The first few days were an abyss of silent despair. I was completely alone, perpetually curled up on the edge of my bed, crying until my eyes burned and my throat felt like sandpaper.
Hilda was missing for two days. At first, I tried to banish the thought, but as the hours ticked by, the same dreaded conclusion clawed its way back into my mind: they had replaced her. For as long as I could remember, Hilda had personally handled my meals, but she was no longer the one delivering them.
In the days that followed, a rotating cast of maids handled my food. Among them was one in particular who was even colder than the rest—the exact same woman I had mistaken for Hilda the morning after the trial. They would dump the tray on the table without so much as sparing me a glance. If I tried to speak to them, they simply went about their duties, pretending I was invisible. At most, they would offer a stiff, robotic bow before exiting the room.
The only coping mechanism I had to survive those agonizingly long days were the few illustrated books left in my room. Whenever the crushing boredom and anxiety became too much, I would grab them, sit on the bed, and flip through the pages. Initially, I just blindly turned the pages without processing the images, doing it solely to keep my hands busy and block out reality. The rustle of parchment under my fingertips, the smell of ink and old leather, and the solid thud of the cover snapping shut became the only things filling the suffocating silence of my chamber.
Slowly, it morphed into a lifeline. Those books became my sole companions. Often, through the heavy wooden door, I heard the muffled sound of footsteps in the corridors, the chatter of servants, the clinking of silverware, and the constant coming and going of estate life.
Occasionally, I even thought I heard my brothers laughing somewhere deep within the palace. Meanwhile, I voluntarily locked myself away in that room, refusing to see anyone, as the rest of the estate continued to thrive as if I had never existed in the first place.
As time ground on, I even stopped hoping for someone to come looking for me.
Whenever the door clicked open, I didn't even bother lifting my head. Then, one morning, roughly a week later, I opened my eyes.
I had fallen asleep with my head resting on the table, a book sprawled open in front of me. It was the last one in the stack, and I had just finished it. Without lifting my head, I turned my cheek to the wood and stared at the towering pile of books beside my bed.
I had devoured three illustrated encyclopedias—from what I could grasp, they covered basic botany, alongside the fauna and flora of the Galgar Peaks. The remaining two were the very texts Uncle Szilard had left me during our final lesson before the trial. One focused on foundational arithmetic, while the other detailed the rigid laws of aristocratic etiquette: what subjects should concern a noble, which topics were taboo, and how to conduct oneself across various social battlefields.
I had completely lost track of time. I had no idea what fate awaited me from here on out. My brothers had vanished from my life entirely. In the days leading up to the trial, they used to swing by my room constantly, but now, I couldn't even conjure the memory of their voices echoing through the halls.
I stood up, grabbed the empty pitcher beside the bed, and stepped out of my room. The freezing floor sent a shudder up my bare legs, but I was too numb to care anymore. The corridor was practically dead; the only sound was the hollow echo of my own footsteps bouncing off the stone walls.
I surveyed the hallway. The three rooms belonging to the senior maids across from me stood wide open. It didn't take a genius to realize they had been completely cleared out.
"You were all abandoned too, weren't you? I'm sorry... it's all my fault."
The words slipped out in a soft murmur. My lips curled into a bitter, self-deprecating smile. I lowered my head and ran a finger across the wooden dresser where Hilda used to lay out my freshly pressed clothes. A thick layer of grey dust coated my fingertip. I stared at it for a moment. The apathy was so deep I could barely even muster up any disgust.
Then, I wiped the dirt off on my tunic.
I hooked a finger into my collar, pulling it forward to take a sniff. The pungent stench of stale sweat instantly assaulted my nose. The fabric was warm and practically glued to my skin, especially across my back and under my arms.
My stomach churned.
...I'm absolutely disgusting.
I ran a hand across the back of my neck. The skin was slick and greasy. I instinctively smelled my fingers, and my face immediately scrunched in revulsion.
I let go of the collar and held my breath.
I need to wash...
I made my way to the washroom and approached the water barrel. I lifted the heavy wooden lid and paused, staring at the perfectly still surface reflecting back at me. I dunked the pitcher, letting the water rush in. The sloshing sound echoed far too loudly in the oppressive silence.
I needed to face reality. I needed to stand up and somehow fight back. I knew that perfectly well. And yet, I just couldn't.
Back in my room, I stripped off my filthy clothes and scrubbed myself down thoroughly using a tiny scrap of soap I had scrounged up. It was probably a leftover discarded by one of the senior maids on laundry day.
Feeling somewhat human again, I decided to leave my room and do something, anything. I aimlessly wandered the corridors.
The first anomaly I noticed was the grand double doors leading to the common hall. They were shut tight. Normally, they were always propped wide open.
I kept walking. Driven by idle curiosity, I started peeking into the abandoned servants' quarters. I had never actually stepped foot inside any of them before. They were all incredibly spartan: a single cot, a modest bedside table, and a narrow wardrobe.
Doing anything was infinitely better than rotting away in my bedroom. I continued down the hallway until I reached the very end. Right in front of me was Hilda's room, but strangely enough, her door was closed.
Maybe...
My heart rate spiked. I approached the door with agonizing slowness, terrified that a single heavy footstep might shatter the possibility. I reached out for the brass handle but froze just inches away.
What if she's really in there?
I swallowed hard. The familiar burn pricked the corners of my eyes.
I gripped the handle and slowly pressed it down. The latch clicked open slightly. I froze, straining my ears, but there was only dead silence.
A faint rustle sounded directly behind me, followed by a subtle shift in the air that brushed the back of my neck. My body went completely rigid, a sharp shiver shooting down my spine.
This breeze...
I know it.
I held my breath. It couldn't just be a coincidence.
This sensation... I'd recognize it anywhere.
I spun around and there she was. She had finally returned.
A rush of warmth flooded my chest, and tears instantly blurred my vision. I sprinted toward her and tackled her in a desperate hug. She was standing right in front of me, and I still couldn't fathom it was real. She was smiling down at me with her usual, gentle warmth.
"Hilda!"
She wrapped her arms around my trembling frame, maintaining her perfectly upright posture as she gazed down at me.
"I waited for you... I waited this whole time."
"Mhm!"
She gave a tiny nod, her smile never wavering.
"I knew you wouldn't abandon me! Not you!"
"Mhm!"
This time, she only nodded. I noticed the rims of her eyes slowly turning a glassy red. I squeezed her even tighter, burying my face into her pristine apron, soaking the fabric with my tears. I inhaled deeply between my violent sobs.
Her scent. That crisp, immaculate aroma of soap she always carried with her. Gods, I had missed it.
"There, there..." she cooed softly. "You're going to soak right through my apron at this rate. Come now, let's go wash your face. We have quite a bit of catching up to do."
As the days rolled into weeks, I fell back into the routine of rereading the same textbooks. Yet, every time my eyes scanned a previously confusing passage, the fog in my mind would lift just a little more. The complex jargon began to click into place. I found myself memorizing entire concepts flawlessly, effortlessly threading them together into a broader understanding. After enough passes, I didn't even need to read the lines anymore; I could vividly visualize the knowledge directly inside my head.
I had grown accustomed to fending for myself. My meals, however, were once again personally managed by Hilda. She explained that following the trial, the estate staff assigned to my wing had been brutally downsized to the bare minimum. I wasn't surprised. It was an inevitable consequence of what had happened.
Every afternoon, she would leave, only returning well into the evening. Initially, I thought nothing of it. But as the days dragged on, I started to notice a creeping distance in her eyes every time she returned. I had no idea where she was disappearing to. Whenever I pressed her on it, she simply dismissed it as attending logistical meetings to manage the skeletal staff.
"Do not fret. Everything will return to normal."
I would just nod in agreement. I desperately wanted to believe her, but a heavy intuition gnawed at the back of my mind. It was a subtle shift, almost impossible to articulate. She hadn't grown cold, and she still showered me with warm smiles, but she felt incredibly guarded. She was no longer the fiercely strict nanny of my childhood. There was an artificiality to her presence now—an invisible wall between us that grew thicker with each passing sunset.
The most glaring proof was in her discipline. She had completely stopped scolding me.
If I made a mess that previously would have earned me a stern lecture, she simply cleaned it up in silence. Even when I deliberately pushed boundaries that would usually test her patience, she let it slide without a word.
And, strangely enough, I would have traded anything just to hear her scold me again.
Desperate to shatter the unspoken tension hovering between us, I requested far more advanced literature to replace my elementary texts. Uncle Szilard had already drilled the alphabet and basic syntax into my head years ago. Still, I intentionally asked Hilda to sit and tutor me through the heavier reading sessions.
Obliging my request, she started bringing me a new tome every single day. The first was Intermediate Botany, fulfilling my original request. That was quickly followed by an expansive geographic atlas of the Northern Kingdoms, and shortly after, a comprehensive historical breakdown of Wistria, our sovereign region.
Some texts were a breeze to digest; others demanded serious mental friction. However, by running through them multiple times—coupled with Hilda's occasional guidance—I rapidly cataloged the information into my long-term memory.
But it was during these marathon reading sessions that the anomalies began. Every time I closed a book, a piercing spike of agony flared behind my temples. It was a blinding, sudden migraine that knocked the wind out of my lungs before I could even gasp.
Initially, I hid it from Hilda. I didn't want to burden her with unnecessary stress. But during our latest reading session, something snapped.
I was seated at my desk, a single candle flickering to my right, casting long shadows across a room swallowed by the night. I had just finished the second volume of Etiquette and Customs of the Noble Houses.
I remember pushing my chair back to stand. Then, absolute nothingness.
The blackout hit without warning, devoid of pain or even a fleeting sensation to tether myself to.
I opened my eyes. The first thing I registered was the biting cold pressing against my cheek. It was the floor.
I lay there disoriented for a few seconds before groggily pushing myself up. A rhythmic, throbbing pain hammered inside my skull. I reached a hand up into my hair and felt something dry and crusty matted into my skin and locks.
When I looked at my fingers, I saw traces of blood.
Did I hit my head? What...
I looked back down at the floorboards. Right next to me was a small puddle of coagulated blood.
Suddenly, I heard heavy footsteps approaching from the corridor.
I frantically scrubbed at the bloodstain on the floorboards, desperate to wipe away the evidence before Hilda walked in and saw it.
Hilda entered, balancing a tray with a warm loaf of bread, a glass of fresh milk, and a wedge of cheese. After neatly arranging my dinner on the desk, she reached into her apron pocket and produced a brand-new textbook, placing it gently beside my meal.
I forced a bright, perfectly natural smile.
"Wow, what's this one about?"
"Don't you think it's time you rested a bit more?"
I grinned, opening my mouth to say something.
How long has it been since she sounded like that?
For a moment, I fell silent. I realized I legitimately couldn't remember the last time I had seen Hilda smile with that level of genuine warmth.
"Don't worry about me. Actually, it's been a long time since I've seen you react like this. I'm relieved. For a second there, I thought you had forgotten all about me."
She closed her eyes, instantly snapping back into the fiercely strict nanny I had missed so dearly.
"Hah!? Is that how you view me now, then?" Crossing her arms, with the empty tray clutched in one hand, she began tapping it rhythmically against her hip.
A moment later, a shared laugh escaped us both. Toward the end, however, I noticed her smile losing its natural strength. Her eyes were exhausted, hollowed out by heavy dark circles.
I had no idea what kind of hell she was walking through to look that drained, but I selfishly wanted to drag out this moment with her. This fragile peace wasn't going to last forever. Sooner or later, something was going to interrupt it. I didn't know when that would happen, so I resolved to stay with her for as long as I could.
I eagerly plopped down into my chair.
"What book did you bring me today?"
I inspected the cover: it sported a much more uniform, high-quality binding compared to the other books.
"This one breaks down the foundations of grammar," she said, stepping closer.
I ran my fingers over the cover and flipped it open. The initial pages were incredibly dense, packed with rules, examples, and vocabulary I had never encountered before. I read the first sentence. Then the second. By the third, my eyes darted back.
"Wait a second..." I muttered.
Hilda tilted her head slightly as I jabbed a finger at a specific sentence.
"This particle changes the meaning of the clause depending on its position."
"Yes."
I flipped the page. I found another example.
"But then this rule has to apply here, too."
She leaned in, her eyes scanning the text. She stood frozen for a few seconds before slowly lifting her gaze to me.
"How... how did you do that?"
I looked down at the page.
"I don't know. It all just seemed pretty simple."
Hilda blinked rapidly, her fingers tightening slightly around the edge of the heavy book.
"But... you..." She caught herself, gently clearing her throat. "Did you comprehend all of this... just by reading it once?"
I nodded.
She snapped her gaze back to the page, as if double-checking her own reading comprehension, before looking back up at me.
"Young Master... this is not normal." Her voice dropped to a tense whisper. "Especially for your age."
I looked back down at the book. I didn't feel like I had done anything extraordinary.
Why didn't I notice this before?
Maybe I had been too consumed by everything that had happened these past few days. And yet, it was glaringly obvious.
I flipped backward through the book and rapidly speed-read a few lines, lingering on the words and formulas that, until recently, would have required much longer study sessions to grasp.
The usual confusion I had felt so many times before was completely gone. Now that Hilda had pointed it out, I could finally see it for myself.
It definitely hadn't been like this before.
No matter how hard I searched for an explanation, I couldn't find one. Maybe it was simply a physiological reaction triggered by everything my body had endured.
And yet, that pressure in my head hadn't vanished.
In fact, it seemed to grow heavier every time I tried to concentrate. I felt a dense mass pulsating right behind my eyes, and for a few seconds, my vision blurred slightly.
I brought a hand to my temple and breathed slowly.
This isn't normal...
I tried to ignore it and returned to the book, but the sensation lingered, as if something were pressing outward from inside my skull.
I looked at Hilda as she moved her lips.
Is she talking? Why can't I... Why can't I hear her?
Only then did I realize she was speaking to me, but there was something horribly wrong with her voice.
It sounded muffled, like it was coming from very far away. The words bled into one another, making them nearly impossible to decipher—as if I were listening to her from underwater.
Suddenly, she lunged closer. She stared at me for a few seconds, saying nothing. Her eyes blew wide, and she grabbed my shoulder, shaking me violently.
"Young Master... are you alright?"
She blinked frantically, her head whipping around the room.
"Stay right here. I'm going to get you some water."
I watched her spin around and bolt out of the room.
It wasn't like this before... What is happening to me?
She returned moments later with a glass of water in her hands. She hurried to my side, dropping to a crouch next to my chair.
"Here, quickly, drink some water."
She gently cradled my head in her hands and raised the glass to my lips. I managed a few sips, still in a daze. The crisp water slid down my throat, but the strange, unrelenting sensation in my head had only grown slightly less oppressive.
Hilda remained by my side, refusing to break her hold.
"Look at me."
I sluggishly raised my eyes to meet hers. The calm expression on her face had shattered. Her lips were trembling slightly, her fingers digging gently into my shoulder. I drank a few more sips, then Hilda slowly lowered the glass.
Her gaze dropped to her own hand.
I followed her eyes. Clinging to the trembling fingers of her hand were traces of dried blood.
Oh no...
I had forgotten to clean it off. Hilda sat in silence for a few seconds.
"What is this?"
I dropped my gaze. The dried blood was still matted in my hair; I had completely forgotten about it.
I'm caught.
A sickening knot twisted my stomach. I should have done a better job cleaning myself before she walked in. Hilda instantly stood up and hovered over my head.
"Let me see."
She ran a hand through my hair, carefully searching for the source of the blood. When her fingers met the crusted laceration, her face hardened.
"How did you do this to yourself?"
I hesitated.
"It's nothing."
"Do not tell me it's nothing." Her voice dropped dangerously low. "Why is there blood in your hair?"
"I... I hit my head on the wooden bed frame."
Hilda froze.
"I was trying to grab something that rolled under the bed."
"How did you hit your head that hard just trying to grab something from under there?"
"It... c-can happen?..." I swallowed hard.
She glared at me for a few more seconds. Then, she let out a soft sigh and suddenly pulled me against her.
"You have to tell me when something is wrong, do you understand? You can't keep everything bottled up inside."
I sat perfectly still in her arms. Then, I closed my eyes.
Her clean scent washed over me once again, familiar and fiercely protective. I hugged her back and let my head sink deep into her chest. I felt the warmth of her body, and for some reason, a strange sensation rippled through me. I couldn't understand where it came from, nor why it made me feel the way it did.
I remained motionless.
"Promise me?"
Hilda squeezed me a fraction tighter without adding anything else.
"Mhm!"
It was all I could manage to say.