Haila, who had been carrying a tray of glasses, screamed sharply behind Riman.

Aillen squeezed her eyes shut instinctively, bracing herself for the sound of shattered glass.

Instead of the expected sharp clatter, however, a low gasp broke the silence.

Slowly, she opened her eyes.

The guest had firmly grasped Riman by the waist to steady him, pressing down on the stack of plates to prevent them from toppling.

Suddenly trapped in the guest’s arms, Riman turned bright red with embarrassment.

As she watched them, Aillen realized something she hadn’t noticed before: the guest, who was unusually tall for a woman, was nearly half a head taller than her younger brother, who was still growing.

It was a rare and striking height.

‘This isn’t the time to notice that.’

“Are you all right?”

Aillen asked hurriedly.

“As you can see, I’m fine.”

With effortless composure, the guest took the dishes from Riman’s trembling hands and carried them to the table, which was already set. Glancing back at Aillen, she silently asked if she should put them down.

Her black hair swayed like silk.

Almost spellbound, Aillen gave a small nod.

“Is there anything else I can help with?”

Shifting her focus, the guest turned towards Riman and Haila. When they remained frozen to the spot, she simply shrugged, gently took the tray from Haila’s stiff hands, and arranged it neatly on the table. Her movements were quiet and graceful, flowing like running water.

Before anyone could fully comprehend what was happening, the guest — whose name they still did not know — had seamlessly blended in with the Grandel siblings and was calmly and efficiently taking over their scattered tasks.

Their father, preoccupied with the side dishes in the kitchen, and their mother, who had stepped out to fetch a bucket of ice, did not notice at first.

Thanks to her, the work was finished in no time.

Aillen could only press her lips together, her quiet embarrassment settling deep within her chest.

***

By the time the slow, lingering melody began to drift through the hall, everyone had taken their seats.

Some gathered in the corners, clinking glasses and striking up conversations with new acquaintances. Others surrendered themselves to the music at the center of the room, swaying gently in time to it.

Stories of distant hometowns, discussions of the northern economy, and whispers about the latest fashions floated through the air.

But Aillen’s attention was fixed elsewhere: on the guest with the blue-grey eyes standing quietly beside her.

She had planned to remain against the wall like an ornament tonight — visible, yet uninvolved. Perhaps that had not been the wisest decision, though. The somewhat unsettling guest had chosen to stand at her side.

The discomfort stirring in her chest was not her fault.

After all the help she had offered, Aillen could hardly excuse herself without seeming rude.

So she stayed.

With an awkward smile fixed on her lips, she stood beside her.

“The food was excellent.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“This dining hall. Your father’s cooking is quite impressive.”

As Aillen nodded politely in response to greetings, she missed the guest’s opening words.

She must have looked either distracted or foolish.

Under ordinary circumstances, she wouldn’t have cared. But now, she found herself forcing down a bitter smile. She was suddenly acutely aware that she did not want to appear dull in front of this northerner.

The years she had spent in the north, constantly having to prove her worth, seemed to surge through her veins whenever she stood beside the guest.

“Was there a particular dish you enjoyed? Since you helped today, I’ll make sure to give you extra next time—on the house.”

“There’s no need. I only helped because I had idle hands. You don’t have to trouble yourself.”

“We always do something for guests who lend a hand.”

Aillen added the words with a playful grin.

In truth, she did not offer such favors to just anyone who offered to help. Those who lingered were usually people she had grown close to — guests who used the excuse of helping out just to spend time chatting with her. She gave them simple tasks, such as folding napkins, and they settled into a quiet corner to chat idly, enjoying the warm illusion of staying at a friend’s house for the night.

But for some reason, she did not want to feel indebted to this particular guest.

Perhaps she was afraid the woman had noticed her deliberate attempts to avoid her.

And so, she had given herself no room to refuse.

The northerner calmly brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear and narrowed her eyes slightly.

“…The lamb and bell pepper skewers were particularly good.”

Aillen had half expected the guest to evade the question politely, which would have given her an opportunity to say more. Instead, however, the guest answered with unexpected honesty.

Ailen’s eyes widened slightly.

‘Her taste is simpler than I thought.’

‘She mustn’t think like that.’

Her brows knitted together unconsciously.

Since the conversation had begun, she should at least see it through to the end, if only out of courtesy. But the atmosphere shifted as lively music filled the hall.

“Aillen! Aillen!”

Guests she had grown familiar with began calling her name in chorus.

“Ah—what?”

There was no time to protest.

Before she knew it, she was dancing with a girl who claimed to have come from Whislen to visit. She was half a head shorter than her.

The young lady wore a crisp white blouse with short sleeves and a light brown, flared, long skirt, styled with effortless grace.

“It suits you!”
“Hey, Aillen can really dance!”

As she moved, half-playful cheers rose around her. Her body moved in time with the music, almost instinctively and without conscious thought. The young lady, whose name she had yet to learn, smiled radiantly at her.

Although two women were dancing a traditionally partnered dance, nobody in the south thought it was strange. In this region’s free-spirited atmosphere, such things were never considered unusual. Seeing how easily guests from the North adapted, perhaps that place was not so different after all.

She had never known its people well enough to learn something as trivial as that, though.

Aillen swallowed a faint, bitter smile.

The dance continued, but she barely registered the questions directed at her. When the first song ended, the young lady smoothly passed her hand to another partner.

On nights when the inn held gatherings, Aillen always danced. Almost without thinking, she accepted another offered hand and continued.

By the time she became fully aware of her surroundings again, the third song had already begun.

‘Habits are frightening things,’ she clicked her tongue inwardly.

Every time she turned, her gaze would meet those blue-grey eyes and their bodies would come close together. Under the lights, they resembled the eyes of a nocturnal creature. For a moment, she found herself caught in them, until her new partner spoke and she forced herself to look away.

“My name is Mila.”

“Ah, I’m—”

“Aillen, right?”

“Yes. Mila.”

Her awkward smile seemed almost cruel.

How had she once lived so freely, fearless of people and heedless of caution?

Lydia. Teba. Mila.

As she danced, Aillen ran these names through her mind, deciding that once the song ended, she would go back to standing against the wall.

However, the moment the music stopped, she started to hurry back to where she had been standing — but a cool hand naturally took hold of hers and stopped her.

“Ah—I was just about to get a drink…”

“Would one song be too much to ask?”

The music changed once more. The deep notes of the contrabass and the gentle strumming of the guitar echoed through the hall as though someone were taking slow, measured steps. It was almost as if candles were being lit one by one in a darkened room.

Under the dim lights, the shadows traced the contours of the nameless guest’s face.

They did not make her seem sorrowful.

If anything, they gave her depth.

Like the rich, lingering taste of fine chocolate that Aillen had once received as a gift.

The low hum of conversation faded into the distance like the faint murmur of a stream somewhere far away. Beneath her slowly lowering lashes, her blue-grey eyes disappeared for a moment, then lifted again.

Before she could change her mind, Aillen slipped her hand into the guest’s.

Her thin lips curved into a quiet smile.

It was as though a fissure had formed in something that had been frozen for a long time; her expression brightened instantly.

The smile lasted only a moment, but it left a quiet warmth between them.

Someone must have opened a window. A faint scent of damp grass drifted in on the cool night air. Even the silence in the softly murmuring hall felt pliable, as though any spoken word would naturally settle into it.

Perhaps that was why.

It was why Aillen — of all people — found herself speaking first to the very person who had unsettled her for so long.

“My name is Aillen. Aillen Grandel.”

“…Yes. I’ve heard.”

The guest responded a beat slower than usual, as if caught slightly off guard.

A spark of mischief rose in Aillen.

“Still, hearing it directly is different, isn’t it?”

“…It is. A pleasure to meet you, Miss Grandel.”

Aillen’s laughter rippled gently through the warm night air. Although they had met days ago, it was only now that she was being told what a pleasure it was to meet her. Such a remark could hardly be ignored.

“There are two Miss Grandels here. Call me Aillen.”

Thin lips parted. As though pronouncing an unfamiliar word for the first time, the guest carefully repeated her name.

“Aillen.”

“I’m pleased to meet you too.”

After laughing, she found herself short of breath and took a deep one. The hand clasped in hers had felt cool, but the body touching hers through the layers of fabric did not. This contrast felt oddly fascinating.

“What should I call you?”

The lights suddenly felt sharper, almost piercing. Aillen narrowed her eyes slightly.

“I can’t keep calling you ‘guest’ forever.”

The guest seemed to consider the question for a moment before nodding thoughtfully, as if to acknowledge that it was only fair.

She could have simply checked the guest registry for the name. However, Aillen had always preferred to ask in person.

Guests who stayed here would inevitably learn her name, just as she would learn theirs. Nevertheless, she disliked the idea of finding out someone’s name secretly. It felt too much like stealing.

Besides, asking face-to-face was the first step towards building a connection.

At the very least, her years in the north had not turned her into someone who would quietly snatch a name from a list.

The guest’s lips parted slowly, and Aillen leaned in just a little closer without realizing it.

“Call me Seren.”

The name carried a soft resonance, one that blended seamlessly with the low hum of the strings.