Elisa heard it by accident, the way dangerous truths usually arrived—without warning and without care for who they would wound.
She was carrying folded linens through the western corridor, her steps measured and her gaze lowered, moving as she always did, quietly enough that others forgot she was there at all. Servants spoke freely when they believed no one important was listening, and Elisa had learned long ago that silence made her invisible.
"Did you hear?" one of them whispered as they passed behind her.
"The young lord took interest in one of the trainees."
Another voice answered with a soft scoff, the kind that carried experience rather than humor. "That never ends well."
Their footsteps slowed only briefly before continuing down the corridor, their words fading as naturally as they had come.
"What was his name?" the first asked, curiosity slipping into their tone.
There was a short pause, just long enough for the answer to settle into the air.
"Cael."
Elisa's steps faltered for the smallest fraction of a moment, not enough for anyone to notice, but enough for her grip on the linens to tighten as the name reached her.
Cael.
It settled heavily in her chest, not because of how it sounded, but because of what it meant. A name given by a noble was never casual, never kind. It was a marker, a quiet declaration of ownership, the first step in deciding whether something would be kept, shaped, or discarded.
She forced herself to keep walking, her posture unchanged, her breathing steady, her face carefully blank, even as unease coiled beneath her calm exterior. Fear was not new to her, but this was a sharper kind, one she had hoped never to feel again.
That night, when the noble house finally grew quiet and the servants retreated to their quarters, Elisa waited until the silence felt complete before moving. She slipped through familiar paths without light or sound, her steps guided by memory rather than sight, until she reached the edge of the storage yard where trainees were often sent for late work or quiet punishment.
She found him there.
He looked the same at first glance, still small for his age, still too thin from years of careful survival, but there was something different in the way he stood, something heavier in the set of his shoulders that had not been there before.
"They gave you a name," she said quietly, breaking the silence without startling him.
He stiffened, then turned toward her, recognition settling into his expression as he nodded once.
"Yes."
Her eyes searched his face, not for injury, but for something harder to see.
"What did they call you?" she asked.
He hesitated, just long enough to tell her the answer mattered.
"Cael."
The name hung between them, unwelcome and undeniable.
Elisa closed her eyes for a brief moment, drawing in a slow breath before opening them again, as though steadying herself against something unseen.
"That isn't your name," she said, her voice low but firm, carrying certainty rather than anger.
"I know," he replied, just as quietly.
Her hands trembled slightly before she folded them together, forcing control back into her posture.
"They shouldn't name you," she continued, her voice tightening despite her effort to keep it calm. "That's how they begin believing you belong to them, that you exist by their permission."
"I didn't choose it," he said.
"No," she answered softly. "They never let you."
She stepped closer, stopping just short of touching him, her eyes holding his with a mixture of fear and resolve.
"Do you remember the name I gave you?" she asked.
He nodded without hesitation.
"I haven't forgotten."
Relief flickered across her face, brief but real.
"Good," she said. "Then listen carefully."
Her voice dropped further, urgency threading through every word.
"When they call you Cael, you answer, because that is how you survive here. You wear the name they gave you, you obey, and you let them believe they understand you."
She held his gaze, her expression sharpening.
"But when you are alone, when no one is listening, you remember who you were before they decided you were useful. That name still matters, even if the world pretends it doesn't."
He swallowed, then nodded.
"I will."
Satisfied, but far from reassured, Elisa stepped back into the shadows, leaving as quietly as she had come, unwilling to linger where eyes might begin to notice patterns.
Left alone once more, he stood in the dim light of the yard, the borrowed name echoing through his thoughts.
Cael.
A name he would answer to.
A name he would endure.
But never the one that truly belonged to him.