Theobald stepped out slightly into the hall, his stride steady but his expression tense, as if the entire palace weighed on his shoulders. He didn't look at his daughter at first; instead, he raised his voice just enough to reach San and Sina, who stood not far away:
"Two days from now… is the day you leave."
Sina stopped in place. She turned slowly, a calm, carefully polished smile forming on her lips—one that revealed nothing of what lay behind it. She nodded with a respect devoid of warmth, then followed San without a word, as if the decision wasn't surprising… but expected.
As for Rina, she remained frozen. Her gaze lingered on their backs, confusion clear in her eyes. She didn't understand what her father meant, nor why it sounded so final.
She took a step forward, her voice less steady than she wanted: "Father… what's happening?"
Theobald finally looked at her—a man who knew the weight of decisions, and that some explanations don't belong in hallways. "I'll explain."
He turned toward one of the side rooms, where Osana sat, as calm as she always was in difficult times. Rina followed silently, as if afraid understanding might reach her first.
Before he could begin, the atmosphere was interrupted by the assistant's voice at the door: "My lord Duke… a letter has arrived from one of the nobles."
He stepped forward, carrying a sealed envelope. Theobald took it with the calm everyone was used to—but the moment his eyes fell on the sender's name, he froze for a fraction of a second.
Lady Varlin.
The wife of a lord… and the aunt of San and Sina.
He inhaled deeply, as if preparing for a burden he already knew the weight of, then opened the letter and began reading in a low voice:
---
"To His Grace, Duke Theobald Vershi,
I have learned that my nephew and niece, San and Sina, have been under your care since the passing of their mother, Elena.
First and foremost, I wish to express my gratitude for your care of them during a time that could not have been easy for anyone.
I am aware that Elena's actions were not always fitting of our family name, nor did she conduct herself toward the House of Vershi as was proper. Though she never spoke of her reasons, I am certain that what led to her imprisonment was not a random decision, but the result of circumstances I trust you judged wisely.
After much thought, I find it my duty to make this request openly.
I have no children, and my estate—despite its size—lacks life and voices. By virtue of kinship, I believe myself most suited to care for my nephew and niece, and to provide them with a stable environment, away from the complexities of politics and ducal affairs.
Therefore, I ask that you send San and Sina to me at the earliest time you deem appropriate. I pledge to raise and care for them for the rest of their lives, in a manner befitting our family name and standing.
With sincere respect,
Lady Varlin"
---
Theobald finished reading, and a heavy silence settled.
To him, the decision felt… relieving. Their presence with their aunt would be more stable for them, and less of a burden on the duchy, which could no longer endure further complications. He summoned San and Sina, explained the contents of the letter without concealment, and told them that the doors of Vershi would remain open should they ever wish to return.
They did not hesitate. They agreed calmly, without surprise.
So Theobald sent his reply of acceptance—a short, formal letter, devoid of emotion.
…
Osana said, sipping her tea, her tone closer to a remark than a question: "Ah… so that's how it is. Honestly, a convenient choice."
Rina sat nearby, listening without interrupting. To her… it felt like both a gain and a loss.
Sina's departure meant the fading of schemes, the easing of the pressure that had suffocated her thoughts. But at the same time… like this, there would be no clear reason for punishment, no justification for future revenge.
She sat thinking, her thoughts colliding like scattered papers that refused to settle.
Amid the overlapping conversation, Theobald suddenly said: "I'm very busy these days. There's a major task underway… and with the anniversary of Vershi approaching, the pressure has increased."
Yes. The seventy-ninth anniversary of Vershi's founding was near—since the first duke had been granted his title after being one of the pillars of war.
Osana said firmly, yet gently: "Theo, you're putting too much pressure on yourself. Don't think about the anniversary at all. I'll take care of it… and perhaps—"
She paused, then looked at Rina with a measured smile: "Perhaps Rina will help me as well."
Rina's eyes widened, her smile pure, different from before: "Really?"
Theobald smiled: "Yes. It's important you learn how events are organized… not just attend them."
Osana stepped closer and patted Rina's hand: "Exactly. I'll teach you… and we'll take your opinion into account too."
In that moment, Rina felt something new. Not conflict. Not schemes.
But responsibility. A quiet beginning… perhaps heavier than it seemed, but exactly what she needed.
—
Amid the preparations for the celebration, the hall was not merely a place being arranged for guests, but a living hive of movement and muted noise.
Steps crossing, orders whispered then carried out, many hands taking turns carrying a legacy heavier than wood and silk.
Osana and Rina supervised the details with precision that left no room for chaos, watching every piece moved, every corner reshaped.
Servants and guards crossed the hall carrying massive furniture from the old Vershi palace—that palace where branches of the family lived, Theobald's relatives, and where memories rested in its corridors, only recalled when return became inevitable.
Ancient sofas with faded fabric, bearing the marks of years of silent sitting.
Wide wooden cabinets, heavy, moving slowly through the halls, their faint creaking as if time itself objected to being uprooted, as if the walls refused to be emptied of their history.
Suddenly… Osana stopped.
It wasn't a sound that caught her attention, but a small sight amid the chaos.
Travel bags.
Tightly closed, neatly arranged, unlike the other items. These weren't being moved. These… were leaving.
Her expression tightened slightly, and the realization crept into her mind with a cold weight.
It was departure day.
The day San and Sina would leave.
Before that thought fully settled, the siblings began descending the stairs.
Their steps were balanced—neither rushed nor hesitant—as if they were leaving a place they no longer considered home.
San stepped forward first, silent as always, his features firmly closed, his eyes steady—seeking no farewell, acknowledging no loss.
Sina… was different.
Her smile was present, arranged—that same smile that revealed nothing, yet hid everything.
She stepped forward with calculated grace and spoke in a soft, carefully polished tone that sounded sincere:
"Thank you for taking care of us, Lady Osana… we are grateful, truly happy."
But Osana, with her long experience, did not miss the emptiness behind the words.
That cold echo that carried performance more than gratitude.
Even so, she showed nothing.
She smiled with the same aristocratic calm that never left her and replied:
"Come whenever you wish. And of course, we'll be happy knowing you're comfortable there."
San and Sina bowed at the same time.
A perfect bow. Flawless… and without warmth.
At that moment, Rina's eyes met Sina's.
It wasn't a long exchange, but it was enough to leave a mark.
Sina's gaze held no hostility, no hatred.
But something more dangerous…
The calm of someone who doesn't feel they've lost.
Someone certain the game isn't over yet.
As Sina passed by Rina, she moved slightly closer, as if by accident, then leaned in and whispered in a voice only the two of them could hear:
"Karina… don't forget Robinson's promise, my dear."
Rina froze in place.
Sina passed smoothly afterward, as if nothing had been said.
The guards returned to carrying furniture.
Orders continued.
The hall kept transforming in preparation for the celebration.
But that whisper…
Didn't leave.
It lingered in Rina's mind—heavy, pulsing,
like a quiet warning that doesn't scream…
but refuses to fade.