylvia's hand.
"You—what's your name?"
"…Sylvia," the dragonkin replied quietly, her voice barely audible.
Sasha smiled, though the effort was forced. "You must be tired. Come on—I'll show you where to rest."
Sylvia hesitated. She looked at me once, uncertain.
"It's alright," I said. "Go with her."
With that, Sasha led her inside.
But before turning the corner, Sasha glanced over her shoulder, her eyes locking with mine.
There was something else there. Not just frustration. Something more… protective.
Like she was guarding Sylvia from me.
Interesting.
*****
(Sasha's Room)
Sylvia sat quietly on the edge of Sasha's bed, her legs crossed modestly at the ankles, holding a porcelain cup in her hands. Her silver-white hair shimmered under the warm light of the chandelier, cascading over her shoulders in silky waves. Ruby-red eyes flicked between the tea, the flickering candles, and the unfamiliar faces around her.
With porcelain skin and noble elven features, she looked no older than eighteen.
But she was twenty-five.
And not an elf.
"This tea… is nice," she said, her voice soft but clear. "I haven't had something warm in a long time."
"You can have more if you want," Sasha offered kindly, though her eyes remained wary.
"Thank you." Sylvia gave a slight bow of her head. "And thank you for the clothes. I… didn't expect kindness like this."
Sasha tucked a pillow behind her back and sat beside her. "You're welcome. You'll stay here tonight—just for now. We don't have a room prepared yet."
"That's fine," Sylvia replied, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. "I'm just… grateful to be safe."
I stood silently near the doorway, arms crossed, watching them.
A knock.
Kevin entered and immediately froze, his eyes locking onto Sylvia. He scanned her once—silver hair, red eyes, youthful build—then turned sharply toward me.
"…Don't tell me."
"I bought her," I replied coldly.
Sasha blinked. "Bought? From where?"
"Blackwater slave market."
Kevin recoiled. "You brought her from that place?"
Sylvia looked down, her voice quiet but firm. "He pulled me out of that filth. I'd be dead by now otherwise."
Kevin muttered something under his breath. "She looks barely eighteen."
"I'm twenty-five," Sylvia said, straightening her posture slightly. "Even if I don't look it."
Sasha looked at me again, disapproval written across her face. "You brought her here, into my room, without a word. What did you expect us to think?"
"She's in no condition to be left alone," I replied. "She's malnourished, mentally worn. She needed safety."
"And you thought dumping her on me would help?"
"I thought you'd be the kindest to her."
Sylvia looked between us, biting her lip. "I can stay elsewhere if it's a problem. I don't want to cause trouble."
Sasha glanced back at her and softened. "No. It's not your fault. You're staying here tonight."
"Thank you… Miss Sasha."
"…Just Sasha is fine."
Sylvia gave a small smile, more reserved than childish, and nodded. "Okay. Just Sasha."
Kevin looked between them and then back to me.
"I'll be honest, boss," he muttered. "This looks bad. Real bad."
I said nothing.
He sighed. "You're cold enough to be dangerous, you know that?"
I still didn't answer.
As Sasha began helping Sylvia settle into the room, she shot me one last look—serious, protective, unamused.
A message, unspoken but sharp as steel:
"If she's hurt—even by you—I won't forgive it."
*****
(Night before departure)
We dined outside under the starlit sky—the last dinner in Umir before our journey resumed at dawn.
A soft breeze carried the smell of grilled herbs and warm bread. Lanterns swayed gently in the evening wind. The atmosphere felt strangely ordinary, as if the weight of tomorrow's journey didn't exist.
Sasha and Sylvia sat side by side.
Strangely… they seemed to get along.
It had only been a day, but something had shifted. Their interactions had softened. Maybe it was Sasha's maternal instinct, or perhaps it was Sylvia's shy gratitude. Either way, the tension between them had dulled, replaced by something like a budding sisterhood.
"Sylvia, do you want some more?" Sasha asked, spoon poised over the serving dish.
Sylvia hesitated. She always did. "No... it's fine."
She still fumbled her words sometimes. Still looked unsure when reaching for anything. But she was adapting. Slowly. Day by day.
"No—take it." Sasha didn't wait for permission, placing more food onto Sylvia's plate. "You have to eat plenty. I heard elves live up to two hundred years. You might still be growing."
Sylvia blinked, surprised by the kindness—and perhaps the implication. "O-Okay." She quickly cleaned the plate, then placed her hands quietly on her lap. She didn't ask for more, but I could tell she wanted it.
Her pride wouldn't let her.
I studied her silently.
I don't know what happened to her.
But dragons aren't the type to abandon their kin.
And certainly not a female like Sylvia.
She was twenty-five. A child by dragon standards. Their kind lives up to three hundred years—more, if gifted. That she ended up sold in some rotten slave pit… it wasn't just tragic. It was unnatural.
Her power was unmistakable.
Even in this peaceful moment, her presence hummed beneath the air—like heat behind silk.
And yet, I sensed no proper channel inside her. No structured path, no discipline. Her mana was... raw. Wild. Untamed.
She has no idea what she is.
Which makes her even more dangerous.
I can't send her to Kafher. Not while she's like this. It would be like handing a loaded spear to a sleeping child. No—worse. Like throwing a torch into the oil stores of my family home.
If something went wrong...
I'd rather I died than let harm reach them.
"Eat more," I said flatly. "You'll need strength tomorrow."
Sylvia glanced at me, eyes wide—then nodded and obeyed.
Sasha's gaze lingered on me longer. A cold stare.
Damn. I can stand against generals, demons, kings.
But one glare from Sasha and I lose all sense.
I looked away, pretending to sip from my cup.
And across the table—Kevin.
This damn bastard was still eating like the world wasn't ending tomorrow. He had just finished his third plate, sloppily downed two jugs of white wine, and was now gesturing for another as if dinner were a personal festival.
"I told you we're leaving at dawn," I muttered, half to him, half to myself.
"Mmhmm," he replied mid-bite, chewing roasted duck with a kind of reverence. "That's why I'm loading up. Efficient, right?"
"You're paying for your own appetite."
He blinked. "That's a bit cold, my lord."
"You're a bit expensive, Kevin."
He laughed, loud and carefree. "Don't be like that. I'm your most loyal knight."
"You're my hungriest knight."
Sylvia let out a small laugh—soft, muffled behind her fingers like she was afraid it would get her scolded.
But Sasha turned to her, smiled warmly. "That's the correct response. Laughing is a survival skill when Kevin's around."
Sylvia blinked, surprised by Sasha's gentle tone.
Sasha leaned in a little closer to her and added with a grin, "Honestly, if we didn't stop him, he'd eat the horses too."
Sylvia giggled again, this time brighter. The tension in her shoulders eased just slightly.
Kevin raised a fork in mock protest. "You wound me, ladies. I am a man of great restraint."
Sasha rolled her eyes and whispered theatrically to Sylvia, "That restraint was buried under his third helping of mashed turnips."
Another small laugh escaped Sylvia, and this time, she didn't hide it.
I watched them. Sasha, playing the part of both protector and big sister. Sylvia, slowly finding footing in a world she clearly doesn't understand.
And for a fleeting moment, it felt real. Like we weren't fugitives or nobles or monsters in hiding.
Just people. Laughing at a table under the stars.
Let them laugh.
Let them eat.
Let this moment feel like a memory worth keeping.
Because tomorrow, everything changes.