---
Charles sat alone in his study, the weight of his thoughts pressing heavily on him. Ariel's face lingered in his mind, a strange sense of familiarity haunting him. She looked so much like Rosely, his first love, a woman from his past whom he had never quite gotten over. Both had silver hair, an extraordinary feature that stood out like a beacon. It was uncanny—the resemblance between Ariel and Rosely was not just physical; it felt like fate, a connection he couldn't ignore.
Rosely, a rare being—someone not meant to exist in this world—had always been an anomaly in his life. Her very existence had been something Charles knew was impossible, yet she had been real. And now Ariel, so much like her, had entered his life in the most unexpected of ways.
He squeezed his hand tightly, his thoughts spiraling. Why had Rosely died so young? Why had such a rare, beautiful soul been taken from him? The grief of her loss had never truly left him, and now, it seemed, her spirit might live on in Ariel.
"Barrow," Charles called out to his butler, his voice low but sharp. "Tell me again, why did Rosely die? Why was she... taken so soon?"
The butler, standing in the corner of the room, remained silent for a moment before answering, "She was never meant to survive, sir. There was always something about her... something beyond human."
Charles closed his eyes, a deep sigh escaping his lips. "Ariel… she's just like her, isn't she?" he murmured, almost to himself. "A rare being… just like Rosely."
Barrow nodded but said nothing, watching his master carefully. He could sense the weight of the question, but he knew better than to voice his thoughts on matters like these. Yet, the resemblance between Ariel and Rosely was undeniable.
Charles turned away from the butler, staring out the window into the night. His mind raced. Ariel's presence, so similar to Rosely's, was stirring up something inside him—a long-buried feeling, something that had lain dormant for years.
"Ariel must be watched," he said, almost to himself. "She cannot be just a coincidence."
With that, he turned back to Barrow, a new sense of urgency in his tone. "I want you to keep a close eye on her. Report back to me everything you can about her... everything."
Barrow nodded silently, understanding the gravity of the situation.
As Charles watched Ariel's image play over in his mind once more, he couldn't shake the feeling that her arrival was more than just fate—it felt like destiny, one that he could no longer ignore.
---
Allan chuckled at Cara's playful remark. "Mr. Lover Boy? Who's that supposed to be?" he teased as he adjusted himself on the bed, looking up at her.
Cara raised an eyebrow with a smirk. "You, obviously. Now come on, breakfast is set. Or should I say, the breakfast," she added, a touch of sarcasm in her voice. "And yes, Dad's joining us, so don't make us wait."
Allan groaned in mock reluctance, throwing the covers off. "Alright, alright, but only because you promised me food."
Cara laughed as she turned to head out. "You better hurry. I'm going to see Nari after breakfast. Don't keep me waiting."
As Allan started getting dressed, he couldn't help but think about how everything had changed recently. His family dynamics were shifting, and he felt like there were things he needed to figure out—about himself, about his powers, and about the people in his life, including Ariel. With a sigh, he pulled on his shirt and headed down for breakfast.
"Hope you're ready for a long chat," he mumbled to himself.
As Allan entered the dining room, he noticed his father and Cara already settled at the table. The aroma of freshly prepared breakfast filled the room, but Allan's attention was drawn immediately to the conversation unfolding.
"Good morning, Dad," Allan greeted, his voice calm but filled with a tinge of curiosity. He took his seat and began to eat, trying to avoid any unwanted attention.
Charles, ever the observant one, broke the silence first. "The girl with the silver hair... she's beautiful. You got a thing for her?" he asked, looking at Allan with a knowing expression.
Allan paused mid-bite, his fork still raised. He met his father's gaze, his tone sharp but controlled. "When did you become so interested in my love life?"
Charles smirked, clearly unfazed. "Since you walked out of the fashion gala with her. That was quite the exit, son."
Allan sighed heavily, placing his fork down. "You could've just invited her for dinner this week or whenever it's comfortable. I'm not against you having a love life, just as long as it doesn't make you cold."
Cara, sitting across from Allan, snickered under her breath. "So, when is sister-in-law coming?" she teased, raising an eyebrow with a playful smirk.
Allan shot her a sideways glance but couldn't help but smile at her mischievous tone. "You're impossible," he muttered, then turned his attention back to his father. "Look, I'm just figuring things out. But I'll invite her when I'm ready. No need to pressure me."
Charles nodded, not pressing further, though a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "Alright, son. Just make sure you're making the right choices."
Cara, now more serious, took a sip of her drink, eyeing both of them. "Well, I guess I'll just wait for the announcement then," she said, her tone still playful but a little more thoughtful.
Allan couldn't help but laugh softly. "Trust me, you'll know when the time's right."
The tension in the room lightened as they continued their breakfast, but Allan's mind lingered on the conversation. He couldn't shake the feeling that his father was more observant than he let on—especially when it came to matters of the heart.
******
Ariel woke up to the soft glow of the morning sun streaming through her bedroom window. She stretched, her body still feeling the remnants of a deep, peaceful sleep. For the first time in a while, there were no lingering dreams or visions to trouble her mind. It felt like a rare moment of peace.
When she stepped downstairs, the house was quiet—her siblings must have already left, or maybe they were still in their own worlds. The silence was soothing, almost comforting. Ariel decided to make the most of the empty house. She tidied up, picking up stray items from the night before, wiping down surfaces, and putting things back in their places. There was something calming about the routine of cleaning, the way it helped clear her mind.
Once the house was in order, Ariel moved to the kitchen. She pulled out ingredients and began cooking a simple breakfast for herself, her movements fluid and easy, as if she'd done it a thousand times before. She hummed quietly to herself, enjoying the sound of her own voice as she worked. Soon, the kitchen filled with the rich scents of her cooking, the air thick with warmth and the promise of a good meal.
Ariel moved to the living room, and without realizing it, she began to dance. Her body moved in a way that felt completely natural, as if the rhythm of her movements was an extension of the music playing in her heart. She twirled gracefully, her silver hair catching the light as she spun, lost in the joy of the moment. It was her way of feeling free—expressing herself without anyone watching, without anyone expecting anything.
Unbeknownst to her, a pair of eyes watched from the shadows. Eleanor Raven, hidden from Ariel's sight, observed her with a keen interest. There was something captivating about the way Ariel moved, the way she seemed so comfortable in her own skin, so unaware of the power she might hold. Eleanor couldn't help but watch, a mixture of envy and fascination flickering in her gaze. She stood just out of sight, her presence barely noticeable, as if she was a shadow, blending into the surroundings.
For a moment, Eleanor wondered what it would be like to possess that kind of carefreeness, that sense of being so entirely in the moment. But she quickly pushed the thought away, returning her focus to Ariel. There was something about her that Eleanor couldn't quite place—something that tugged at her curiosity.
As Ariel continued to dance and cook, completely unaware of the watchful eyes, Eleanor remained silent, hidden, allowing the scene to unfold.