CHAPTER 530: SUNSHINE AND LAUGHTER

The days that followed slipped by like golden threads in a summer tapestry, each one warm, bright, and full of small wonders.

Pamela, Ivan, and Ivy quickly became inseparable, their laughter becoming a familiar echo within the stone halls of Mendel Manor.

Every morning began with a race down the wooden staircase. Ivy always leapt the last three steps; Ivan pretended to be above such childishness—until the day Pamela beat them both to the bottom and raised her arms in victory. From that moment on, even Ivan joined the race, his competitive streak impossible to hide.

They spent long afternoons exploring the manor grounds. There was the pond behind the stables where water lilies floated like stars, and where Ivan once slipped and fell in—an accident that sent Ivy into uncontrollable laughter and Pamela into a panic until she saw him resurface, drenched but grinning.

Then there was the orchard, where the air always smelled faintly of fruit and bees. The three of them climbed trees barefoot, stained their fingers with longan tree, and invented games that made no sense but somehow felt like the most important missions in the world.

Pamela was slower to laugh at first. But Ivy had a way of coaxing joy from her like a melody from a reluctant instrument. And Ivan, despite his quiet nature, treated Pamela with a gentle protectiveness that reminded her of the brother she once had.

Sandoz would join them from time to time, but he was busy practicing most of the time.

In the evenings, they gathered in the old reading room—one of Lara’s favorite places when she was staying at the Mendel Manor. Pamela loved the way the light from the three candles flickered across the tall shelves, casting dancing shadows on the books. Ivy read aloud the stories of ancient heroes, while Ivan made sarcastic comments that always earned him a playful swat.

But sometimes, when the fire burned low and the manor had gone quiet, Pamela would tell them about her past. Not everything—just fragments. The way her father used to whistle when he hauled his catch from the boat, or how her mother sang when washing clothes.

The twins listened without interrupting, their faces soft with understanding. In those moments, the air between them grew tender, full of silent promises of friendship that would not break.

One afternoon, while exploring the far end of the orchard, Ivy discovered an overgrown path half-hidden behind a thicket of vines.

"Let’s see where it goes!" she said, already pushing through before either of the others could protest.

"Wait—what if it’s dangerous?" Ivan called, though he was already following.

Pamela hesitated, then laughed and ran after them.

The path wound down to a forgotten garden, enclosed by ivy-covered stone walls. It was Lara who built that small garden two or three years ago.

"We should make this ours," Ivy declared. "Our secret place."

And so it became their sanctuary. They cleared the weeds and planted wildflowers in old clay pots they borrowed from the kitchen. They even named it—The Hidden Garden—and swore to meet there whenever they wanted to escape lessons, chores, or the eyes of grown-ups.

Weeks passed, and the manor’s routine grew brighter because of them. Even the students and servants smiled when the children dashed by, their energy contagious.

One afternoon, as the three lay beneath the narra trees, the sky painted in shades of rose and gold, Ivy turned to Pamela and said softly, "You know, before you came, it was always just me and Ivan. Sandos is very busy training. But now, it feels... fuller. Like our world grew bigger."

Pamela smiled, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "It feels that way for me too."

Ivan didn’t speak, but his quiet nod said enough.

As the sun dipped in the west, signaling the nightfall, fireflies began to shimmer around them, and for a while, the three children just watched the sky darken, hearts content and spirits light.

None of them knew how fleeting those peaceful days would be—how soon the world beyond Mendel Manor would come calling.

But for now, they were together. And that was enough.

...

The days grew cooler as autumn crept quietly into Narra Alley. The golden leaves swayed like fading memories above the manor grounds, and the once-buzzing orchard began to sleep beneath the slow rhythm of falling wind.

Life at Mendel Manor remained warm and lively, especially with the laughter of the three children echoing through its halls. Pamela, Ivan, and Ivy still spent their afternoons in the Hidden Garden, now half-buried in amber leaves. But lately, their games were interrupted by odd things—small, almost forgettable at first.

A shadow that flitted past the edge of the garden wall when no one else was around. Footprints in the soft soil that didn’t match any of theirs. A strange whistling sound, low and hollow, that sometimes drifted through the trees at dusk.

"Maybe it’s just one of the knights patrolling," Ivan said one evening, trying to sound casual as he poked at the campfire they had made from fallen twigs.

Ivy shivered slightly. "Knights don’t whistle like that," she whispered. "It sounded... old."

Pamela didn’t say anything. She was staring at the stone wall, her fingers tracing a pattern of ivy leaves. For some reason, the stillness of the garden suddenly felt different—less peaceful, more like the hush before a storm.

A few days later, a messenger arrived at Mendel Manor. His horse was mud-streaked and breathless, and his cloak carried the scent of rain and road dust. Lara met him in the courtyard, her expression calm but unreadable as she took the sealed letter he carried.

Freya came with Lara to bring Pamela back to Helias Manor. She had stayed with the twins for some time now, and Freya missed the little girl.

When Ivan and Ivy learned that Pamela would return to Helias Manor, they pestered their grandfather and great-grandfather. The two masters gave in and allowed the twins to stay with Lara for two days.

That afternoon, a shadow flitted along the edge of the hidden garden and concealed itself behind the shrubbery. It waited and waited, but even when dusk came, the usual sound of laughter did not fill the air and the three lively children where nowhere to be seen.