Sirentia.

  An ancient city of hills and marble, resting like a queen on the shores of the Golden Sea. The sun dipped behind domes and terracotta rooftops, painting the calm waters and cobbled streets in shades of copper. The wind that came from the sea carried with it the scent of salt and wild lemons—and a promise: something was about to change.

  Aurelian passed through the city's outer gates at Argaroth’s slow trot. The cart wheels creaked softly over the smooth stones, and Lianzu’s cloak fluttered faintly as she sat beside him, eyes wide open to the new world unfolding before her.

  The first to notice was a barefoot boy, with messy bck hair and an apple in his hand. He ran off, shouting: “He’s back! Aurelian is back!”

  And like a living echo, the news spread through the alleys, across the squares, along the fountains: “The Var Ceshen has returned!”

  People leaned out of windows, stepped down from stoops, emerged from shops. Vendors left their baskets of fish and cloth behind. Men and women of the city gathered by the roadside, appuding and smiling, with that genuineness only those who have little but hope deeply can possess.

  “Welcome back, Aurelian!”

  “Long live House Var Ceshen!”

  “Is that the woman from the Harem Game? She’s stunning!”

  “May God bless you both!”

  Lianzu was surprised, but she didn’t shrink back. She inclined her head slightly, offering delicate bows to those who greeted her. Her eyes, sharp and observant, caught the sincerity in the wrinkled faces of the women, the curiosity in the children, the affection of the elders.

  Aurelian smiled. Not with arrogance, but with respect. He returned nods, his heart tightening in his chest. These were his people. And they had never stopped hoping for him.

  “They adore you,” Lianzu whispered, leaning toward him.

  “They don’t adore me,” Aurelian replied softly. “They adore what I represent. The chance that something might finally begin to bloom again.”

  They continued like that, amidst impromptu songs, petals thrown from windows, hands reaching out to brush the edge of his cloak. And finally, beyond the broadest curve of Salt Way, the manor of the Var Ceshen appeared.

  Ancient. Immense. Silent.

  The House of White Sails, so named because once, from its high terraces, the house’s banners had flown in the wind like ship sails. It was built of pale stone, with carved columns and an ivory gate now cracked with age. Wild vines had crept up its walls, and the main courtyard was overgrown with tall grass.

  “It’s…” murmured Lianzu, stepping down from the cart. “…more beautiful than I imagined.”

  Aurelian looked at her, holding Argaroth’s reins in his hands.

  “It’s what remains. But it’s enough.”

  Together they climbed the worn steps and crossed beneath the great archway. Inside, light filtered through tall windows, casting dusty patterns on the walls. The rooms were vast, the marble floors marked by time, the ancient chandeliers still hanging like jewels from a vanished age.

  Argaroth stepped solemnly into the main hall and curled up near the cold hearth.

  “Are you going to restore it?” Lianzu asked, running her fingers over the carved banister.

  “One day. When the time is right. For now… I want it to live again. To breathe.”

  Lianzu nodded slowly. Then she looked at him.

  “And you? Do you breathe, Aurelian?”

  He gazed at her for a moment, then stepped closer, his forehead nearly touching hers.

  “Since you’ve been here… I think I do.”

  The te afternoon light filtered through the dusty stained gss as Aurelian led Lianzu through the rooms of his ancient home. Each step echoed in the silence, broken only by the creak of wood and the soft sound of their footsteps on cracked marble.

  “This was the music room,” Aurelian said, opening a door into an empty chamber, where an old cvichord y beneath a worn sheet. “And here… the garden. Or what’s left of it.”

  Lianzu observed everything with quiet reverence. There was no sadness in her eyes, only attentiveness. As though she were trying to memorize every corner, every fragment of its history.

  At st, they reached the master bedroom. The curtains, once deep blue velvet, had faded. The grand canopied bed was bare, and dust coated the furniture like a thin veil. Aurelian paused on the threshold, hesitant.

  “I know it’s not… worthy. Of you. Of us.”

  Lianzu walked past him and approached the bed. She touched one of the carved posts with her fingers, then turned toward him with a faint smile.

  “The first thing we’ll restore, with the money from my dowry, will be this room.”

  Aurelian stirred slightly, then lowered his gaze, grateful.

  “For that, we’ll have to wait for your parents to arrive.”

  As evening fell, the house grew colder—but also more alive. Aurelian lit a few oil nterns, and their flickering light danced on the walls. He took Lianzu to the kitchen, a rge old room with an open hearth and a heavy oak table in the center. He opened a creaky cupboard and pulled out some eggs, stale bread, onions, and a wedge of semi-hard cheese.

  “It’s not much, but I can still improvise something. Tomorrow I’ll go to the market for proper supplies,” he said, tying on an old apron and slicing the onions with a sharp knife.

  Lianzu sat at the table, watching him with interest.

  “And how do you make a living, Aurelian Var Ceshen? Besides winning Harem Games?”

  He smiled, not stopping his chopping.

  “I’m a handyman. I fix roofs, mend locks, repair cart wheels. Once, I would have had servants for all this. Now… I’m the servant. But at least I choose who I work for.”

  Lianzu looked at him for a long moment, saying nothing. The crackling fire filled the silence. “It must have been hard,” she said finally. “Growing up with no one, learning everything by yourself. Keeping on walking while everyone else turned away.”

  Aurelian set the knife down on the cutting board and looked up at her. “Yes. But… when you have no choice, you stop asking whether it’s hard. You just do it.”

  She nodded softly. “I admire you, Aurelian. More than you know.”

  A quiet smile formed on his lips as he poured the mixture into the pan and began to stir. The scent of food started to fill the air—warm and comforting. “Will you still say that after tasting this… stuff?” he asked, with a pyful gnce.

  “Depends. Let’s see if you’re as good as you are humble.”

  They ughed together. And as the fire crackled and the sky outside deepened to ink, a new light came alive in the House of White Sails. The first, in a very long time.