After finishing cooking, Aurelian set down two chipped ceramic ptes on the old oak table. The smell of the food—a hot soup with vegetables, a few pieces of dried meat, and a hint of aromatic herbs—filled the kitchen. A piece of stale bread, warmed on the edge of the hearth, accompanied the meal.

  "It won’t be a feast," Aurelian said, pouring water into two pewter cups, "but I swear it’s made with heart."

  They ughed together. The fire crackled in the firepce, and the sky outside had turned to ink. The house, despite its age, felt more alive. The walls, bckened by time, absorbed the warm sounds of their voices, and even the shadows seemed softer. A small, new light had kindled in the House of White Sails. The first in a long time.

  When they had finished eating and cleared the table with a slow, almost affectionate rhythm, they went upstairs. There, in the dim light of the master bedroom, Aurelian approached the bed, then turned to her.

  "Wait for me a moment," he said calmly. He began to undress, carefully removing his outer tunic, then his shirt. Sculpted muscles stood out beneath his skin, marked by small scars—testimonies of hardship and battles.

  Lianzu watched him in silence, standing at the threshold, her eyes like slits of dark velvet. "You’re… remarkable," she said. "But I suppose you know that."

  He chuckled softly, pulling on a simple night tunic of coarse linen. "I keep in shape. It’s not just vanity. It’s survival." Then he moved toward the rge carved wardrobe—ancient, yet still solid as stone. The doors opened with a groan of wood, revealing an interior full of precious fabrics. It wasn’t just a wardrobe—it was almost a shrine.

  There were garments of raw silk and finely woven linen, decorated with small floral embroideries and pale gold trims; reception dresses with stiff bodices, long flowing sleeves, and wide skirts that seemed made to rustle through the air, in ruby, sapphire, emerald velvet. Cloaks lined with light fur, perfect for the sea breezes of Sirentia; transparent veils with delicate mother-of-pearl inys hand-stitched into them; and nightgowns in muslin or batiste, so light they looked like they were made of mist. Every piece still smelled of vender and old memories.

  Aurelian turned to her, his voice low but steady: "They were my mother’s. My father bought them for her whenever he could—even when he couldn’t afford to. She was often sick… and he didn’t know how else to help her, except like this: reminding her that she was beautiful, that she was loved. When she died, it was as if his breath had left too. And soon after… he followed her."

  The words hung in the air. Lianzu listened in silence, then gently touched the edge of a muslin nightgown. "You really want me to wear them?"

  "I want them to live again. To find new grace with you."

  Lianzu nodded, touched. She chose a pearl-colored gown, simple yet refined, with subtle silver stitching. She went into the bathroom adjacent to the room, and soon reemerged—her figure elegant in the warm light of the nterns.

  "How do I look?" she asked, lifting her arms slightly.

  Aurelian looked at her. "As if it were made for you."

  Then, approaching slowly, Aurelian extended his hand to her. A simple gesture, but full of intention. Lianzu took it with grace, her slender fingers intertwined with his, without hesitation. But before she could say a word, he lifted her in one smooth motion—decisive yet gentle—as if her body were made of air, not flesh.

  Lianzu's eyes widened in surprise, and a small ugh escaped her lips. "That… I didn’t expect."

  Aurelian looked at her, holding her close. "Neither did I. But some things aren’t chosen. They just… happen."

  She didn’t answer immediately. Their gazes searched for each other for a long moment, suspended in something rger than words. Then, with that feline grace that seemed hers alone, Lianzu let herself be id down between the sheets. The bed, though simple, seemed to transform under the weight of the moment—not an old resting pce anymore, but a new, sacred refuge.

  Aurelian y down beside her, without invading her space, but present, watchful, like a wolf guarding his pack. She turned slightly toward him, her long dark hair spread across the pillow like bck silk.

  A faint smile curved her lips—the same enigmatic smile that always held one more thought. "You have your own way… of surprising me, Var Ceshen."

  "I hope it’s a good way," he replied, looking at her as if, in that moment, the whole world was reduced to the line of her eyes.

  "It is."

  The covers rustled softly around them as the silence of the room settled, thick and muffled. Candlelight flickered dimly on the walls, casting long shadows, and outside, the distant sea whispered its breath against the shore.

  Aurelian had his hands csped behind his head, gray eyes staring at the ceiling—but only for a few seconds. Then he turned, finding Lianzu just inches from him, lying on her side, her face framed by her loose hair.

  "Are you comfortable?" he asked, his voice low, almost a whisper.

  "Yes," she answered with a hint of a smile. "The bed may not be perfect… but it’s warm. And I’m not alone."

  Aurelian smiled too. "You’re right. It’s different when there’s someone."

  They looked at each other in silence for a moment, as if words were no longer necessary. Then, slowly, he reached out and brushed a lock of hair from her face. His fingers lingered on her cheek, light, almost shy.

  Lianzu didn’t pull away. On the contrary, she moved a little closer, until their bodies barely touched beneath the covers. Her fingers rested on his chest, where the fabric parted slightly, and stayed there, still.

  "Your heart is beating fast," she whispered.

  "Your fault," he replied without hesitation.

  Lianzu moved a bit more, resting her head against his chest, right over his heart. Her arms slowly wrapped around him, and Aurelian enfolded her in his, with a deep, rexed sigh.

  "Will you stay like this?" she asked.

  "Forever, if you want."

  They remained silent. His fingers traced small circles on her back, while she drew invisible lines along the skin of his arm. No words, only the calm rhythm of breathing, shared warmth, and the heartbeat of two souls beginning to align.