The kitchen of the Heartfilia estate was a cathedral of copper pots and the overwhelming scent of yeast. Usually, it was a place of high-stress culinary precision, but that precision came to a screeching halt when the double doors swung open to reveal a blonde whirlwind dragging a human puddle.
"Chef! Chef! The Serious Doll is broken! We need emergency cookies!" Lucy announced, her voice echoing off the tiled walls.
The head chef, a man whose mustache was arguably more impressive than his actual cooking, stared at Kaelen. Water was still pooling around Kaelen's boots, creating a small lake on the freshly scrubbed floor.
"Young Lady... what happened to the new valet?" the chef asked, pointing a trembling ladle at Kaelen.
"Aquarius happened," Kaelen answered before Lucy could. His voice was as flat as a board, despite the fact that a piece of decorative seaweed was currently draped over his left shoulder. "I was informed that celestial spirits were dignified entities. I am currently reassessing that data."
Lucy giggled, pulling him toward a large wooden table. "She just has a temper! Here, sit! Monsieur Jean, the chocolate ones! The ones with the big chunks!"
A plate of warm cookies was slid toward them. Kaelen stared at the circular confection as if it were an unidentified explosive device. He picked one up, rotating it slowly. His mind, still stuck in the "analysis" mode Hades had beaten into him, began to dissect the object.
Weight: approximately 40 grams. Texture: crumbly, high lipid content. Sugars:
excessive. Potentially useful for rapid glucose recovery after a mana-intensive combat scenario.
"Are you going to eat it or perform an autopsy on it?" Lucy asked, her mouth already half-full.
Kaelen took a bite. The sugar hit his system like a physical jolt. It was... aggressively sweet. "The caloric density is high. It is an efficient fuel source," he concluded.
"It's not 'fuel,' it's a cookie!" Lucy rolled her eyes, kicking her legs under the table. "You talk like a book. A really, really boring book about math."
"Accuracy is a requirement of my previous training, Young Lady," Kaelen replied, reaching for a second one. "Vagueness leads to errors. Errors lead to casualties."
Lucy stopped chewing. She looked at him for a long moment, her big brown eyes searching his face. For a second, Kaelen worried he had said too much, but then she just shrugged. "Well, your only 'casualty' today is that suit. Spetto is going to turn you into a rug."
Spetto did not turn him into a rug, but the look she gave him when he returned to the servant's quarters was arguably worse. It was the look of a woman who had seen many things, but a valet who had lost a fight with a fountain was a first.
"In the attic," Spetto sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose. "There are crates of old uniforms from the previous decade. Find something that fits. And Kaelen?"
"Yes, Madame?"
"Try to stay away from the plumbing. The Master is already complaining about the water bill."
Kaelen spent the next hour digging through dust-caked trunks. Most of the clothes were too large or smelled of mothballs, but eventually, he found a set that was relatively intact. As he pulled on the dark trousers and the fitted vest, he realized this one felt a bit more functional. It didn't have the golden tassels that made him feel like a parade float.
He was just buttoning the vest when he felt a shift in the air.
Presence detected. Proximity: three meters. Intent: concealed.
Kaelen didn't turn around. He stayed focused on his buttons, but his Ethernano hummed quietly under his skin.
"You move very quietly for a boy from the East," Zoldeo's voice slithered into the room.
The man was leaning against the doorframe, his thin eyes tracking Kaelen's movements.
"I've watched the other boys we've hired.
They trip over their own feet. They drop plates. You... you walk as if you're trying not to disturb the air."
"In the North, if you make too much noise in the snow, the wolves find you," Kaelen said, finally turning around. He kept his expression vacant, the perfect mask of a traumatized orphan. "It is a habit of survival, Sir."
Zoldeo hummed, a low, buzzing sound.
"Survival. Yes. An admirable trait. But don't get too comfortable, little wolf. This house has eyes everywhere. Including mine."
Zoldeo didn't wait for a reply. He simply vanished back into the shadows of the hallway. Kaelen stood still for a long moment,
his black eyes narrowing. Zoldeo was more than just a shady butler; the way his magic felt—stagnant and greedy—reminded Kaelen of the darker parts of the library's forbidden texts.
I need to watch him, Kaelen thought. Before he decides to watch me too closely.
The rest of the week was a bizarre descent into a routine that Kaelen was entirely unprepared for.
Lucy had decided that since Kaelen was "her" doll, he needed to participate in all her hobbies. This included "The Great Library Expedition," which was essentially Lucy climbing ladders while Kaelen stood at the bottom, prepared to use his spatial magic to catch her if she fell (which happened on Tuesday, Wednesday, and twice on Friday).
"Kaelen! Look at this one!" Lucy shouted from the top of a shelf that was definitely not meant for seven-year-olds. She pulled out a massive, leather-bound volume. "It's a map of the celestial world! See? That's where Leo lives!"
Kaelen caught the book as she dropped it. It was heavy, but through the touch, he felt a faint resonance of Ethernano.
"Young Lady, the ladder is swaying," Kaelen noted, his tone as dry as toast.
"It's fine! Catch me!"
She jumped. Kaelen didn't even blink. He stepped forward, caught her mid-air with a grunt, and set her down.
"You're like a statue," Lucy pouted, straightening her dress. "Don't you ever get scared? Like, 'AAAH, THE PRINCESS IS FALLING!'"
"Panic is a waste of metabolic energy," Kaelen replied, dusting off his sleeves. "And you are not a Princess. You are a Young Lady with a dangerously low sense of self-preservation."
"You're no fun!" She stuck her tongue out at him, then immediately grabbed his arm. "Come on, Mom wants us in the sun-room. She says you have to help her with the tea service today."
Entering Layla's room was like stepping into a different reality. The air here was quiet, filled with the soft scent of lavender and the fading light of the afternoon. Layla was sitting in her chair, a book in her lap. She looked a bit weaker than she had a few days ago, but when she saw them, her face lit up.
"Kaelen. Lucy. Come in," Layla said.
Kaelen moved to the tea set. He didn't need to think; his hands moved with the mechanical precision he had developed. He heated the water, measured the leaves, and poured.
"Spetto tells me you've been doing an excellent job," Layla remarked, her eyes following Kaelen's hands. "Though she did mention a certain incident with Aquarius."
Kaelen paused, the teapot hovering mid-air. "The spirit and I had a disagreement regarding the drainage of the main fountain. I was the secondary victim of the debate."
Layla let out a soft, genuine laugh. It was a beautiful sound, but it ended in a shallow cough. Kaelen noticed the way her hand trembled as she reached for her cup.
Her mana container is collapsing, Kaelen realized. It's not a leak... it's an erasure. She's being hollowed out from the inside.
"Kaelen," Layla said, her voice dropping to a whisper so Lucy wouldn't hear. "I know you aren't just a boy from the North. I've seen many mages in my time. Some carry light, some carry shadows. You... you carry a storm that you're trying very hard to pretend is a breeze."
Kaelen met her gaze. For a moment, the mask of the valet slipped. He looked at her not as a servant, but as a warrior who recognized a dying comrade.
"The storm is contained, My Lady," he said quietly.
"See that it stays that way," she replied, her eyes kind but firm. "This house... it needs peace. Especially Lucy. She sees the world as a storybook. I want her to keep reading it for as long as she can."
Before Kaelen could respond, Lucy jumped onto the ottoman. "Mama! Kaelen can moo! Tell her, Kaelen! Moo for her!"
Kaelen's eyes closed. He felt a soul-deep exhaustion that no amount of training could prepare him for.
"I am a valet, Young Lady. I do not perform on command."
"He did it for the rabbit!" Lucy insisted.
Layla smiled, looking between the two of them. "Perhaps another time, Lucy. For now, why don't you show Kaelen the garden's new roses? I think he needs the fresh air."
As Kaelen followed the skipping blonde girl out of the room, he glanced back at Layla. She was watching them, a look of profound sadness and hope on her face.
She knows, Kaelen thought. She doesn't know what I am, but she knows I'm acting, definitely. And yet, she lets me stay near her daughter.
"Kaelen! Hurry up! The roses won't wait!" Lucy yelled from the veranda.
"The roses are plants, Young Lady. They are literally incapable of leaving," Kaelen called back, his voice regaining its usual flat tone.
The walk to the rose garden was less of a stroll and more of a forced march, with Lucy's small hand gripping Kaelen's wrist like a vice. For a girl who spent most of her time reading, she had a surprising amount of grip strength. Kaelen adjusted his pace, mentally noting that his center of gravity was being compromised by her tugging.
"Look! There he is!" Lucy let go of his arm and pointed dramatically at a particularly large, deep-red rosebush in the center of the path. "The Rose King! He only blooms when he's happy!"
Kaelen stopped and stared at the bush. He looked at the thorns, the leaves, and the petals. He leaned in closer, his eyes narrowing as if he were inspecting a suspicious seal on a dark guild's vault.
"It is a Rosa gallica," Kaelen said after a moment of intense scrutiny. "And he is not 'blooming because he is happy.' He is blooming because the nitrates in this soil are exceptionally high, and the pruning was done with adequate timing. Also, he has aphids on his lower stem. A king should be more attentive to his hygiene."
Lucy puffed out her cheeks, looking personally insulted on behalf of the plant. "You're so boring! Everything is just facts with you. Don't you have an imagination?"
"I had an imagination once," Kaelen replied, standing back up and smoothing out his vest. "It was inefficient. It led to distractions. Distractions in the field result in being eaten by wolves or, in my current case, being soaked by a disgruntled mermaid."
Lucy giggled at the reminder, her anger vanishing as quickly as it had appeared. "Well, since the King is busy with his... bugs... we're going to play a new game. It's called 'Find the Princess.' I'm the Princess, obviously. You stay here, count to one hundred, and then you have to find me. If you find me, I'll give you a cookie. If you don't, you have to moo again. Twice."
Kaelen's expression didn't change, but his soul felt like it was retreating into a dark corner. "I am a valet, Young Lady. I am supposed to be by your side, not counting to one hundred while staring at a bush."
"It's an order! One... two... start counting!"
She didn't wait for his consent. She spun around and bolted toward the hedge maze, her blonde hair flying behind her.
Kaelen sighed. He turned his back to the maze and began to count out loud, his voice flat and devoid of any excitement. "One. Two. Three. Four..."
By the time he reached twenty, he was already triangulating her position based on the sound of her footsteps and the rustle of the leaves. By fifty, he had mapped the three most likely hiding spots within the maze based on her height and the density of the shrubbery. At one hundred, he turned around.
He didn't run. He walked.
He used his training to move with absolute silence, his boots barely making a sound on the gravel. He didn't use his Sharingan—that would be overkill, but his natural senses were more than enough. He reached a dead end in the maze where a stone bench sat under a willow tree.
Lucy was "hidden" behind the bench. Her blonde pigtails were clearly visible sticking out from the side, and she was giggling loudly enough to be heard from the next town over.
Kaelen walked up behind the bench and looked down. "The Princess has been located. The mission is a success."
Lucy shrieked, jumping nearly a foot in the air. She spun around, clutching her heart. "HOW?! I didn't even hear you! Are you a ghost? You're a ghost, aren't you?"
"I am merely someone who knows how to walk," Kaelen said, offering a hand to help her up. "And your concealment was sub-optimal. You were projecting vocal cues at a decibel level that made detection inevitable."
Lucy ignored his hand and scrambled to her feet, looking at him with a mix of awe and suspicion. "You're weird, Kaelen. Like, really weird. But you win. Here."
She reached into her dress pocket and produced a slightly squashed chocolate chip cookie, wrapped in a napkin. Kaelen took it, inspecting the damage.
"The structural integrity of the cookie has been compromised," he noted.
"Just eat it!"
He took a bite. It was still warm. The sugar hit his brain, and for a split second, the cold, calculating part of his mind went quiet.
"Acceptable," he admitted.
As the evening approached, Kaelen was tasked with assisting the kitchen staff in bringing up the light dinner for the Master and the Young Lady. Jude Heartfilia was, as usual, locked in his study, so Lucy was eating in the smaller dining room.
Kaelen stood by the wall, a towel over his arm, watching Lucy attempt to eat soup while simultaneously trying to teach her plush dog how to use a spoon.
"Kaelen," Lucy said, her face covered in a light sheen of broth. "Why don't you have a family? Spetto said they went to the stars."
The question was blunt, the way only a seven-year-old could make it. Kaelen's gaze remained fixed on a spot on the opposite wall.
"They were removed from the world," Kaelen replied. It was the most honest answer he could give without mentioning the blood, the fire, or the man with the cane. "The North is a harsh environment. Sometimes, people simply stop being part of the landscape."
Lucy stopped playing with the spoon. She looked at him, and for a moment, she looked remarkably like her mother—wise beyond her years. "That's sad. You should join my family then. We have lots of room. And Papa is always busy, so he won't even notice if you're there."
"I am already here, Young Lady. I am your valet."
"No, I mean like... a real family. You could be my brother or my husband! We could wear matching hats!"
Kaelen actually blinked. The image of himself in a matching pink hat with Lucy Heartfilia was a psychological horror he wasn't prepared to face.
"I respectfully decline the hat," Kaelen said.
"And the position of brother or husband is... complicated. I am content with my current designation."
"Whatever. You'll change your mind when you see the hats," she said confidently, returning to her soup.
Late that night, after Lucy had finally fallen asleep—a process that involved Kaelen having to check under the bed for "shadow monsters" (he had stared into the darkness and told the monsters that they were trespassing on Heartfilia property, which Lucy found very reassuring) , Kaelen finally returned to his own room.
He didn't go to sleep immediately. He sat on the floor, crossing his legs in a meditative stance. He focused on his magic.
He reached into the air, his hand disappearing into the rift. He pulled out his short-sword, the blade catching the moonlight. He ran a whetstone along the edge, the rhythmic shhh-shhh the only sound in the room.
He closed his eyes and tried to remember the cold rage of his training with Hades. He tried to summon the image of the man with the cane. He needed the hate. But as he sat there, the taste of the squashed chocolate chip cookie lingered on his tongue, and the sound of Lucy's laughter echoed in the back of his mind.
It was a distraction. A dangerous, warm, comfortable distraction.
"I am a tool," he whispered to the darkness, his voice a bit less certain than it had been a month ago. "I am a weapon in the making."
He put the sword back into the void. He laid down on his bed, the sheets smelling of clean linen and lavender. It was a far cry from the dirt and blood of his training ground.
He closed his eyes, and for the first time in a long time, he didn't dream of fire. He dreamt of a rose king with an aphid problem and a matching pink hat.
It was, in his professional opinion, a tactical disaster.