After returning from Hevenfort, Lara brought Pamela to Mendel Manor, a stately estate nestled along the quiet stretch of Narra Alley. Naturally, her mother Freya came with them—Lara knew her mother wouldn’t want to miss the chance to meet the young girl who had, in such a short time, captured so many hearts.
Like her daughter, Freya quickly grew fond of Pamela. At first, she pitied the child, knowing the heavy sorrow she carried. But as the days passed, that pity turned into genuine affection. Pamela’s gentle manners, bright curiosity, and quiet resilience shone through her grief—revealing a girl easy to love and even easier to admire.
When their two trykes—driven by Freya’s and Lara’s knights—rolled to a stop in front of the manor gates, three familiar figures were already waiting: Sandoz, Ivan, and Ivy, standing in a neat row beneath the arching boughs of the old narra trees.
"You’ve grown taller," Lara exclaimed warmly, ruffling Sandoz’s hair. Her eyes sparkled with fondness as she turned to the twins. "And the two of you as well—how you’ve grown!"
Sandoz and Ivan exchanged shy smiles. They wanted to hug her, but a flicker of self-consciousness held them back; they were no longer the little boys who used to cling to her skirts. Only Ivy, still as impulsive as ever, darted forward and threw her arms around Lara, who laughed and hugged her tight.
"I’m so jealous!" Reya cried in mock indignation, hands on her hips. "Why aren’t you hugging me too? Don’t you like me anymore?"
Sandoz rolled his eyes with exaggerated maturity. "We’re not little boys anymore, Reya. We’ve grown."
"But you’ll always be my little boys," Reya declared dramatically, stepping forward to give him a hug anyway. Sandoz dodged with a grin, darting away like a startled squirrel.
"Bah, you little brat! Come here!" Reya shouted, taking off after him. The scene erupted in laughter as the petite girl chased the quick-footed boy into the manor. Despite her agility, Reya was no match for Sandoz, whose martial training had clearly paid off.
Meanwhile, Lara placed a gentle hand on Pamela’s shoulder and brought her forward.
"Pamela, these are the twins, Ivan and Ivy," she said warmly. "They’re the grandchildren of my master, Jethru."
Pamela curtsied politely. She was slightly older than the twins, though they towered over her thanks to their strong family lineage. Still, the moment their eyes met, an easy camaraderie began to form—the kind that promised laughter and long afternoons together within the halls of Mendel Manor.
That night, Pamela spent her first sleepover at Mendel Manor in the east wing, a cozy chamber overlooking the orchard. The next morning, sunlight streamed through gauzy curtains, painting golden patterns across the quilted bedspread. The air smelled faintly of baked bread and narra blossoms—a scent she would soon learn to associate with home.
When she came down for breakfast, she found Ivan and Ivy already waiting at the long dining table. Ivan was leaning over a small wooden contraption, tinkering with gears and screws, while Ivy sat beside him, sketching flowers in a journal.
"Good morning," Pamela greeted softly.
Both twins looked up at once. Ivan’s expression brightened with polite curiosity, while Ivy’s eyes lit up like twin stars.
"Morning!" Ivy said cheerfully, patting the seat beside her. "Come sit! Reya made honey rolls today—they’re the best thing ever."
Reya stayed the night as well accompanying Lara and Pamela. Only Freya returned to Helias Manor.
Pamela hesitated at first, but Ivy’s easy warmth melted her reserve. She took the offered seat, and within moments found herself drawn into the twins’ rhythm: Ivy’s bubbling chatter, Ivan’s quiet but earnest remarks, and Sandoz serious tone and the occasional shared laugh that broke through the stillness of the hall.
After breakfast, Ivy insisted on giving Pamela a tour of the manor grounds. Ivan followed reluctantly at first—he preferred his workbench to social excursions—but soon, curiosity won him over. Sandoz, on the other hand, had no choice but to go to the southern part of the manor where the Samuel and Jethru’s students were training.
They walked beneath the sprawling narra trees that shaded the stone paths. Jethru in the last two years, had transplanted a few narra trees in his manor to give justice to the name of their alley. This update ıs available on 𝓷𝓸𝓿𝓮𝓵※𝓯𝓲𝓻𝓮※𝓷𝓮𝓽
Birds flitted above them, and the manor’s students sparred in the distance, their shouts echoing faintly across the courtyard. Ivy talked the whole way, explaining who planted which tree, which door led to which forbidden room, and where the best hiding spots were during games of chase.
Pamela listened intently, occasionally smiling at Ivy’s animated gestures. "You talk a lot," she said, half-teasing.
"I know," Ivy said unabashedly. "But that’s how people get to know each other, right?"
Ivan snorted softly. "Or how people lose their hearing."
Pamela laughed—a clear, soft sound that surprised even herself. It had been some time since she’d laughed like that.
As the morning sun cast a warm golden hue over the training yard, the trio made their way toward a bustling scene of preparation. Wooden swords leaned against wooden racks, their surfaces marked with the scars of countless trainings, while targets stood tall and resolute, their faded colors hinting at many a practiced aim. Ivan, with a grin that radiated excitement, approached Pamela and handed her a sleek, short practice blade, its polished edge glinting in the sunlight. The blade felt balanced in her hand, a promise of potential waiting to be unleashed.
"Do you know how to use one?" he asked.
Pamela took the weapon with both hands, weighing it thoughtfully. "A little. My father taught me... before."
Her voice trailed off, but neither twin pressed. Instead, Ivan nodded solemnly and showed her how to adjust her stance. Ivy clapped and cheered every time Pamela landed a hit, even if it was accidental.
By the end of the day, their laughter echoed through the courtyard like a song. The three of them returned to the manor covered in dust, their faces flushed from the sun. Freya watched them from the balcony above, a faint smile on her lips. Lara stood beside her, arms crossed loosely, her gaze softening as she took in the sight.
"They’re good for her," Freya murmured.
"And she for them," Lara replied.
Below, Pamela, Ivan, and Ivy raced each other up the stone steps, their voices blending into the twilight breeze—three young hearts, slowly stitching together something new. Not bound by blood, but by the simple, enduring thread of friendship.