Total darkness finally descended.
“Ah—!”
With a piercing cry, Freya sat up with a start.
She gasped for air, and it was only when the cold air filled her lungs that she felt truly alive again.
The memory of her death in her previous life loomed over her like a nightmare.
She covered her face, forcing herself not to think about those events.
Several minutes later, she finally calmed down.
Looking at the familiar room before her, Freya slowly exhaled a breath of turbid air.
This time, she would not repeat the same mistakes.
Because the nightmare had prevented her from sleeping well, Freya had faint dark circles under her eyes when she got up in the morning.
“…Sigh.”
She looked at her haggard face in the mirror and applied a bit of powder to make her complexion look better.
Only then did she leisurely change her clothes and head downstairs.
Downstairs, an energetic elderly man was sitting on the sofa reading a newspaper.
Freya called out to him.
“Grandfather.”
This elderly man was none other than Freya’s grandfather — Calanso Christo Dale.
Calanso put down the newspaper.
He had neatly trimmed silver hair and a majestic countenance, yet his eyes softened with a kind, doting look the moment he saw his granddaughter.
“Oh, my Freya, my lovely granddaughter.”
He patted the spot on the sofa beside him.
Freya obediently sat down, and a faint, reassuring scent of cedar drifted from her grandfather.
She didn’t answer immediately, instead leaning her head lightly against the old man’s broad shoulder and closing her eyes.
Only in front of her closest relative, her grandfather, would she allow a hint of exhaustion to show.
“Had a nightmare?”
Calanso keenly noticed the fatigue that even the thin layer of powder couldn’t entirely hide.
His tone was full of concern.
“Is it those old fossils at the Academy giving you pressure again? Or is it… something from your father’s side?”
Freya remained silent for a few seconds before whispering, “A bit of both, Grandfather.”
She didn’t describe the recurring dream in detail—the cold sensation of suffocation and the blurry, malicious whispers in the dark.
“At the Academy… final evaluations are coming up soon, and the professors still have major disagreements regarding ‘that project.'”
She was referring to the High-level Magical Energy Compression and Stabilization Research she was conducting independently, which had ruffled the feathers of certain traditionalists.
“Father wrote to me, asking when I would return to attend the opening ball of the Summer Social Season.”
Her tone was flat, but Calanso detected a subtle hint of resistance.
“Hmph, a social ball,” Calanso snorted dismissively.
“There’s no point in going to those superficial gatherings. If you want to stay here with me, no one can force you back. As for the Academy project…”
He patted the back of Freya’s hand.
“Do the research you believe is right, my little star. Your mother paved her own way despite the pressure back then; you are even more talented and resilient than she was. Do you need me to go ‘chat’ with your Dean?”
“No need, Grandfather.”
Freya opened her eyes and revealed a genuine smile. “I can handle it. I’m just a little tired.”
She paused, seemingly wanting to say something, her gaze instinctively darting toward the stairs.
This small movement did not escape Calanso’s eyes.
He knew his granddaughter well; her stress wasn’t just about academics and family affairs.
“Freya—”
Calanso’s voice softened, turning inquisitive.
“You came back very late yesterday. Aru said you were exhausted and went straight to rest. Did… something happen? Or did you meet someone?”
His gaze was piercing, as if he could see through any facade.
Freya’s heart skipped a beat.
She knew how sharp her grandfather’s intuition was.
Just as she was considering whether to mention Lyra—the dangerous variable she had vaguely brushed off as “cargo” — a series of light, abrupt footsteps echoed from the stairs.
“Good morning—!”
Lyra’s energetic voice rang through the living room.
She had changed into a more fitting set of casual clothes (evidently prepared by the maids overnight).
Her long white hair was tied simply behind her head, revealing a smooth forehead and those striking red pupils.
With a brilliant smile on her face, she hopped down the final few steps, completely ignoring the momentarily frozen atmosphere in the room.
‘Oh boy… I’m doomed…’
Freya covered her face in exasperation. Of course, the very thing she feared had happened.
Calanso’s gaze immediately locked onto this strange girl.
His eyes moved from her peculiar eyes to her natural, unpretentious posture, finally landing on the faint, scabbed scars visible on her wrists.
The warmth on the old man’s face vanished instantly, replaced by the unintentional aura of a veteran warrior and the head of a great house.
Lyra seemed to just notice there was someone else on the sofa besides Freya.
She stopped in her tracks, blinked, and looked back and forth between Calanso and Freya.
Then, she flashed a wide, natural smile.
“This must be the most powerful and kindest Grandfather that Lady Freya always talks about! Hello! I’m Lyra, Lady Freya’s newly hired… uh, assistant! Yes, assistant!”
After speaking, she nodded vigorously, trying to sound more convincing.
Freya was speechless. ‘When did I ever tell you about him?! Tell me!’
Calanso slowly turned his gaze toward his granddaughter, raising an eyebrow in a silent question.
‘An assistant?’
Freya felt a headache coming on.
She had originally planned to introduce—or rather, explain—Lyra’s existence in a more controlled, private setting.
She certainly hadn’t expected this clueless girl to push herself onto the stage in such a sudden manner.
Taking a deep breath under her grandfather’s scrutinizing gaze and Lyra’s “innocent” stare, she knew being vague was no longer an option.
“Grandfather—” Freya sat up straight, striving to keep her voice calm.
“This is Lyra. I brought her back last night through… a special channel. She will indeed be staying by my side for a while to handle some matters.”
“A special channel?” Calanso repeated, his sharp eyes sweeping over Lyra.
Lyra remained smiling, even curiously eyeing the decorative armor on the living room wall, as if she didn’t feel the pressure of his gaze at all.
“Yes,” Freya answered briefly, avoiding specific details.
“She’s… quite skilled. She might be of help to me.”
She didn’t want to mention the Black Market or the slave trade in front of her grandfather.
That would only make things more complicated and trigger unnecessary worry and investigations.
Calanso looked at Freya for a moment, then back at the obviously unusual “assistant,” ultimately deciding not to press for details.
He knew Freya’s personality; once she decided on something—especially something she felt needed to be kept secret—it was difficult to get more out of her.
However, the doubts and concerns in his heart only deepened.
“Since it’s your decision, I will respect it,” Calanso said deeply, though his words were directed at Lyra. “Miss Lyra, welcome to House Dale. I hope you will assist Liya with all your heart.”
Lyra finally turned her attention back to him and performed a somewhat clumsy but passably polite curtsy (heaven knows where she learned that).
“Don’t you worry, Grandfather! I will definitely ‘protect’ and ‘help’ Lady Freya well!”
She emphasized the words “protect” and “help” a bit heavily, and a faint, indiscernible glint flashed deep in her eyes.
Freya, however, didn’t seem to notice.
“Freya—” Calanso turned back to his granddaughter, his tone returning to a gentle one.
“Since you have an ‘assistant’ now, why not relax today? Accompany me to the garden for morning tea. You look like you need some fresh air.”
Freya knew this was her grandfather giving her a way out, and that he also wanted to observe Lyra.
She nodded. “Alright, Grandfather.”
Breakfast proceeded in a subtle atmosphere.
The long table was filled with exquisite breakfast items.
Freya and Calanso behaved with elegance, conversing in low voices about minor family and Academy matters.
Lyra sat below Freya.
At first, she tried various unfamiliar foods with novelty, but she was quickly stopped by a warning glance from Freya.
She then began to mimic their dining etiquette; though her movements were a bit stiff, her learning speed was astonishing.
Calanso took all of this in, remaining unmoved.
Sunlight gradually filled the glass greenhouse, and the air was thick with the aroma of black tea, pastries, and the fragrance of flowers.
However, the gloom in Freya’s heart caused by the nightmare and the uncertainty Lyra brought had not entirely dissipated.
Meanwhile Lyra, the “variable” that had suddenly burst into her life, was leisurely enjoying a scone, looking as though she were completely unaware of the waves about to be stirred—or perhaps, she simply didn’t care.
After finishing morning tea, Freya clearly wanted to discuss something with Calanso.
She set down her teacup and called out softly.
“Grandfather Aru, please take Lyra to pick out some clothes. She can’t keep wearing things that don’t fit her.”
Lyra could tell that Freya didn’t want her to know what they were about to discuss.
“Alright, alright! I’ll go see what pretty clothes I can find. Lady Freya, Grandfather, I’m off!”
With that, Lyra left with Aru like a cheerful little bird, humming a song happily.
The glass door of the greenhouse closed gently behind them, blocking out the external sounds and leaving only the warm sun, the scent of tea, and the silence flowing between the grandfather and granddaughter.
Freya’s finger unconsciously traced the rim of her bone china teacup; her fingertips were icy.
She lowered her eyes, her long lashes casting a small shadow beneath them.
The exhaustion that even the powder couldn’t hide seemed more pronounced now.
Calanso didn’t rush her.
He simply drank his tea quietly, waiting for her to speak.
He knew his granddaughter; if she had intentionally sent that mysterious girl away, whatever she wanted to discuss was no small matter.
“Grandfather—”
Freya’s voice was soft, yet it clearly broke the silence.
“Can I… not marry the Crown Prince?”
The teacup and saucer made a light clinking sound.
Calanso looked up, his sharp yet gentle gaze landing on Freya’s face.
He didn’t immediately show surprise or opposition; he simply gazed at her seriously.
“Why the sudden mention of this, Liya? You and Ross… you grew up together.”
The Crown Prince, Ross Castor, was the future partner almost everyone considered the most perfect match for Freya, whether in terms of family background, talent, or surface-level affection.