The days passed swiftly, and Elara, with her natural talent, quickly grasped the intricacies of carving. Though her work lacked the uncanny precision of Sol’s, there was an undeniable charm in her creations each piece held a certain grace, a delicate beauty that reflected her own personality. Under Henrik’s guidance, her carvings began to capture the essence of what he had been trying to impart, filled with life and emotion rather than mere craftsmanship.

Despite her progress, anxiety began to creep in. With only two days remaining before her father’s birthday, Elara still hadn’t found a design she truly loved. Each attempt left her unsatisfied, and frustration flickered in her eyes as she discarded one idea after another. Sol, watching quietly from the side, could see the growing tension in her shoulders, the way she bit her lip in thought.

Henrik, sensing her distress, patted her shoulder lightly. “Art cannot be rushed, my lady,” he said with a gentle smile. “The right idea will come when your heart is ready.”

Elara sighed, staring down at the unfinished piece in her hands. “I just want it to be perfect,” she murmured.

The sun was setting, casting a golden glow over the workshop as Elara sat at the workbench, her fingers tracing the outline of yet another discarded carving. A soft sigh escaped her lips, frustration evident in every movement. Despite all her effort, nothing felt quite right nothing seemed worthy enough for her father.

Sol watched her from across the room, his heart aching at the sight of her furrowed brows and downcast eyes. Over the past days, he’d grown to admire her deeply not just for her beauty, but for the way she laughed, the way she spoke with such conviction, and the way she filled the air around her with life. He wanted to help her, to ease the burden she carried so heavily.

That night, long after Elara had left the workshop, Sol remained behind. He sat at the workbench, the flickering candle casting long shadows across the room. With slow, deliberate movements, he began to carve. He didn’t need to think; his hands moved as if guided by something deeper than thought memories of her laughter, the way the wind played with her hair, the quiet strength in her eyes.

Hours passed, and by the time dawn’s light crept through the small windows, the sculpture was complete. It was Elara every delicate feature, every graceful curve captured in the wood with astonishing detail. But more than just a likeness, it held something deeper. It captured the Elara he had come to know the Elara who sat by the fire, lost in thought, the one who spoke of her dreams with such quiet longing.

Sol hesitated for a moment before placing the carving on her workbench and stepping away, slipping out just before she arrived.

When Elara entered the workshop, she stopped in her tracks. Her eyes widened as they fell upon the sculpture. She stepped closer, her breath hitching as her fingers brushed against the smooth surface of the wooden carving. It was her not just her face, but her essence, the way she felt in moments she thought no one noticed.

She turned, searching the room, and when she saw Sol standing quietly by the doorway, his gaze averted and his hands awkwardly tucked behind his back, something stirred within her.

“You… you made this?” she asked softly, a strange warmth filling her chest.

Sol scratched the back of his neck, looking anywhere but at her. “I just thought… you seemed upset. I wanted to—”

Before he could finish, Elara crossed the room in a few steps, standing right in front of him. Her eyes, bright with something he couldn’t quite place, met his. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered. “I… I don’t know what to say.”

Sol swallowed hard, feeling the heat rise to his cheeks. “You don’t have to say anything,” he mumbled. “I just—”

Elara smiled, a soft, genuine smile that lit up her face in a way he had never seen before. In that moment, something shifted within her. She saw him , really saw him. The boy who had always stood quietly by her side, who listened when no one else did, who had somehow understood her better than she understood herself.

Without thinking, Elara reached out and embraced him. Her arms wrapped around him gently, yet with a sincerity that made Sol freeze in place. “Thank you, Sol,” she whispered, her voice trembling slightly, carrying a weight of emotion he hadn’t expected.

Sol stood still, caught in the warmth of the moment, feeling the soft press of her against him. His heart pounded in his chest, loud and unrelenting, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he realized he wasn’t invisible, he wasn’t just surviving. He was here, with her, and in this fleeting instant, it felt as if he truly belonged somewhere.

Elara lingered in the embrace, her eyes fluttering closed as a quiet understanding bloomed within her. It wasn’t grand gestures or flowery words that had brought her here, it was him. The boy who had always been there, silent, steady, and true. A slow, tender ache curled inside her chest, and she realized, with a softness that frightened and thrilled her all at once, that she had fallen for him.

Pulling back slightly, she met his gaze, and for the first time, there was no distance between them only a quiet connection that needed no words. A soft smile played on her lips, and Sol, still unsure but unwilling to let go of this feeling, smiled back.

And beneath the golden glow of the morning sun, beside the delicate sculpture of herself he had carved with such care, Elara knew that some things in her life were about to be completely changed.

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Henrik, who had just arrived, stood frozen at the doorway, his sharp eyes taking in the scene before him. Elara, wrapped in Sol’s hesitant embrace, the sunlight casting a soft glow on them, and beside them, the delicate sculpture Sol had carved with such care. A complicated look crossed Henrik’s weathered face, his fingers tightening around the bundle of wood he carried.

He had begun to dig around for who Sol truly was over the past few days. The boy was an errand boy, a servant under the Helvig family. Henrik already knew who Elara was, knew the weight of her name and the power it carried. And now, seeing her here, with him, so open and vulnerable it was not something he had hoped for.

His chest grew heavy with a sense of foreboding. If anyone were to witness this moment, if whispers of it reached the wrong ears… Sol would not just be punished; he would most likely be tortured and executed without hesitation. The Helvig family did not take kindly to such matters, especially when it concerned their cherished daughter. Henrik exhaled slowly, running a hand through his graying beard.

He stepped forward, deliberately scuffing his foot against the wooden floor to make his presence known. Elara and Sol jolted apart instantly, guilt flashing across Sol’s face, while Elara, ever composed, straightened herself and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

Henrik met Sol’s gaze, and for a fleeting second, there was something unspoken in his eyes, concern, warning, perhaps even pity. The morning sun had just begun to cast its golden hue over the shed, filling the space with soft light that contrasted with the heaviness settling in Henrik’s chest.

“It’s still early,” he said gruffly, his voice cutting through the quiet hum of the morning breeze. “You should both get started before someone starts asking questions they shouldn’t.”

Elara, standing near the workbench, brushed a strand of hair from her face and nodded, though a flicker of something unreadable passed through her eyes. A hint of defiance, perhaps, or determination. Sol, however, merely lowered his gaze, his fingers tightening at his sides. He understood Henrik’s unspoken warning all too well.

Henrik sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he watched them gather their tools.

He knew better than anyone that lines like theirs weren’t meant to cross. Elara, a noble’s daughter, and Sol, an errand boy, a servant meant to blend into the background. And yet, as he observed the quiet understanding between them, Henrik couldn’t help but feel a gnawing unease.

“Elara,” he said after a moment, his voice softer. She looked up, her gaze steady. “Be careful.”

A small smile played at her lips, one filled with quiet amusement. “I always am.”

Sol stole a glance at her before quickly looking away, his steps a little more deliberate now as he moved to his usual spot in the shed. Henrik watched him for a moment longer before sighing deeply. The day had just begun, but already, he could feel trouble brewing beneath the surface.

They began carving, the rhythmic scraping of metal against wood filling the silence between them. The air was still heavy with the weight of what had happened earlier, an unspoken tension lingering like a ghost in the workshop.

Elara worked with quiet focus, her hands moving with precision, yet there was a slight hesitance in her strokes, an unusual uncertainty that hadn’t been there before. Sol, sitting beside her, kept his head down, his eyes fixed on the piece of wood in his hands, but his mind was elsewhere. He could still feel the warmth of her embrace from earlier, the softness of her voice when she had thanked him.

After half a day had passed, Elara finally set her tools down with a sigh. In front of her lay a small carving, delicate yet strong, a depiction of a man with sharp, regal features, a neatly carved beard, and an air of authority that seemed to radiate from the wood itself.

Henrik walked over, his eyes scanning the piece with a practiced gaze. “A fine likeness,” he said after a long pause.

Elara nodded, but there was no satisfaction in her expression. “It’s not enough,” she murmured. “It doesn’t feel… like him.”

Henrik smiled, his gruff demeanor softening for a moment as he looked at Elara’s work. “It’s good enough,” he said, nodding approvingly. “You’ve captured almost everything I’ve taught you.” He leaned in slightly, running a calloused finger along the fine details of the carving. “Not my best student,” he added with a teasing glint in his eye, “but definitely one of the best.”

Elara huffed, rolling her eyes but unable to hide the small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “I suppose that’s the closest thing to a compliment I’ll get from you,” she said, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

Henrik chuckled. “Take it or leave it, girl. You’ve got a knack for it, but talent alone won’t get you far. Keep at it.”

Sol watched their exchange quietly. He lowered his gaze back to the small wooden piece in his hands, running his fingers over its rough surface, feeling the grooves and imperfections.

Henrik’s voice pulled him from his thoughts. “And you, boy,” he said, nodding toward Sol, “I’d say you’re a natural, but that would be an understatement.”

Elara glanced at Sol, a flicker of warmth in her eyes. “He does have an annoying way of making it all look effortless,” she muttered, though her tone was more fond than annoyed.

Sol shrugged, feeling the heat rise to his face. “I just… watch,” he said simply, echoing his words from earlier.

Henrik gave him a long look, then patted his shoulder with a surprising gentleness. “Keep watching, lad. You might just end up surprising yourself.”

As Sol stared at the carving, a strange sense of familiarity crept over him. The sharp features, the poised demeanor, the unmistakable air of authority, it all tugged at something buried deep within his memory. And then, like a bolt of lightning, it struck him.

This was the man he had seen before. The man who had knelt in front of that young, enigmatic figure all those years ago. The city lord.

His heart pounded violently in his chest, and a cold chill ran down his spine. “The city lord…”

He swallowed hard, his throat dry and tight. He had embraced the daughter of the city lord. The weight of the realization crashed down on him, and his hands trembled slightly as he set the carving down.

If anyone had seen them… If Garrick had found out… No, if the city lord himself were to know…

His mind raced through the possibilities, each one more terrifying than the last. The punishment for a servant overstepping their place was severe And for him, an errand boy with no standing, no protection, no name worth mentioning he wouldn’t escape with his life.

Sol’s gaze flickered to Elara, who was still examining her carving, oblivious to the storm raging within him. She looked so at ease, so untouched by the weight of status and consequence that now crushed his very soul. Did she even realize what had happened? What it meant?

Henrik, who had been watching him carefully, cleared his throat. “Something wrong, lad?”

Sol jolted, shaking his head quickly. “N-no, nothing, sir,” he mumbled, forcing himself to focus.

Henrik narrowed his eyes but said nothing, only nodding before returning to his work.

Sol’s thoughts swirled in a chaotic mess.