The carriage came to a smooth halt, the faint creak of the wooden wheels breaking the otherwise quiet afternoon. Ronan glanced out the window, and his eyes widened. They had arrived at a towering stone archway—unlike anything he’d ever seen before. The structure stood tall and ancient, etched with intricate runes that shimmered faintly in the air, casting a soft glow that seemed to pulse in rhythm with the energy coursing through it.

Beyond the archway, a small gathering of wealthy travelers, merchants, and guards milled about. Fine carriages lined the cobbled road, their horses snorting impatiently as their handlers fussed over getting to the archway. Market stalls had been set up around the entrance, selling rare goods and delicacies that Ronan couldn’t even name. The scent of roasted meats and exotic spices filled the air, mingling with the low hum of conversation and the occasional jingle of coins being exchanged.

The sheer grandeur of the place made Ronan feel as if he’d stumbled into a world that wasn’t meant for someone like him. Everything seemed too polished, too perfect, as if the very air itself was different. The air around the archway felt charged, almost too electric.

“What... is this?” Ronan asked, trying to sound indifferent but failing to hide the awe in his voice.

Gideon, stepping down beside him, gestured toward the archway. “This is the Dimensional Gate,” he said, his tone casual, as if the sight before them was just another mundane detail of daily life. “It connects distant places in an instant, allowing us to travel great distances without wasting time. Efficient, don’t you think?”

Efficient wasn’t the word Ronan would have used. It was... unnerving. There was something too perfect about it, too powerful. The slums had no such magic. He had heard stories, of course, whispers of gateways that could take you across the world in a blink, but those were tales told by slum people desperate for some kind of escape. This... this was real. And it was terrifying.

“Right,” Ronan muttered, staring up at the glowing runes. “Efficient.”

Gideon glanced at him, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Don’t worry. It feels strange at first, but you’ll get used to it.”

Ronan scoffed under his breath, eyes still locked on the archway. Get used to it? Yeah, sure. Like I’m going to get used to anything in this world. Seventeen years and I didn’t get used to the slums.

Without waiting for a response, Gideon stepped forward toward the arch. He gestured for him to follow as he slowly moved to stand right in front of the arc. Ronan followed, though his feet felt heavy, as if each step toward the gate brought with it more reluctance.

The runes on the archway seemed brighter as he drew closer, looking like burning patterns. For a moment, Ronan felt his heart race, an irrational part of him screaming to turn back, to run. But there was no turning back.

Gideon paused just before the gate, glancing over his shoulder at Ronan. “Ready?”

Ronan hesitated, feeling the energy of the gate thrum in the air, a low hum that made the hairs on his arms stand on end. He clenched his jaw and gave a small nod, forcing himself to take a step forward, closer to the glowing arch.

The moment he crossed the threshold, it was like stepping into a void. The world blurred, colors blending together in a rush, and for a split second, there was nothing but silence. Complete and utter silence. No sound, no feeling—just emptiness. And then, just as suddenly as it had vanished, reality snapped back into place.

They were standing in a completely different place.

Ronan blinked, his vision clearing, and looked around. The lush greenery stretched out before him, endless fields of vibrant green and gold, dotted with trees that shimmered in the sunlight. The air smelled different—cleaner, fresher, as if even the scent of the land had been purified.

He turned slowly, eyes wide with disbelief. They had crossed what felt like worlds in an instant.

Gideon, as calm as ever, began walking forward. “Welcome to the Midlands.”

Ronan remained rooted to the spot for a moment, trying to process what had just happened. The slums, the filth, the desperation—everything he’d known felt like it was a universe away now. He was standing in a place that felt unreal. And yet, here he was, in the middle of it all, wearing tattered rags that barely passed as clothes. His worn-out shoes, covered in grime, contrasted sharply with the polished boots of the travelers around him. The fine fabrics and gold-stitched garments of the people milling about only made his threadbare outfit seem even more pathetic, like he was an intruder in a world that would never accept him.

He shook his head, forcing himself to move, sitting in the carriage as luxurious as the one before, or probably even more.

The Midlands.

In the distance, small streams wove through the fields like veins of that Celestium Crystal, reflecting the sky in a thousand directions. The water in the pools and rivers on the other side was unnaturally clear, almost glowing, and Ronan could see schools of tiny, shimmering fish darting beneath the surface. Near the streams, large, bird-like creatures with emerald-green feathers and long necks dipped their heads to drink, their eyes glowing faintly with a magical light. Every now and then, the creatures would emit a soft trill, adding to the weird chorus this place seemed to sing.

Ronan’s eyes widened as they passed by villages nestled among the hills. The houses were crafted from pale stone, with vibrant mosses and ivy creeping up their walls, giving them a lived-in, yet somehow enchanted look. Tiny floating lanterns hovered above the doorways, glowing softly even in the daylight. They moved lazily through the air, following invisible currents as if they were weightless.

Vendors, as they moved through what seemed like a marketplace, sold strange and wonderful things Ronan couldn’t even name. He saw one shopkeeper through the window, with a thick, dark beard holding up a glittering vial of liquid to a group of curious onlookers. As he spoke, the liquid inside shifted colors—from crimson to gold, then to deep violet—its surface reflecting. Across from him, another vendor, an elderly woman with intricate tattoos covering her arms, was selling carved wooden figurines that seemed to move on their own, tiny gears whirring as their limbs bent and twisted with lifelike precision.

The people here looked nothing like those in the slums. There were even people whose clothes were bright, adorned with jewels or embroidery, their faces clean and content, as if they’d never known hunger or struggle. Ronan glanced down at himself, at the dirty rags he wore, and for the first time since arriving, he wanted to disappear, to melt into the earth and vanish.

They traveled deeper into the Midlands, the road gradually rising as the carriage wound its way toward wherever they were going. The further they went, the more the landscape opened up, revealing lush gardens that seemed to stretch on for miles, their flowers blooming in colors so vibrant it was almost blinding. There were deep purple blossoms the size of the rats found in the slums, their petals shimmering in the light like velvet. Golden vines climbed up wooden bars and fences, their leaves shaped like delicate lace, glowing faintly as though they held the last rays of the sun within them.

And then, beyond the gardens, a castle came into view.

Ronan had never seen anything so grand. The estate itself was built from smooth, dark stone, its towering spires casting long shadows over the grounds. The windows were tall and arched, with stained glass that depicted beauties and mythical creatures in vivid detail. Above the entrance, an enormous, intricate clockwork mechanism spun slowly, its gears and cogs turning in perfect harmony, ticking away time with a soft, metallic rhythm that echoed through the air.

A fountain stood at the center of the courtyard, its water cascading over three layers of polished stone. At the top, a statue of a winged figure stood frozen mid-flight, its outstretched hand holding a glowing orb that seemed to shine like the sun. The water in the fountain sparkled, reflecting the glow of the orb, casting shimmering patterns on the ground.

As they passed through the gate leading into the castle, Ronan felt a growing sense of unease. This place—this entire world—was too perfect. It was a place where everything seemed enchanted, where even the flowers bloomed with magic, and yet here he was, a boy from the slums, dirty and out of place.

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As they reached near what he supposed was the entrance, Ronan noticed the quiet bustle of activity around the grounds. Though there were no signs of Gideon’s family, the estate was far from empty. Servants moved swiftly across the courtyard, their polished black uniforms stark against the lush greenery surrounding them. Butlers and maids attended to various tasks with precision, some trimming the hedges while others carried trays of delicate glassware and plates toward the grand entrance of the mansion. Everything was done with a quiet efficiency that seemed almost rehearsed, as though every movement had been practiced to perfection.

Ronan felt even more out of place than before. He could feel their eyes on him—fleeting glances from the staff as they passed, though none of them lingered. If they thought anything of the ragged boy standing next to their master, they didn’t show it. Their expressions remained neutral, as if they had been trained not to question anything that happened within these walls.

It was weird and he wasn’t really sure if it was the magic or just him being delusional, but their indifferent expressions didn’t stop him from sensing the different emotions these people were feeling.

Honestly, he had tried to ignore those feelings, each and every time he felt like he was feeling someone else’s emotions, chalking it up to whatever. But in some insignificant instant between the time the Marquis brought him that really, really sweet pastry and feeling the jealousy and uncomfortability of the maids, he was ready to admit it.

I have powers where I can sense people’s emotions.

They stepped out of the carriage, and Ronan’s feet met the stone courtyard with a quiet thud. His eyes traveled up the length of the estate’s towering spires, and the reality of the situation began to sink in. This wasn’t just a step up from the slums—it was a different world entirely. He clenched his fists, trying to suppress the flood of emotions that threatened to surface.

Gideon’s voice broke through Ronan’s thoughts. “Welcome to the Vandross estate,” he repeated, his tone calm but with an edge of satisfaction. “This will be your home for now.”

Home. The word sounded strange, almost foreign. How could this place ever feel like home to someone like him? The home he did know was filled with extreme poverty and disease, where every day was a battle for survival. This... this was something else entirely.

A tall man in a pristine butler’s uniform approached them, his hands folded neatly behind his back. His face was impassive, but there was a sharpness in his gaze that made it clear he missed nothing. “Shall I prepare Master Ronan’s quarters?” the butler asked, his tone neutral with a hint of warmth.

Master Ronan. The words made Ronan’s stomach turn. He wasn’t a master of anything, let alone someone deserving of this kind of treatment. It felt like a joke, a cruel one at that.

And he still did not understand how every single being he met knew his name.

Gideon nodded curtly, glancing briefly at Ronan before addressing the butler. “Yes, Reginald. Make sure everything is in order. He will be staying in the east wing.”

Reginald gave a slight bow and turned to lead the way inside, leaving Ronan to follow in his wake. They entered the grand hall, and the sheer size of it made Ronan feel small and insignificant. The ceiling stretched high above, adorned with ornate carvings and chandeliers that sparkled with a warm, golden light. The walls were lined with tall windows, each framed by heavy and red velvet curtains that looked too fine to touch.

As they walked, the sound of their footsteps echoed faintly through the hall. Servants passed by them silently, their eyes downcast, attending to their duties without a word. The air was thick with a sense of order, and yet, to Ronan, it felt suffocating.

But he didn’t see any noble women and children wandering about.

“Where’s your family?” Ronan asked suddenly, the question slipping out before he could stop himself. It had been on his mind ever since they arrived, even though there’s a possibility they wouldn’t come out for someone as insignificant as him. But he was still being adopted into their family. For a place so grand, it seemed strange that there were no signs of Gideon’s family.

For the briefest of moments, Gideon’s expression faltered. His usual calm demeanor wavered, just enough for Ronan to catch a glimpse of something else—something darker. But just as quickly, it was gone, replaced by the familiar mask of indifference.

“My work keeps me occupied,” Gideon replied smoothly. “There are matters that require my attention elsewhere. As for the rest... some things are better left unsaid.”

Gideon turned around and walked away saying, “It would be best if you remember that you will be called my family now. I won’t tell you to come to me if you need anything, but come to me if you need anything. Rest for now, we will talk tomorrow.”

Ronan didn’t press further. He had learned long ago that when someone deflected a question, it was best not to pry. But the unease lingered, gnawing at the edges of his thoughts.

They continued through the hall until they reached a large staircase that spiraled upwards. Reginald stopped at the base, turning to face them. “If you would follow me, Master Ronan, I will show you to your quarters.”

Ronan hesitated for a moment before nodding and following Reginald up the stairs. He didn’t sense any emotion from Reginald. He didn’t know why, but these days, there had been a lot of stuff he didn’t know the reason for. And honestly, this strange emotion sensing power had a mind of its own. His every step felt like he was being dragged further away from the world he knew and deeper into this strange, opulent one.

They reached the east wing, where the corridors were quieter, the air cooler. Reginald stopped in front of a large door, turning the handle and pushing it open to reveal Ronan’s room. It was larger than any room Ronan had ever seen, way bigger than the shack he used to call home. The bed alone was bigger than that shack, draped in fine linens that looked like they had never been touched. The walls were lined with shelves filled with books, and a large window overlooked the gardens below, the sunlight streaming in through the glass.

Ronan stepped inside, his eyes wide as he took it all in. It didn’t feel real. None of this did.

“This will be your room for the time being,” Reginald said, his voice calm and professional. “If you require anything, just ring that bell on the bedside table.”

Ronan nodded absently, still trying to process the sheer size and luxury of it all. He felt a lump forming in his throat, a mix of emotions he couldn’t quite untangle. Was this what life was like for people like Gideon? For people who had never known hunger or cold?

But as the door closed behind Reginald, leaving Ronan alone in the vast room, he realized that probably no amount of time could make him feel at home here. This wasn’t his world. It might never be.

He sank down onto the edge of the bed, the soft mattress sinking under his weight in a way that felt foreign, unnatural. His hand absently reached into his satchel, pulling out the torn teddy bear, clutching it tightly in his hands. It was the only thing in this room that felt real to him—the last connection to the life he had left behind.

As the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the room, Ronan lay back on the bed and stared up at the ceiling. The fabric of the bedding was soft, too soft, and everything around him felt cold, pristine, and utterly uninviting. No matter how much he tried to adjust, the walls of this new world closed in on him. He was an intruder here.

Ronan sat up abruptly, unable to lie still any longer. His eyes roamed the room, taking in the large, intricately carved furniture, the curtains that hung from the windows, thick and heavy. A polished wardrobe stood against the far wall, and beside it, a writing desk that looked like it had never been used. His gaze moved toward the three doors lining one side of the room, their pristine brass handles glinting in the last rays of sunlight.

Curiosity tugged at him, despite the unease gnawing at his chest. He stood up, walked to one of the doors, and pushed it open. The air was cool inside, and what lay beyond took his breath away.

A bathroom. A massive bathroom.

The floor was lined with smooth tiles, so clean they reflected the light from the crystal chandelier hanging above. The bathtub was large enough to fit several people, its white marble sides gleaming in the dim light. Gold fixtures adorned every surface, from the taps to the ornate mirror that covered nearly the entire wall. A plush rug was draped across the floor, soft under his bare feet as he stepped inside.

Ronan stared at the vanity, at the delicate bottles and brushes neatly arranged, the soft towels folded perfectly by the sink. He approached the mirror, his reflection staring back at him.

And that was when reality hit him.

His clothes, tattered and filthy, hung off his thin frame. His hair, matted with dirt, stuck out in wild clumps. His skin looked pale, his eyes hollow, and the sight of himself against the backdrop of such opulence made him feel like a stain on the world he now found himself in. A bitter chuckle escaped his lips, though it held no humor.

“Look at you,” he muttered to his reflection. “A real masterpiece, aren’t you?”

His hands gripped the edge of the sink, knuckles white, as he leaned closer to the mirror. He didn’t like the reflection of the boy in the mirror. He was someone who didn’t belong. He was someone who never should have stepped foot in this world.

With a sigh, Ronan pulled away from the mirror, feeling the sting of self-loathing wash over him. He couldn’t bear to look at himself any longer.

He walked back to the main room, the soft carpet muffling his steps. The bed still loomed in the center. Without thinking, Ronan moved to the far corner of the room, where the shadows were deepest. He dropped down onto the floor, curling up against the wall, his back pressed against the cold surface.

The torn teddy bear was still clutched tightly in his hands as he lay there, eyes wide open, staring at nothing. The floor was hard and uncomfortable beneath him, but in some twisted way, that felt right. It was what he was used to.

In this corner, hidden from the overwhelming grandeur of the room, he felt a small semblance of comfort. A place he could pretend he belonged.

In a place I don’t belong.