WYRS 4

Chapter 4

Atul glanced at the pendant in Freya’s hand and then fumbled at his own neck. When he felt its emptiness, he let out a long sigh.

“The chain broke again. I guess I shouldn’t carry it around anymore.”

“Why? You said it was precious. Should I bring you a necklace chain? I’ve got lots I don’t use.”

Atul frowned as he looked at her for a moment. Of all people, he didn’t want Freya to see how poor he really was.

“No, it’s fine. I just didn’t like any of the chains, so I used whatever. When I find one I really like, I’ll buy it then.”

“I see…”

Awkwardly, Atul snatched the pendant back and shoved it deep into his bag. Freya watched him, lost in thought for a brief moment, but as always, her worries never lingered long.

“So, what are you making today?”

Her eyes sparkled as she looked at the piece of wood in his hand. Atul glanced at her and moved his carving knife nonchalantly.

“What do you think it is?”

“Hmm…”

Before long, Freya stood up and began carefully studying the unidentifiable carving. A small wrinkle formed on her forehead as she thought, and Atul’s lips twitched.

“Want me to tell you?”

“No! Wait! I’ll guess it! It’s not a rock…”

The carving was still incomplete, with only a rough shape. Freya grew more and more pensive. Just as Atul thought he might as well tell her, she shouted:

“I know! Spotty!”

Atul’s eyes widened.

“You’re right. How did you know?”

“This is the face, this is the body, and this is the tail, right?”

She grabbed Atul’s hand holding the carving, running her fingers along the grain as she explained. Her warmth seeped into his hand, and a blush spread across his cheeks.

“Am I right?”

Her eyes, full of expectation, asked the question. Gazing into those summer-filled eyes, Atul gave a small nod. Freya cheered.

“I got it!”

Atul smiled faintly. Freya was certainly observant. Even the maids often said she had an unusually sharp eye for her age.

Atul knew better than anyone that the girl before him would grow into a fine lady of a noble house. And every time that thought struck him, Freya felt a little farther away.

Bitterly, he raised his carving knife again. Freya tilted her head as she watched him work.

“But what are you going to do with so many carvings?”

“Sell them.”

“Sell them?”

“Yeah. There’s someone who buys them from me. If I sell them at the market, I can at least make enough for snacks.”

“Wow! Atul, you’re an adult already!”

“What does selling carvings have to do with being an adult?”

“Adults earn money! And they’re tall! So that makes you an adult. Compared to you, I’m just…”

Freya measured herself against Atul’s much taller figure and sighed. Without looking up from his work, he spoke.

“I don’t think you need to grow up so quickly. Childhood only comes once, so you should enjoy it while you can. That’s what my father says.”

“See? That’s such an adult thing to say! Atul, you’re the coolest person I know!”

She grinned, raising her thumb, her eyes curving like crescent moons. Atul, his ears turning red, sneaked a sideways glance at her smile.

Whenever she smiled like that, he forgot his past completely. For those moments, he was just a boy in Elbador who liked a girl.

But he always woke from that dream quickly. In reality, he was a poor immigrant, and Freya was a noble of high standing.

Still, even this fleeting dream was a deep comfort. Since coming here, it was the only moment he could truly breathe.

That was why Atul needed Freya. He liked her. He wanted to stay by her side.

“Spotty!”

The cat appeared on the hill, stretching and yawning. Freya leapt up and dashed toward it.

Spotty bolted in alarm, but this clumsy hunter never gave up. Freya chased him until beads of sweat rolled down like pearls.

Since Spotty never actually left the hill, it was clear he too enjoyed this strange game of tag.

Watching her from a distance, Atul raised a hand to shade his eyes and squinted. A sudden shaft of sunlight had pierced through, dazzlingly bright.

Too bright to look at—but a light he wanted to watch forever.

Time passed, and Freya had already been at Mirror Manor for nearly half a year. The once-green leaves were now painted red and fell heroically to the ground.

In the mornings, frost clung to the windows and breaths turned white. As winter approached, the gardener had to be busier than anyone, so Atul rose at dawn with Sanchez as always.

“Today we clear away the dead.”

Their daily task these days was dealing with autumn’s remains. Before the ground froze, they had to weed, pull up dry roots, and spread fertilizer.

Only then could fragile lives endure the harsh winter and sprout again in spring.

“Death always calls more death,” Sanchez murmured, scattering gathered leaves over the flowerbeds to ward off frost.

“That’s why the living must keep away from death, and live with the living.”

He had once been a well-known botanist in the Abbas Duchy. Perhaps that was why Sanchez sometimes muttered words Atul couldn’t understand.

Even without understanding, Atul nodded seriously. Doing so made him feel as if he were as clever as his father.

And best of all, Sanchez would smile every time he pretended to understand. Atul loved that gentle smile.

“Strange, the young lady isn’t around today. Maybe because of the cold?”

When the morning sun rose, Freya usually greeted everyone in the manor—maids, the cook, the stable hands, even the gardeners. Sometimes she even spoke to trees and rocks.

She seemed madly in love with everything at Mirror Manor.

‘Good morning! Hello!’

Her bright, ringing voice filled the manor every morning. Without it, the day felt oddly empty. But today, she was nowhere to be seen.

‘So that’s why the servants all looked gloomy this morning.’

Worry crept into Atul’s chest. He carried his bouquet into the manor earlier than usual.

“Hello, Atul.”

But contrary to his fears, Freya wasn’t bedridden or crying. She seemed unusually calm—so calm it startled him.

“Freya. Come here and help me choose a dress,” said Elena, gently wrapping her arm around the girl’s shoulder. Her kind eyes turned to Atul.

“I hear the garden work is busy with winter coming. For now, I’ll have someone else bring the flowers. You don’t need to come anymore.”

“I can make time for it. It’s fine.”

“No. It would be better if someone else brought them. Not that you’re unnecessary, of course. Just until winter is over, I’ll have someone else handle it. Do you understand?”

Her hand tightened slightly on Freya’s shoulder. Elena looked gentle as ever, but there was a sharp edge hidden behind that soft smile.

“What are you standing there for? Didn’t you hear the lady?”

Joyce snatched the bouquet from Atul’s hand and pushed him toward the door. Bewildered, Atul looked back at Freya.

Her face looked on the verge of tears, but she didn’t stop him. The distance between them, growing wider, felt as though it might last forever. Fear prickled in Atul’s heart.

“Atul!”

Had her illness returned? She hadn’t looked unwell. Then why had Madam Elena looked at him like that? Had he done something wrong…?

“Atul!”

Sanchez grabbed his son’s arm. Atul snapped out of his daze and looked at him. Sanchez clicked his tongue at his absentminded face.

“What were you thinking, to be so lost?”

“N-nothing. Do you need something?”

“I asked you to hand me the shears at your feet… Forget it. I’ll get them myself.”

Picking up the garden shears, Sanchez stepped into the greenhouse. Atul trailed behind, swinging his arms aimlessly, unable to shake thoughts of Freya.

What had happened last night to put such sadness on her face?

Unanswerable questions tumbled one after another in his mind. Frustrated, he vented his restlessness on the soil, stabbing his shovel hard into the earth.

Watching his son’s rough digging, Sanchez sighed and tossed something his way.

“Here. Catch.”

Atul snatched it from the air with one hand. It was a fine block of wood.

“Father! This is…”

“Walnut wood. Took some trouble to get it.”

“But it must’ve been expensive…”

“I can afford it.”

Sanchez grinned and returned to pruning. Atul watched his father’s back for a moment, then carefully slipped the wood into his pocket.

He had already planned what he wanted to carve from it. His chest, heavy with worry before, now thumped with excitement. Atul threw himself into helping Sanchez more diligently than ever.