The carriage door opened with a smooth, metallic click.
Solas stepped down with quiet grace, his shoes landing gently against the smooth stone road. He walked forward, leaving the carriage behind and stepping into the open air.
His eyes lifted, taking in the full view of Vargra's manor.
A pathway of smooth, pale stones led the way through the well-kept lawn toward the structure that loomed ahead. The manor stood tall and imposing—beautiful in its own austere way—composed of four dominant colors: grey, dark oak, black, and silver.
The base of the manor was built from smooth grey stone, forming a strong and sturdy foundation. The midsection was clad in dark oak panels, their finish rich and deep. Atop it rested a sweeping Dutch-style roof, black as a starless night, with elegant silver trim lining the eaves.
Near the top, narrow dormer windows jutted outward, offering a view over the entrance. At the front of the manor stood two polished white pillars wrapped in a coiling silver serpent—an ornamental design that gave the facade a regal, almost mythic presence. The twin entrance doors were carved from dark oak and reinforced with sleek black metal lines, forming a pattern that hinted at both elegance and defense.
The grass flanking the entrance was short, neatly trimmed—every inch of the estate maintained with care.
The manor was nothing short of breathtaking.
"To your liking?" came a soft voice behind him.
Vargra stepped up beside Solas, her silver gaze turned toward her home before shifting to meet his.
"It's quite impressive," he said, eyes still scanning the structure. "Though not exactly my preferred color palette."
"Oh?" she asked, a note of curiosity in her tone. "Then tell me—what do you prefer, Solas?"
He let out a thoughtful hum. "Something lighter. Brighter. More welcoming."
"I see." Her tone softened, unreadable. Then she gestured toward the manor. "Please, lead the way."
Solas's eyes narrowed slightly. "Are you sure? This is your manor."
"I insist."
He gave a small nod, lips curving faintly. "Very well."
Solas made his way toward the front doors, Vargra close behind, her eyes fixed on him—watching his every step with quiet interest.
He soon stood before the grand double doors. Glancing back, he caught her gaze. She met it with a soft, knowing smile—an unspoken cue for him to proceed.
And so, he opened them.
As he stepped inside, he was immediately greeted by the scent of luxury—rich, floral, with an undertone of something rarer, more elusive. His shoes sank slightly into a soft red carpet that stretched across the floor, running deep into the heart of the manor.
Ahead of him stood a grand split staircase, the same red carpet tracing its steps, outlined in silver. The railings were a sleek black, their surface smooth and polished. Above, a chandelier hung in regal silence—its arms adorned with small, floating yellow crystals that shimmered, casting a golden hue over the room.
Behind him, the doors creaked closed with a heavy wooden groan, followed by a soft click. Vargra stepped forward, her voice calm.
"Follow me."
He did.
She led him past the staircase, deeper into the manor until they reached an open lounge-like room.
To his left stood a fireplace, built of light grey stone. Flames danced lazily behind a protective black grate, casting flickering shadows along the walls. In front of it were two chairs—sleek black in color, trimmed with delicate silver lining.
She gestured for him to sit.
Solas lowered himself into one of the chairs with grace. Vargra sat opposite, first shifting her tail aside with practiced ease, then crossing her legs as her pale eyes settled on him.
"We have a lot to discuss," she said, her tone both calm and firm.
"We do."
She leaned forward slightly, elbows on her knees. "But before that… is there anything you'd like to ask?"
"Yes," Solas replied without hesitation. "One thing."
"Go ahead."
"Do you maintain this place yourself, or have others do so? I was… surprised someone of your stature didn't have servants waiting at the door."
She gave a quiet chuckle. "Ah. I don't enjoy having maids running about my home. I prefer solitude. As for the upkeep… I have a staff that comes every Friday to ensure everything remains in pristine condition. Otherwise, I enjoy the silence."
A soft smile curled across Solas's lips. "I see."
She leaned back, a soft hum escaping her throat. "You intrigue me, Solas. Truly—you fascinate me."
She paused.
"But before I begin anything meaningful… I'd like to ask you something."
"Go on."
Her voice lowered just slightly, though her eyes never wavered.
"What is it you want?"
Solas smiled faintly, his gaze lingering on the flickering fire. "Is it not more compelling when answers unfold in time? After all… where's the thrill if everything is known from the start?"
Vargra took a moment to digest his answer.
She liked it.
There was something in the way he responded—subtle, clever, patient. It only deepened her fascination with what he might become.
Her pale-silver eyes locked with his.
"Then I'll be waiting to see what unfolds."
A soft smile tugged at Solas's lips.
"And you'll find what you see… very much to your liking."
"I believe I will…" she murmured. Then, after a brief pause, her eyes narrowed slightly, locking onto his. "There is one more thing I'd like to ask."
Solas tilted his head, curious. "And what might that be?"
"Vaelira and her squad." Her voice lowered, the weight behind it unmistakable. "What do you see in them?"
He didn't hesitate.
"What do I see? I see everything I need to." He leaned forward slightly. "They're exceptional—disciplined, driven, and distinct from anyone else I've encountered here. They stand out. And that's exactly the kind of presence I want beside me… when the future begins to unfold."
He let his words settle before continuing. "The same goes for Rowena. Everyone has a purpose in this world, even if they themselves can't see it. But I can. I see the potential—like seeds buried in soil, waiting to rise."
Solas leaned back in his seat, eyes drifting upward for a moment. "We're all carried by this current called time. It sweeps us forward, relentless. Eventually, it delivers us to our end. But before then… if we're lucky, we get to discover who we truly are."
Then, with deliberate calm, he stood and approached her. His voice softened, but the conviction remained sharp.
"I want to shift that tide—to guide it. To help others reach that destination before it's too late. I want them with us on that journey."
He extended his hand to her.
"To change something. To improve the lives of others."
Vargra stared at him in silence, the weight of his words pressing against the quiet.
She hadn't expected such conviction… such clarity of purpose. The mission, the goblins, the politics—all of it faded into the background. What remained was the man in front of her.
She reached out slowly, her fingers brushing his before clasping his hand.
"Given time," he said firmly, "we all find our purpose. Perhaps Fate really has brought us here for a reason."
Solas helped her to her feet.
Vargra allowed herself a rare, soft smile. "I think I've heard all I needed to."
She released his hand, then nodded toward the hall they'd entered from. "Come. Let me show you to your room—and find you something more fitting to wear."
Her eyes flicked over his clothes with playful judgment. "There might already be something in the room, though… mostly women's attire. If that's not to your liking, I'll search for something else."
Solas gave her a light grin. "I'll manage. I'm sure I'll find something."