Chapter 395: A Bit of Nostalgia

"What a past."

Philia let out a quiet, dry chuckle, the sound barely carrying across the empty bedroom.

He leaned back against the dark wood of the window frame, watching the faint afternoon light filter through the glass. Outside, the yard of Havenwood was quiet. Down below, two younger kids were chasing a wooden hoop across the dirt, their laughter muffled by the heavy stone walls. Nora was out back, hanging wet laundry on the line with the same steady, relentless energy she’d brought with her years ago.

When Livya died, things hadn’t magically gotten better. Nora had stepped up, taking over the household budget, the cooking, and the endless mountain of chores, but hard work couldn’t conjure coin out of thin air. They had survived on thin stews, patched boots, and whatever copper Philia and others brought back from their work. They had been living on the brink of total disaster for a long time.

Until Yerel’s carriage had rolled up the dirt drive.

Philia remembered the way Yerel had looked at him that day, not with pity, but with a sharp, possessive curiosity. He had seen something in a quiet guy like him, and when he offered to take him to the palace, to give him a place beside him, he hadn’t hesitated. He packed up his few belongings, said a quiet goodbye to Nora and the kids, and stepped into his carriage without looking back.

And the rest, as they say, was history.

Philia turned his gaze back to the small room. Every time he ended up back in this corner of the orphanage, every time he crossed the threshold of Havenwood, he couldn’t stop those old years from looping through his mind. It was a habit he couldn’t break.

He walked over to the narrow twin bed in the corner, resting a palm on the plain linen sheets. Nothing had changed. The desk was still scratched near the corner where his knife had slipped when he was eleven. The floorboards near the closet still creaked under the exact same spot.

Of course nothing had changed. Nora kept it clean, but she never let any of the newer orphans sleep in here. To everyone in this house, this was still Philia’s room. A little shrine to the boy who had gone to the palace and never truly come back.

A double knock sounded against the doorframe.

Philia didn’t flinch. "Come in."

The door swung inward with a familiar groan. Valen stood on the threshold, his tall frame blocking out the hallway light. He was holding a small leather-bound box wrapped in oiled cloth.

"Almost forgot this," Valen said, his voice quiet as he stepped into the room. He held out the box. "It was tucked in the bottom of the carriage trunk. Your last belonging."

Philia reached out and took it, letting its weight settle in his hands for a moment before setting it down on the small wooden desk.

"Thanks," Philia said softly.

Valen didn’t leave right away. He lingered by the door, his eyes scanning the small, plain room, taking in the narrow bed, the scratched desk, and the way Philia stood completely still beside it.

"You’re all quiet, Lord Philia," Valen noted, his voice lowering a fraction. "More than usual, anyway. Something wrong?"

Philia offered a small, faint tilt of his head, looking out toward the window once more. "Nothing’s wrong. Just... reminiscing about the past, I suppose. Every time I set foot in this room, it feels like I’m eight years old again, standing by the glass and waiting for answers that were never going to come."

Valen’s expression darkened slightly, a flicker of heavy guilt passing over his features. He stepped further into the small space.

"I’m sorry, Lord Philia," Valen said quietly, his tone weighted with a sincere, long-standing regret. "My father and I... we should have found you sooner. If we had reached you immediately after the fire, if we had tracked you down before you spent all those years in this place..."

"Don’t," Philia cut him off smoothly, turning to face Valen with a calm expression. "There’s no point in apologizing for that, Valen. The world was a mess back then, and you had your own fires to put out. Besides, the people here are good, and I am grateful for having met them."

"It still doesn’t sit right with me," Valen insisted, shaking his head. "You were just a kid, left alone with no idea who you were or what you carried."

"In the end, we met," Philia said, his voice level and devoid of bitterness. "That’s what actually matters. Without you and your father, I would still be wandering around in the dark. I would have lived my whole life assuming I was just an ordinary orphan who happened to survive a fire. Without you two, I never would have known what my power actually is."

Valen looked at him for a long moment. He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Maybe. But knowing what it is doesn’t make carrying it any lighter. You know what kind of burden it is."

"A burden is only heavy if you try to run from it," Philia replied quietly. "I’m not running anymore."

Valen gave a slow, solemn nod, accepting the words even if the sight of Philia’s calm demeanor still troubled him. He leaned back against the wall, shifting the topic back to the task at hand.

"So," Valen asked, his tone turning more practical. "Does our plan hold for tonight?"

Philia turned toward the small vanity mirror resting atop the dresser. The glass was old, slightly warped around the edges, returning a pale, distorted reflection of his face. He looked older than his years, Any warmth from his youth was completely gone, hardened into sharp angles and cold, guarded eyes..

"Of course we are," Philia replied smoothly, his thumb tracing the worn edge of the wooden dresser. "This power won’t go anywhere or refine itself if I just sit around feeling nostalgic. We practice as planned."

Valen watched him in silence for another beat, noticing the sharp, dangerous focus settling into Philia’s eyes. He gave a single, firm nod, stepping back toward the doorway.

"Midnight, then," Valen said softly. "When everyone is already asleep."

"Midnight," Philia agreed.

Valen stepped out into the hallway, pulling the door shut behind him with a soft click that echoed in the quiet space.

Left alone once more, Philia stepped closer to the vanity glass, leaning in until his breath slightly fogged the lower corner of the mirror. He closed his eyes for a brief second, touching his chest as he tried to reach for the power that lay within.

When he opened his eyes, the reflection staring back at him felt like a stranger’s.

"What a disgusting, terrifying power."