Years Ago. The river murmured softly as it wound through the dense forest, its surface shimmering beneath the golden embrace of the afternoon sun. A woman knelt at the water's edge, her hands raw from scrubbing clothes against the washboard. The rhythmic sound of fabric slapping against stone mixed with the distant rustling of leaves, where her husband moved among the trees, gathering mushrooms into a woven basket.
"Make sure you don't pick the poisonous ones like last time!" she called, her voice carrying across the clearing.
The man grunted, rolling his eyes. "I already told you—I'm no good at this. But you insisted I do it anyway." He plucked another mushroom, eyeing it with suspicion. "Whatever I pick is none of your business."
The woman scoffed, wringing out a tunic before tossing it into a basket beside her. "If only you had a proper job, I wouldn't have to insist." She cast him a pointed look. "Just make sure you pick the right ones. Our meal tonight depends on it."
As she turned back to her washing, something unusual caught her eye beneath the water's surface—a large stone, smooth and luminous, casting a greenish glow that pulsed like a heartbeat.
A precious stone?
Emily's breath caught in her throat. She quickly glanced around, ensuring they were alone, then stepped cautiously into the water. The cool liquid lapped at her ankles as she moved deeper, but with every step forward, the stone seemed just out of reach. The realization hit her—this part of the river was far deeper than it appeared, and she had never learned to swim.
Frustration surged within her. Clenching her fists, she backed away from the water and rushed to her husband, grabbing his arm with urgency.
"What now?" he grumbled, barely managing to keep hold of his basket as she dragged him toward the riverbank.
"Look!" She pointed toward the glowing object beneath the surface.
His brow furrowed. "What is that?"
Emily inhaled sharply, exasperated by his dullness. "Can't you tell? It's a precious stone."
His eyes widened in surprise. "A precious stone? Does that mean we'll be rich?"
"Yes! We can finally leave this wretched village, buy a house among the elite, and live the life we deserve." Emily's mind raced with visions of silk dresses, fine meals, and freedom from the weight of poverty. She turned to him, eyes gleaming with greed. "Quick, dive in and get it before someone else sees it!"
The man hesitated only a moment before nodding. He inhaled deeply and plunged into the river, his body cutting through the water as he swam toward the glowing object. But as he reached for it, his fingers did not meet solid stone. Instead, they pressed against something softer—a strange, translucent bubble.
And inside it, a child slept.
His breath caught. It wasn't a treasure. It was a boy.
Without hesitation, he reached through the strange cocoon, pulling the child carefully into his arms before kicking off the riverbed and breaking through the surface.
Emily gasped as he emerged, but her awe lasted only a moment before twisting into fury.
"Where's the precious stone?" she demanded, her face hardening. "And what in hell's name is that?"
The man waded to shore, his arms still cradling the unconscious boy. Water dripped from the child's damp hair, pooling around his small, delicate frame. "There was no stone," he panted. "Only this child—he was trapped underwater."
Emily's lip curled with disgust. "Then you should've left him there."
The man snapped his head toward her, his eyes darkening. "Emily!"
"What?" she sneered. "Look at us! We can barely feed ourselves, and now you've dragged in a stray? What do you expect us to do with him? Because I'll tell you right now—he's not staying with us."
The man let out a weary sigh. "Emily, for once, show some kindness. He's just a child. We can't abandon him—he won't survive on his own."
Emily sneered, gathering her freshly washed clothes into a basket. "Kindness? The world has never been kind to me, so why should I be?"
The man let out a tired sigh. "We are keeping him and that's final"
Emily sneered and walked away, stomping her feet in displeasure.
Her husband didn't answer, only turning his gaze back to the boy.
The child appeared to be around six years old, his long blond hair cascading over his shoulders in damp waves. His clothes—though soaked—were of a quality far beyond anything found in their village. Around his neck hung a delicate necklace, the name Malin inscribed upon its pendant.
"Malin…" the man murmured.
As if in response, the child stirred. His eyelashes fluttered, and for the first time, he opened his eyes—two piercing pools of blue that held both innocence and something unspoken beneath.
"…Mm," the boy murmured softly, gazing up at the stranger before him.
As Malin finished his meal, Alfred's voice cut through the low murmur of the dining hall.
"Come."
Malin paused, setting his cutlery down neatly before pushing back his chair. Without hesitation, he trotted toward the butler, his curiosity piqued.
Alfred beckoned him forward without another word, and Malin fell into step behind him. The temptation to ask questions pressed against his tongue, but he quickly swallowed them down. He had not forgotten Alfred's warning—Lord Blackthorn despised noise and chatter.
Silence stretched between them as they walked through the grand halls of the mansion, past gleaming marble floors and towering columns, until they reached the rear of the estate. Here, the air smelled of earth and hay, and the scent of horses lingered in the crisp morning breeze.
Alfred finally turned to face him, his sharp eyes appraising.
"Though Lord Blackthorn has taken you in, you will not idle away in this mansion," the butler said coolly. "If you wish to continue living here, you must earn it."
Malin blinked. He hadn't expected luxury, but hearing it put so plainly made something tighten in his chest. Still, he only nodded.
"Philip," Alfred called.
A boy, slightly older than Malin, stepped out from the shadows of the stable. His dark eyes flicked over Malin with mild disinterest before settling on Alfred.
"Yes, Mr. Alfred?"
"This is Malin. He's new. You'll teach him how things are done."
Philip turned to Alfred as if expecting more explanation, but the butler had already dismissed them with a wave of his hand.
The smile on Malin's face didn't waver as he turned to Philip. His blue eyes shone with excitement, as if he had just found a new friend.
"It's nice to meet you, Philip."
Philip hesitated. Then, without returning the greeting, he spun on his heel. "Follow me."
Alfred watched the two boys disappear into the stable yard, shaking his head. Malin had no idea what he had walked into. If he continued being this… friendly, he wouldn't last a month.
Lord Blackthorn did not care for warmth. And he certainly did not care for talkative boys.
Philip led Malin into the stables, where the scent of hay mixed with something far less pleasant. He grabbed a broom and dustpan, tossing them toward Malin without warning.
"Start cleaning."
Malin caught the broom with ease. If Philip had been expecting him to complain, he would be disappointed. Work didn't bother Malin in the slightest. He had grown up laboring under his mother's strict rules—if he didn't work, he didn't eat. Compared to the odd jobs he had done in the village, mucking out a stable was hardly the worst of it.
Without hesitation, he began sweeping the straw and dung into neat piles.
For a while, they worked in silence. But Malin, ever curious, kept sneaking glances at Philip. Finally, he gave in.
"How long have you worked here?" he asked.
Philip didn't pause in his task. "Since I was born," he replied simply. "My parents were servants here. They worked until their deaths."
Regret pooled in Malin's stomach. "I'm sorry… I shouldn't have—"
"It's fine." Philip cut him off before he could finish the apology. Then, with a sideways glance, he asked, "How did you end up here?"
Malin smiled, brushing a stray strand of blond hair from his eyes. "I nearly lost my life, but Lord Blackthorn saved me."
Philip stopped mid-motion, turning to stare at him.
"The lord… saved you?"
Malin nodded enthusiastically. "Mhm." His smile widened.
Philip held his gaze for a long moment. Then, with a dry chuckle, he shook his head. "In your dreams."
Malin's brow furrowed. "I'm telling the truth."
Philip scoffed. "Lord Blackthorn doesn't even bother with nobles, let alone random boys. And you're telling me he rescued you?" He let out another humorless laugh. "Better stop spreading nonsense unless you have a death wish. Lies don't last long in this mansion."
Malin frowned, confused by Philip's reaction. Why was it so unbelievable?
Before he could press the issue, Philip had already turned back to his work, muttering under his breath.
With a small shrug, Malin resumed sweeping.