35 - New Friend

Luna stirred slowly awake, her small body curled on the edge of the couch where she had drifted off earlier.

The leather creaked softly under her weight as she stretched her arms high, spine arching until she felt the familiar pop of tension leaving her back. A yawn escaped her lips, unrestrained and utterly unrefined, before she let her arms fall back into her lap.

The dim haze of sleep clung stubbornly to her, fogging the edges of memory. Images and words fluttered at the edge of her mind like torn pages caught in a breeze.

A man’s voice—steady, resonant, patient. Baron Eldwin, telling her stories, stories of a mother she had not yet met but whose blood now defined her.

Stories of the Duchess Valerie Terra, her so-called mother, and of William Terra, her “grandfather,” Duke-emeritus and the strongest Level Eight mage alive.

The titles lingered in her mind, glittering like distant constellations, impossibly high and far. A sleepy smile spread across her face as the memories returned more fully.

So my “family” really is that amazing, huh? she thought, her lips quirking into a grin despite the dull ache of tiredness still pulling at her eyes.

The word noble still felt foreign on her tongue. She rolled it over in her thoughts, tasting its strangeness. Duchess’s daughter. Granddaughter of a duke-emeritus. Heiress to a lineage she hadn’t even known existed until yesterday.

For a fleeting, ridiculous moment she imagined herself in a grand gown, hair pinned up, standing among glittering chandeliers while courtiers whispered behind their fans. The image was so absurd she nearly snorted aloud.

Because the truth, no matter what her card said, was simple. She was still her. Plain old Luna. Luna Aqua. The girl who, in her real world, had been a broke university student, scraping together coins for bread rolls and instant noodles.

The girl who had fallen asleep more times than she could count at her desk with a textbook as her pillow. A duchess’s daughter on paper, maybe, but not in her bones. Not yet.

Her stomach growled loudly, disrupting her train of thought.

She blinked, finally noticing the faint smell of honey and flour lingering in the air. Turning her head, she caught sight of the table near the couch where she’d slept.

There, neatly arranged, was a simple breakfast, a small stack of golden pancakes, their edges browned just right, a small jug of honey glinting in the light, and a cup of cocoa whose steam had long since vanished.

The food had cooled, but to Luna, it might as well have been a feast. Her chest tightened unexpectedly, the sight striking a chord deep inside her. Pancakes. Bread in another form.

Back in her old world, bread had been her anchor. Cheap, filling, reliable. When money was tight—and money had always been tight—she could count on bread to keep her stomach from gnawing itself hollow.

She remembered mornings of biting into slightly stale rolls, the crust scratching her gums, while she studied notes on the bus.

She remembered nights when exhaustion outweighed hunger, yet she’d still nibble on bread just to feel something warm in her belly before collapsing into bed.

And now here she was, in a manor of all places, staring at pancakes drizzled in honey and paired with cocoa.

She thought of her past self, the girl who’d once worried about rent and test scores, and compared it to her now—rich, maybe, in ways she didn’t even understand yet. It was dizzying.

She didn’t think twice before digging in. Knife and fork in hand, she cut into the stack, the soft interior yielding easily.

The honey clung to her lips as she took her first bite, and her eyes fluttered shut at the taste. Sweet, soft, rich. Decadent compared to the scraps of bread she had once cherished.

“…Heaven,” she muttered under her breath, cheeks puffed slightly as she chewed.

By the time she set her utensils down, the plate was clean. The cocoa, even cold, tasted smooth and comforting. She leaned back into the couch, patting her stomach with a sigh of satisfaction.

With her hunger gone and her mind finally fully awake, Luna turned her attention back to her surroundings.

The office was empty now, eerily so. Papers lay stacked neatly on the baron’s desk, quills set aside, inkpots closed. The faint smell of candle wax lingered, but the room itself was silent.

She frowned slightly. Shouldn’t Baron Eldwin have been here? She had slept far longer than she intended—judging by the angle of sunlight through the curtains, it had to be well past morning, maybe even nearing noon. Wasn’t this his place of work?

Her brows furrowed in thought, but after a moment, she shook her head. Not my problem, she decided. Maybe he had duties elsewhere, maybe not. Either way, it felt wrong to stay here any longer. It wasn’t her room, after all. She’d been a guest long enough.

Pushing herself off the couch, she smoothed down her robe, and stepped toward the door. The weight of her cloak and satchel, still left in her own guestroom, tugged faintly at her memory. She made a note to retrieve it later.

The manor halls greeted her with a burst of life. Voices rose and fell, echoing faintly along the corridors.

Servants bustled past with trays, arms laden with linens, while knights strode with purpose, their boots ringing against the polished floor. The atmosphere was brisk but not chaotic, the practiced rhythm of a household well-run.

And yet, something felt… off.

Eyes followed her.

Everywhere she walked, gazes lifted. Conversations faltered. Movement slowed. For a split second, the hum of the manor seemed to shift around her.

Luna blinked, confusion stirring in her chest. Her steps faltered for half a heartbeat before she forced herself to keep walking. Why are they staring at me?

The answer came quickly.

Servants, one by one, began greeting her.

“Lady Luna.”

“Good morning, Lady Luna.”

Their words carried a strange mix—part formal, part casual. Half-bows accompanied the greetings, stilted and unsure, like dancers learning new steps to a familiar song. They addressed her with respect, but not with the suffocating stiffness she had dreaded.

It clicked.

They were told.

Her mind flashed back to her conversation with Baron Eldwin and Cedric. She had begged them not to drown her in formality, not to cage her in titles. Clearly, Cedric had spread the word.

And yet, she could feel the compromise in every greeting. Not casual, not formal. A blend, awkward and cautious, as if the household couldn’t quite bring itself to treat a duchess’s daughter as anything less.

Heat crawled up her neck. She had never been on the receiving end of this kind of attention before. She didn’t know how to respond, didn’t know what was expected.

So she smiled. Awkward, crooked, and small. She lifted a hand and gave a short wave to each greeting, like a child acknowledging strangers in the market. It was the only thing she could think to do.

The result was a mix of surprised chuckles and relieved smiles, though it didn’t ease the flutter of nerves in her chest. By the time she reached the far end of the hall, her cheeks ached from the forced grin.

That was so awkward, she thought, pressing her lips together as she exhaled.

Shaking the flustered thoughts away, she set her sights on her next destination—Sarah’s room. It was just beside her own guest chamber, tucked away in a quieter wing of the manor. If anyone could steady her right now, it would be Sarah.

She slipped out of the busy hall, her footsteps soft against the polished floor as the noise of servants and knights slowly faded behind her.

Her pace quickened as she neared the familiar door. But before she could reach it, someone stepped lightly into her path.

It was a maid, her posture graceful, but her expression was something else entirely. Mischief glinted in her eyes, and her lips curved into a sly smile that spoke of a spirit unwilling to be tamed.

The maid dipped into an elegant bow, fingers brushing the edge of her skirt as she lifted it lightly.

“Good day, Lady Luna,” she said smoothly.

Luna blinked, taken aback by the effortless poise. Instinct kicked in before thought, and she bent at the waist to mimic the gesture.

But instead of holding a skirt—she had none—her hands grabbed the edges of her robe. She tugged them outwards clumsily as if they were fabric worth presenting.

The maid’s brows shot up. Her lips twitched, barely holding back a laugh.

Heat rose to Luna’s face. …Okay, maybe not my best move.

Still, she straightened, pretending it had been intentional, and continued on.

But the maid’s voice followed her.

“Lady Luna.”

She paused mid-step, tilting her head back, curiosity shining in her eyes.

The maid offered an apologetic smile. “Forgive me for stopping you, but if you were intending to visit Lady Sarah… it might not be wise.”

Luna paused mid-step, blinking at the words. How does she know that’s where I was headed? She hadn’t said a thing, hadn’t even looked at Sarah’s door yet. Suspicion flickered, curiosity piqued.

“Why not?” she asked instead, tilting her head like a cat puzzled by a sudden noise.

“She did not sleep last night,” the maid explained gently. “Her heart was too restless. Too troubled. She is resting now. I fear disturbing her would do her no good.”

Understanding dawned quickly. Luna nodded once, firmly. Of course. Sarah, in the home of the man she loved, weighed down by every fear and memory tied to this place—it would be strange if she hadn’t lost sleep.

The maid’s smile softened at Luna’s quick comprehension.

And Luna noticed it.

That smile. Mischievous still, but warmer now, genuine.

Interesting, Luna thought. This maid wasn’t like the others. Something about her was lively, bright, sharp-edged yet not unkind.

The thought sparked an idea.

“If Sarah is resting…” Luna began slowly, “then perhaps you could accompany me instead.”

The maid tilted her head. “Accompany you, Lady Luna?”

“I’d like to meet with Knight Boy.”

Confusion flickered across the maid’s face. “…Knight Boy?”

Luna grinned. “Darren. That’s my nickname for him. Came up with it once and… well, it stuck.”

The maid’s lips curved into another smile, this one edged with laughter.

Weird but interesting, Luna thought again. Maybe even easy to get along with.

The maid bowed gracefully once more. “Very well. I shall guide you. And allow me to introduce myself properly—I am Riona.”

“Riona,” Luna repeated, nodding with approval. “Alright, lead the way.”

As the two walked together through the manor’s winding corridors, conversation flowed easily. Riona spoke of Sarah—her stubbornness, her fears, her strength. She spoke of their friendship, of the girl Sarah had been before love had tangled her life in knots.

Luna listened with eager curiosity, her eyes bright, her grin growing with every revelation. “She really pushed Darren away that many times?” Luna asked, half in disbelief, half in delight.

“Oh, more than I could count,” Riona replied with a smirk. “Sarah can be as immovable as stone when she wants to be.”

Luna giggled. “That sounds exactly like her. She pretends to be all calm and proper, but inside she’s just… stubbornly terrified.” She swung her arms loosely as they walked. “Honestly, if I hadn’t poked at her, she might still be stuck in that inn.”

Riona’s lips curved into a sly smile, her brow arched. “Oh? So you’re the little push she needed?” Her tone dripped with playful mischief, as though she were daring Luna to argue.

“I’m not little,” Luna huffed, puffing out her cheeks before ruining the protest with a wide grin. “But yes. I told her to stop being a scaredy-cat. She listened—eventually.”

Riona laughed, the sound bouncing lightly through the hall. “I believe it. You seem like the sort of girl Sarah can’t say no to.”

By the time they reached the training grounds, it felt as though they had known each other far longer than the short walk they had shared.

And there, before them, stood Darren—sparring against Baron Eldwin under the watchful eyes of armored knights.

The clang of steel echoed across the training yard.

Luna froze just past the archway, her head tilting like a curious sparrow as the sound reverberated through the stone.

The yard was wide, ringed by tall walls draped with ivy. Sunlight spilled over the open space, catching the gleam of polished blades and the sheen of sweat on armored men.

Dozens of knights trained in unison, their strikes sharp and disciplined, a rhythm of steel and will. The air was thick with effort, heavy with the musky tang of sweat and iron.

And at the center of it all stood Darren.

Or rather, Darren and the Baron.

The young knight faced his father with a blade gripped tightly in both hands. His stance was firm, shoulders square, gaze steady. But every clash of their swords betrayed the difference between them.

Where Darren fought with raw strength and fierce determination, Baron Eldwin moved with effortless precision—measured, practiced, unshakable. Each parry came as naturally as breathing, every counterstrike delivered with just enough force to test his son without breaking him.

Luna’s lips parted slightly. She had never witnessed anything like it, steel meeting steel, a dance of discipline against will.

Father and son faced each other not as noble and heir, but as warriors. The contrast was stark—Eldwin’s movements were clean and restrained, controlled like a river guided by stone, while Darren’s burned with unpolished vigor, a flame still learning how to master its blaze.

Luna tugged gently at Riona’s sleeve, her eyes still locked on the spar. “That’s why he wasn’t in the office,” she whispered.

Riona leaned close, her voice low. “The baron never neglects the yard. It is where he measures the steel of his knights—and of his son.”

Luna nodded slowly, her gaze never leaving Darren. A part of her wanted to rush in, to wave and call him Knight Boy! until he lost his focus and tripped over his own blade.

The idea alone made her grin. But another part of her, smaller and quieter, knew better. This wasn’t her moment to intrude.

Instead, she let her eyes wander the sidelines. Knights stood at attention, some training in pairs, others watching the baron’s spar with quiet reverence. None dared to interrupt. Even here, authority radiated from Eldwin like heat from a forge.

“Let’s watch,” Luna decided, tugging Riona again before finding a spot at the edge of the yard.

Riona gave her a curious look. “You wish to stay?”

“Mm-hmm.” Luna nodded, already plopping herself onto the low stone wall that bordered the training ground. “Besides, I’ve got candy. Watching things is always better with candy.”

From the depths of her robe, she pulled out a small wrapped sweet, peeled it open, and popped it into her mouth. Then, with a grin, she offered one to Riona.

The maid hesitated, eyes flicking between Luna’s earnest expression and the candy held out like treasure. Slowly, she accepted, unwrapping it delicately before placing it on her tongue.

Sweetness bloomed, simple and bright. Riona blinked once, then twice, before laughing softly. “Lady Luna, you are… unlike any noble I have ever known.”

Luna puffed out her cheeks, pretending offense. “Is that an insult or a compliment?”

“A compliment,” Riona answered without hesitation, still smiling. “You are… refreshing.”

That word lingered between them as they both turned back to the sparring match.

Steel rang again, sharp and clean. Darren lunged, sweat dripping from his brow, his breath ragged but his eyes unyielding.

Eldwin shifted effortlessly, deflecting the strike and countering with a swift motion that nearly sent Darren stumbling. The young knight recovered just in time, boots grinding against the dirt.

“Strong,” Luna murmured under her breath. Her small hands curled slightly in her lap.

Luna had never seen Darren fight before. Not until now. And what she witnessed wasn’t some wild clash of steel, but a duel against someone who knew him so completely—someone who stripped away every flourish, every sloppy angle, every weakness and laid them bare.

And Darren… he didn’t falter. Not really. He faltered physically, yes—outmatched, outpaced. But his will? That never wavered. Every strike, no matter how quickly countered, carried with it the same resolve as the first.

Luna leaned forward unconsciously, candy pressed against her cheek as she whispered, “Knight Boy’s amazing.”

Riona chuckled softly. “He is. But it is not only his strength you see—it is his stubbornness. He would fight until his body gives out before he admits defeat.”

Luna grinned. “I like that.”

The spar dragged on. The baron’s strikes were sharp reminders, his parries almost dismissive. Darren, breathing hard now, pushed himself past exhaustion. His movements grew heavier, slower, but his eyes blazed with determination.

Then, finally, Eldwin disarmed him. With a swift twist, Darren’s blade flew from his hands, clattering against the dirt. Eldwin’s sword halted just short of his son’s throat, gleaming in the midday sun.

Silence fell across the yard.

Eldwin lowered his weapon, his expression unreadable. Darren, chest heaving, dropped to one knee. Sweat dripped from his chin onto the ground, but he didn’t break eye contact with his father.

“You are improving,” Eldwin said at last, his voice even. “But improvement is not victory.”

“I… know,” Darren managed, his breath hitching.

“Then rise.”

Darren pushed himself to his feet, unsteady but resolute.

The watching knights exhaled, tension bleeding from the air. The rhythm of training resumed, though quieter, subdued by what they had just witnessed.

Luna exhaled too, though she hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath. She grinned, small hands clapping together softly as if applauding a secret play.

“That was so cool,” she whispered.

Riona’s eyes flicked toward her, amusement shining. “You truly do admire him, don’t you?”

“Of course,” Luna said simply, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Knight Boy’s my friend. And friends should cheer for each other.”

Her words carried a playful lilt, yet in her chest they settled with surprising weight. Cheering for Darren—even if only in silence—meant something.

In a world where titles and bloodlines pressed on every step, to support someone freely, without expectation or burden, felt like a rare kind of freedom.

Baron Eldwin turned then, his gaze sweeping the yard. His eyes landed briefly on Luna and Riona, lingering a fraction longer than polite. Recognition flickered there, and for an instant, the formality drilled into him as a noble threatened to rise.

But then he remembered the girl’s words, her insistence that he treat her as he had before. So instead of bowing or calling titles, he offered her the smallest of nods—respect, quiet and restrained, but unmistakable.

Then, without breaking stride, he turned back to the knights, his voice cracking through the yard like a whip.

“Again!”

The clash of steel rose anew, but Luna stayed seated, swinging her legs gently against the stone wall, candy sweetness lingering on her tongue.

Riona remained beside her, arms folded, but her eyes softened as she glanced at the girl beside her.

Lady Luna Terra. Daughter of a duchess. Granddaughter of the duke-emeritus. And yet here she sat, feet dangling, grinning with sticky lips from candy, cheering for a knight as though he were her equal.

No—not as though. He was her equal. In her eyes, at least.

And maybe, Riona thought, that was exactly what made this strange girl so different. So refreshing.

The two sat quietly for a while, watching, sharing another candy between them as steel clashed again and again.