Evening descended upon Windsor Medical Center like a gentle tide, washing away the last vestiges of daylight. The sterile halls grew quieter as visiting hours drew to a close, leaving only the steady rhythm of medical equipment and hushed voices of the night staff to fill the silence.

  Acacia lay in his bed, staring listlessly at the darkening sky outside his window. The day's earlier confrontations with Sirius and the others had left him mentally drained, yet sleep eluded him. His injuries throbbed in time with his heartbeat—a persistent reminder of his brush with death. The room felt impossibly large now that he was alone, its whites and grays bleeding into an endless canvas of monotony.

  A gentle knock interrupted his brooding.

  "May I come in?" The voice was refined yet warm, carrying none of the clinical detachment he'd grown accustomed to from the hospital staff. Before he could respond, the door opened with practiced grace.

  Eleanor Trafalgar entered like a breath of fresh air, her movements flowing with natural elegance as she balanced a covered basket. Her presence seemed to transform the stark hospital room, bringing with it an air of quiet dignity that made even the fluorescent lighting feel softer. She wore a simple cream-colored dress, yet carried herself with such innate poise that she could have been attending a provincial dinner. Her deep black hair, pulled back in a neat bun, accentuated her sharp, aristocratic features and blazing chestnut eyes.

  "I thought you might appreciate some real food," she said, placing the basket on the adjustable table beside his bed. "Hospital fare leaves much to be desired, especially for someone who needs proper nourishment to heal."

  "You don't have to do this for me," Acacia replied quietly, trying to hide the way his stomach growled at the enticing aroma wafting from the basket. "Dr. Amherst said that I'd be discharged in like a few days, anyway."

  "Nonsense." Eleanor's lips curved into a graceful smile as she began unpacking the contents. Steam rose from containers of what appeared to be home-cooked dishes. "A few days is more than enough time for hospital food to drain what little strength you have left. Besides, I insist on proper dining etiquette, even in circumstances such as these." She produced pristine silverware and a cloth napkin from the basket, laying them out with meticulous precision. The setup looked more befitting of a noble's dining room than a hospital bed.

  "I hope you don't mind that I took some creative liberties with the menu. Sirius mentioned he enjoyed the breakfast you made the other day, so I tried to incorporate similar elements." She removed the lid from one container, revealing an expertly prepared cut of meat surrounded by roasted vegetables. "Though I must say, it's rather impressive that someone your age has such refined culinary sensibilities."

  Acacia watched her methodical movements, noting how even the simple act of arranging a meal became an art form in her hands. Everything about Eleanor Trafalgar exuded a sort of effortless grace that made him acutely aware of his own rougher edges.

  "Thank you, but...why are you being so kind to me?" The question slipped out before he could stop it, hanging in the air between them. "I'm just some kid that Pandora picked up. I'm not worth all this trouble."

  Eleanor paused in her preparations, regarding him with an expression that made him feel as though she were seeing straight through to his core. Her chestnut eyes, so much like Leila's in shape yet carrying decades more wisdom, held his gaze steadily.

  "Is that truly how you see yourself?" she asked, her voice carrying a gentleness that seemed to cut through his defenses. "A burden, picked up by chance?" She settled gracefully into the chair beside his bed, smoothing her dress with an unconscious gesture.

  "I mean..." Acacia struggled to maintain eye contact, his fingers idly picking at the edge of his blanket. "Your husband and daughter are already doing so much. And you—you don't even know me, yet here you are, bringing me dinner like I'm..." He trailed off, unable to finish the thought.

  "Like you're family?" Eleanor completed his sentence, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "Tell me, Acacia, do you know why I married Sirius?"

  The question caught him off guard. "Because...he's brilliant?" he ventured hesitantly. "The founder of SST, a genius inventor—"

  A melodic laugh interrupted him. "Oh, heaven's no! When I met him, he was nothing more than a scruffy research assistant with more dreams than sense." Her eyes sparkled with fond remembrance. "My family—the House of Altair—were furious. As part of the Eight Sovereign Houses, they had grand plans for their eldest daughter, you see. Marriage proposals from counts, viscounts, and even a duke or two from the Wallachian Empire. And instead, I chose a middle-class commoner who spent more time talking to his machines than to other people."

  She leaned forward slightly, her voice taking on a conspiratorial tone. "Would you like to know why I really chose him?"

  Acacia couldn't help but lean in slightly, drawn by the warmth in her voice. Despite his best efforts to maintain emotional distance, there was something about this woman that made walls feel pointless.

  "I chose him," she continued, "because he was the first person who saw me as more than my Birthright." Her hand unconsciously touched the side of her face, where her eyes flickered coquelicot for the briefest moment. "The Altairs are renowned for Empyrean—the ability to perceive surrounding prana and convert it into tangible information that they can process. My father used to parade me around like a prized stallion, boasting about how his daughter possessed the strongest manifestation of our bloodline's gift in generations." She sighed, and for a moment, Acacia glimpsed old wounds beneath her composed exterior. "But Sirius? He couldn't have cared less about my Birthright. The first time we met, he spent three hours talking about computational theory and asking my opinion on circuit design. Not once did he mention my eyes or my family name." A soft smile graced her features. "He saw me as Eleanor, not as an Altair. That's worth more than all the titles in the world."

  She touched her heart, her smile growing wider. "He gave me freedom—the freedom to be myself. And that, I assure you, is worth more than all the money and prestige in the Empire."

  Her gaze returned to Acacia, sharp and knowing.

  "So when my husband tells me about a boy who cooks breakfast without being asked, who throws himself into danger to protect others, who bears pain with quiet dignity—I see someone worth knowing for who they are, not what they lack."

  The words struck him like bricks. He opened his mouth to protest, to deflect, to do anything to escape the weight of her kindness, but she raised a single elegant hand to stop him.

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

  "Now then, your food is getting cold. Would you prefer to start with the roasted duck or the garlic potatoes?"

  "The potatoes...if you don't mind," Acacia replied softly, still reeling from her words. Eleanor nodded and began serving him with the same grace she'd shown in everything else. The aroma was intoxicating—clearly, culinary talent ran in the family.

  "I must admit, I've been curious about something," Eleanor said as she arranged the food. "Leila mentioned that you made quite an impression on her the other day. It's not often my daughter speaks of others with such...intensity."

  Acacia nearly choked on his first bite of potato. "Intensity?"

  God please no, choose your words better woman…

  "Oh yes! She spent nearly an hour explaining why you were, and I quote, 'the most inconsiderate trash-brained bastard' she'd ever met." Eleanor's eyes sparkled amusedly with a giggle to sport. "The last time she was this worked up about someone was when she met Elias."

  "That's...not exactly a flattering comparison," Acacia muttered, though he couldn't quite hide his curiosity. "Are they close? Leila and Elias, I mean." From what he could gather, they seemed to know each other fairly well given their interactions. Elias also seemed to be rather knowledgeable on Sirius, so Leila probably mentioned her father quite a bit to him over the years.

  Regardless, Eleanor's smile took on a knowing edge. "They've known each other for years as they both attended the same secondary school—Windsor Prepatory. They've also both been accepted to Vanguard University, so they'll be attending this fall. Elias was actually the first person outside our family to recognize Leila's talent with Mystic Gears. Most people assumed she was riding on her father's coattails, but Elias..." she paused, considering her words carefully. "He has a gift for seeing the best in others."

  She watched as Acacia took another bite of food, her expression growing more contemplative. "Though I suspect you understand that better than most. After all, you trusted him enough to call for help when those assassins attacked."

  The fork stopped halfway to his mouth. "How did you—"

  "A mother always knows, Acacia. Especially one with Empyrean." Her eyes flickered that brilliant color again, but this time they stayed that way, studying him with an intensity that made him want to shrink into the hospital bed. "Just as I know there's more weighing on your mind than you're letting on."

  Acacia's grip tightened on his fork. Something about Eleanor's steady gaze made him feel like a book left open, every page exposed to her discerning eyes. Yet strangely, he didn't sense any judgment in her scrutiny—only a patient sort of understanding.

  "I don't know what you mean," he attempted weakly, knowing the denial was pointless even as the words left his mouth.

  "You carry yourself like someone much older than fifteen, as if you were a soldier," Eleanor observed softly. "The way you analyze situations, how you instinctively look for exits in every room, how you position yourself to keep everyone in view—these aren't habits a child develops naturally." Her eyes remained that brilliant coquelicot, seeing far more than mere physical presence. "They're survival instincts, carved into muscle memory."

  The meal suddenly felt heavy in his stomach like anvils.

  "Mrs. Trafalgar, I—"

  Gently, she reached out and gently placed her hand over his trembling one, her touch light as a feather. "I won't pry into your past, Acacia. Whatever shadows you're running from, they're yours to share or keep. But know this: sometimes the heaviest burdens become the lightest when we allow others to help carry them."

  His throat tightened. The simple kindness in her gesture threatened to unravel something deep inside him—something he'd kept bound and buried since that night. Since the flames devoured everything he'd ever known.

  "I don't deserve this," he whispered, voice cracking. "Any of this. Your family's kindness, Pandora's protection, Elias and Leila's friendship—I'm just going to end up getting everyone hurt. I always do."

  Just like his mother.

  Just like his father.

  Just like his aunts, uncles, cousins, friends.

  Just like everyone he cared about.

  Eleanor was silent for a long moment, her hand remaining steady over his.

  "You remind me so much of her, you know." A distant look crossed her features. "Pandora, when she first joined the Legion. So determined to shoulder every burden alone, convinced that letting anyone close would only end in tragedy." Her coquelicot eyes softened. "She was about your age when she joined. She was born a refugee from Thalassia—a colony acquired from the Hausas—with nothing but ghosts and guilt for company, and a departed adoptive father."

  She withdrew her hand slowly, but her gaze never wavered from his face.

  "Would you say Pandora doesn't deserve happiness because of her past? That she should have remained alone, never allowing herself to form bonds with others?"

  "That's different," Acacia protested weakly. "She's strong. She can protect the people she cares about. I'm just..." He gestured vaguely at himself, at all his bandaged inadequacies.

  "An Irregular?" Eleanor finished, her tone gentle but firm.

  The Empyrean could see one's prana flow. She knew ever since she met him that he lacked the prana to be a Thaumaturge.

  "Do you truly believe that's all you are? That your worth as a person is measured solely by your ability to perform Thaumaturgy?"

  He opened his mouth to respond, yet no words came.

  "My daughter may call you inconsiderate, but I see how deeply you consider others. Perhaps too deeply." Her eyes flickered back to their natural chestnut. "The true measure of strength isn't in how well we can protect others. It's in how well we love them, despite the risks. That kind of strength—it has nothing to do with prana or Thaumaturgy."

  She touched her heart once more.

  "It comes from here."

  A knock at the door interrupted them. Dr. Amherst's voice carried through: "Madam Trafalgar? Visiting hours are officially over."

  "Just a moment," Eleanor called back. She turned to Acacia one final time, her expression carrying a mother's infinite patience. "Think about what I said. And please, finish your dinner—I didn't spend three hours cooking just to have it go to waste." She rose gracefully from her chair, smoothing her dress before reaching for the empty basket.

  "Before you go—" Acacia's voice caught her at the doorway. She turned, watching him struggle with words that seemed to cost him dearly.

  "Thank you. Not just for the food, but for..." He gestured vaguely at the space between them, at the conversation that had carved something loose inside his chest.

  Eleanor's smile was radiant.

  "You're welcome, dear. Though I should warn you—" her eyes sparkled with mischief, "—this won't be the last time I visit. Someone needs to ensure you're properly fed."

  "I don't want to be a bother—"

  "Acacia." Her tone carried just enough steel to silence his protest. "A mother's prerogative is to fuss over those who need it, whether they think they deserve it or not. I suggest you get used to it."

  With that, she slipped out the door, leaving behind only the lingering scent of lavender, home-cooked food, and the warmth of unconditional acceptance. Acacia stared at the space where she had been, something tight and painful in his chest slowly beginning to unwind.

  He didn't notice the tear that rolled down his cheek, dropping silently onto the pristine hospital sheets.

  The food was indeed getting cold, but he found he didn't mind. Each bite tasted of something he'd thought forever lost in Litore's ashes—something he'd convinced himself he'd never deserve to have again.

  It tasted like home.

  Outside his window, Windsor's evening lights began to twinkle like earthbound stars, and for the first time since that night of fire and loss, Acacia allowed himself to wonder if perhaps there was still room in this world for a heart he'd thought long dead to begin beating again.