Carlos had been reviewing the tax reports and financial records of Valmest for hours, the pages spread neatly across the desk before him. Numbers, dates, seals—everything appeared orderly at first glance. Too orderly.

No discrepancies. No missing sums. No obvious fraud.

And that, in itself, was suspicious.

"These aren’t the original ledgers." Ruel voices his thoughts.

Carlos exhaled slowly and lifted his gaze. Across from him stood the head butler, Rigsby, spine stiff with age and habit, and the baronial aide, Marimer—a man in his late forties whose expression had been carefully schooled into neutrality.

"Are these really the original ledgers?" Carlos asked the two.

The two men exchanged a brief glance—quick enough to be polite, slow enough to be noticed. Neither answered.

He wasn’t going to get anything from them, if his own reputation wasn’t enough then these people also were secretive about their problems.

"There’s no way these people are giving us anything we need that easily, we will have to dig, son."

"Dig what?"

"Dig for the truth."

"Let me try again," Carlos thought before he looked up at the duo.

"If you can’t tell me the truth, how could I provide you any help?" Carlos asked, exasperated and the duo bowed.

"We apologise for the trouble, Your Highness."

A flicker of irritation flared hot in Carlos’s chest. For a brief, dangerous moment, he imagined sweeping the papers aside, forcing the truth out through sheer authority.

He didn’t.

He closed the ledger with deliberate care and rose to his feet. The scrape of the chair against stone made both men flinch.

"W–Would you like to return to your chambers and rest, Your Highness?" Rigsby ventured.

Carlos’s gaze snapped to him—sharp enough to silence the rest of the sentence.

"No," he said flatly. "I’m going for a walk."

"I–I’ll have the knights accompany-"

"No need." Carlos was already moving past the desk. "I have my personal knight."

He left the room without another glance, boots echoing against the stone corridor as he walked, hands sliding into the pockets of his trousers.

"Getting any viable information from them is as good as pulling teeth." Carlos mumbled.

"I have another way."

Ruel’s voice cut in, low and deliberate.

Carlos slowed, then stopped entirely as his gaze drifted downward through the tall window overlooking the inner garden. Below, framed by dying shrubs and cracked stone paths, stood a lone figure beneath a gnarled, half-dead tree.

As Ruel outlined his plan, Carlos barely listened. His attention remained fixed on the girl standing there—still, almost spectral.

Nyx.

"Why would they name her Nyx?" Carlos muttered aloud. "Is it because she’s an illegitimate daughter?"

"Did you hear a single word I said, boy?" Ruel snapped.

Carlos blinked. "Yes."

"And you understand what you’ll have to do?"

His lips pressed together briefly before he nodded. "Yes."

"Good. We’ll execute it this evening."

Carlos exhaled slowly. "And until then?"

Ruel hummed. "You’re free to look around."

Carlos stepped away from the window and left the corridor, his pace measured as he descended the stone stairs. The mansion felt heavier the farther he moved from the upper floors, the air cool and faintly damp.

The garden lay quiet.

He scanned the space until he spotted the twisted, leafless tree where she had been standing earlier. But Nyx was gone.

Carlos frowned. "Did she leave?"

"Keep walking straight," Ruel instructed, "then turn right."

Carlos hesitated for only a moment before obeying.

When he rounded the corner, he saw her.

Nyx stood beneath another tree—not dead like the first, but thin and struggling, its sparse leaves trembling weakly in the breeze. She wore a simple purple gown, unadorned, the fabric moving gently around her ankles. Her long ash-brown hair hung loose down her back, catching the light like drifting clouds.

She was looking up into the branches.

Carlos lingered, uncertain, until she turned as if sensing him.

Their eyes met.

For a fleeting instant, his heart stuttered—her cool gray-blue gaze colliding with the red of his own.

"Why are you standing there like a statue?" Ruel muttered irritably. "Go speak to her."

Carlos cleared his throat and stepped closer. Only then did he notice her hands, cupped carefully against her chest.

"What’s that?" he asked before he could stop himself, surprise softening his voice.

Nyx looked down and slowly peeled back the white handkerchief wrapped around whatever she was holding.

A tiny bundle of brown feathers lay nestled in her palms.

A baby bird.

It trembled faintly, beak opening and closing as it let out a weak, breathy chirp—a thin peep, barely audible, followed by a fragile, rasping trrr as it struggled to cry again. Its wings twitched uselessly, downy feathers ruffled. There was a stain of red over its feathers and also over the white fabric.

"It fell from the nest," Nyx said quietly.

The bird let out another faint sound, a soft, pleading chir, its head wobbling slightly as it nestled deeper into the warmth of her hands.

Carlos stared.

Something about the sight—the way she held it, careful and steady, as if afraid her breath alone might harm it—tightened in his chest.

For the first time since arriving in Valmest, Carlos forgot entirely what he had come here to do.

"I–I’ll put it back up," Carlos said, already reaching out.

Before his fingers could get close, Nyx stepped back.

The motion was small, instinctive—but it stopped him cold.

Carlos’s hand hovered in the air for a second before he slowly drew it back. The rejection stung in a way he hadn’t expected, sharp and oddly personal, settling somewhere tight beneath his ribs.

"What’s wrong?" He asked. 𝐟𝚛𝕖𝚎𝕨𝗲𝐛𝚗𝐨𝐯𝐞𝕝.𝐜𝗼𝗺

Nyx pursed her lips, her gaze dropping briefly to the bird before lifting to meet his eyes.

"You must not touch it with your bare hands. The birds are sensitive and they hate the smell of humans on their babies." She said.

Her eyes held his—and once again, that hollow sensation returned, as though he were staring into something vast and depthless rather than a person.

"If they smell the scent of a human on it, they will reject this baby and throw it away to die."

The words landed with grim certainty.

The baby bird let out a thin, broken peep, its tiny beak trembling as it shifted weakly in her palms.

Carlos clenched his jaw.

"She’s right." Ruel said flatly.

Carlos lowered his hand completely.

"Then what do we do?" He asked, not taking his eyes off the small, shivering creature.

"There’s no hope for it." Ruel said, "the bird already has her scent over it and it’s injured after falling from its nest. The best way is to put it out of its misery."

Carlos froze, he couldn’t bring himself to say this to the girl before him who was looking down at the baby bird. If he were his usual self he would have spoken it clearly to her but for some reason, he felt a lump in his throat.

Still, he hardened his resolve, swallowed the lump in his throat and opened his mouth.

"Miss Nyx-"

"It cannot return in this state," she mumbled making the words die down in his throat.

"Pardon?"

"It’s injured," she said, voice low and even, stripped of softness and mercy alike. "Even if we return it to the nest, it will only suffer longer before it dies."

Carlos stared at her, slow dread creeping up his spine.

"Miss Nyx, are you saying..."

He never finished.

Nyx’s pale, slender fingers closed around the fragile neck of the baby bird with calm precision.

A soft snap.

The faint chirping stopped.

Carlos froze.

For a heartbeat, the garden felt unreal—too quiet, too still. He had been struggling to find the words, to prepare her, to ease her into the truth. And she had gone ahead and ended it herself, without hesitation, without spectacle.

He didn’t understand her.

Nyx wrapped the tiny body carefully in her handkerchief, movements gentle now, almost reverent. She walked toward a patch of low shrubbery where a few wildflowers struggled against the dry soil. Carlos followed without thinking, watching as she crouched and dug into the earth with bare hands.

She placed the small bundle inside the shallow grave, covered it carefully, then reached out and plucked a single flower. She laid it on the disturbed soil.

Only then did she stand.

Carlos remained silent.

When Nyx turned to face him, the breath caught painfully in his chest.

There were no tears in her eyes.

Only that vast, hollow depth—dark and unfathomable, like a place that had looked beyond death too many times and learned not to flinch.

"I’m sorry," she said quietly, lowering her head. "You shouldn’t have had to see that."

Carlos still couldn’t speak.

"I’ll take my leave now," she continued, voice polite, composed. "If you need anything, please let me know. Have a good evening, Your Highness."

He watched her walk away, her figure disappearing among the paths of the garden.

Carlos’s gaze drifted back to the small mound of earth.

He wondered- disturbingly, helplessly- how many times Nyx had stood exactly like this before.

And how often she had been the one left to choose mercy when no one else would.

"Don’t get swept away," Ruel spoke, "some humans just see enough deaths and disappointments that they find themselves standing in the world of abyss."

Carlos gulped dryly and Ruel stayed silent as if letting Carlos wake up from what he had just felt.

Ruel then added, "You need to go and get ready. We are to go out in town to find information."

Carlos nodded wordlessly as the wave of emotions slowly subsided and he turned and walked away.