Chapter 39 #3
“I had Oromon enlarge the kitchen,” Ark said, almost bashfully. “I figured anyone who feeds an entire orphanage on a daily basis would need the room.”
Cassia ran her hand along the counter. “Mrs. Thimble is going to cry when she sees this.”
He looked over at her with that rare, quiet delight he reserved only for her. “Good tears, I hope.”
“The best kind.”
From there, he moved fluidly through the rest of the first floor—the unfinished library with tall shelves waiting to be filled, the bright music room complete with a grand piano, and an adjacent solar that would become a space to play and rest. Cassia didn’t interrupt.
She only watched him—her chest too tight to even say a word.
He wasn’t just building a home. He was building a future—for the children of Starlight.
Upstairs, Ark explained that two large dormitories would take shape where smaller rooms once stood.
“One for the girls, one for the boys,” he said. “There are still two small rooms available—I thought you might want them for the eldest boy and girl.”
“They’ve been helping with the little ones,” Cassia said, remembering Devlin and Sirena. “I’m sure they’d appreciate a little privacy and peace.”
“There’s also an office for you,” he added. “And more rooms upstairs.”
Cassia glanced around the upper hall. Plaster was drying in parts, a few tools set neatly against the wall.
Light pooled through the windows at the end of the hallway, warming the space with a golden glow.
In the attic, he pointed out the future quarters for Mrs. Thimble and Matilde: two large rooms with sloped ceilings, thick walls, and a new bathroom already halfway installed.
They descended again, out into the backyard.
A large stretch of land waited behind the house. Frost still touched the edges of the soil, but even so, Cassia could see the lines of promise: a terrace by the house, a garden plotted near the fence, the perfect slope for a swing set or slide.
“We can build a greenhouse here,” Ark said.
“So the children can still study plants and botany in winter. They’ll plant herbs, winter greens, even flowers if they want.
We can hire a gardener to plant fruit trees.
Over there, there’ll be a small field—large enough for games.
And maybe a proper terrace here with a pergola.
A place for meals outside, when the weather turns. ”
She looked at him then, truly looked.
“Ark. You’re building Starlight a whole world.”
He didn’t answer at first. Just wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close to his chest.
“I’m building what you and the children need and deserve,” he said, quiet against her hair. “A place where you’re safe. Where they’re safe. Where no one can ever take anything from you again.”
Her eyes burned. Cassia’s gaze drifted upward—to the carved lintels above the door, the wide windows catching afternoon light, the snowy field beyond where gardens would one day bloom. Her throat ached with the weight of it.
“How much is the rent?” she croaked.
Ark gave her a small, crooked smile. “One warm heart. Two steady hands. And someone who still believes children deserve magic.”
She turned away, blinking fast. “You’re lucky I’ve got all three.” Chuckling and sniffling at the same time, she pushed, “Truthfully, Ark. What are the terms? I need to know what this looks like on paper.”
He tilted his head, studying her. “You’re negotiating with me? Now?”
“I’m always negotiating. It’s how I’ve kept Starlight alive this long.”
His mouth curved. “The property belongs to Aegis & Ash. The lease is yours—indefinitely, for a nominal rent. We’ll put it on paper. Register it, if you want. Anything to make it legally binding so it doesn’t keep you up at night.”
She searched his face for any trace of pity. Found none. Only that steady, infuriating certainty.
“You showed me what true strength looks like,” he said, quieter now. “You kept Starlight alive all these years. You were ready to sell your parents’ home to keep the children together.” He gestured to the house around them. “This is me putting my resources behind that strength. Supporting it.”
He stared at her for a moment longer, then bowed his head, pressing his forehead to hers. Their fingers laced together, warm and steady.
“You inspired this. You made it impossible for me to stand by any longer. So don’t ask me about terms. Ask me how soon you can move in.”
A soft, disbelieving laugh trembled from her lips. “How soon?”
“In five days. Maybe four.” A determined, almost boyish grin touched his mouth. “I think I can force Oromon to bring in more workers. We’ll pump in more magic to finish faster.”
She couldn’t process it. Starlight—safe. The eviction notice, the constant fear of rising rent, the looming threat of Alderrath—all of it, gone. A solid, beautiful future was being laid at the children’s feet.
He tilted his head, his nose brushing hers. “And if there’s still a little room in your heart,” he murmured, his voice raw with vulnerability, “I’d like to be part of the bargain too.”
Cassia didn’t laugh this time. She stood on her toes and kissed him, pouring all her relief, her gratitude, and her love into the touch.
“Silly demon,” she whispered against his lips, her voice thick with emotion. “You’ve had it, almost from the start.”
Inside, Cassia’s gaze drifted once more across the room—the honeyed floors, the pale light, the wide windows looking out over snowy fields.
A different kind of quiet lived here. Not the kind built by years of shared laughter, whispered stories, midnight comforts—but the kind that waited to be filled.
She closed her eyes and listened.
There was something beneath the silence. Something old and slow and deep. Land Magic—not loud or shimmering, but settled into the bones of the land like roots in ancient soil. It wasn’t the same as Starlight’s bright, mischievous hum, but it was there. Earthbound. Watchful.
Hello, she thought gently, letting the word stretch out. My name is Aura Cassia. I don’t mean to intrude—I only seek a home for children who have nowhere to go.
It seemed only polite—to introduce herself to the house, to the land, to whatever unseen presence had stood long before her and would likely stand long after. This place had endured. Not just weather and wear, but the passage of people, of time, of memory.
“This feels a bit like fate, you know,” Ark said.
“After you and I made our bargain in that tea shop, I came here. Caius, Rhodes, and I cleansed this home that very night. It was a loving, happy home once. The Memory Magic within should make itself known soon, once you and the children start filling it with love and joy again.”
He looked at her then, something quiet and unresolved in his gaze. “Cassia—” He paused. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t get Starlight back from Alderrath. I tried—”
Cassia reached out, pressing a hand to his chest before he could finish. “Ark, it’s not your fault. I tried. You tried. Your lawyer tried. Caius and Rhodes tried.” She let out a breath, a bittersweet smile on her lips. “It’s just not meant to be.”
She looked around. “This place is perfect. The children will love it. We’ll make it our new home.”
But even as she said it, memories of the old Starlight flickered—familiar windows, familiar floorboards, the vigilant hearth, the walls that had protected generations of children. A pang of loss cut through her. She blinked away the burn in her eyes.
“I wonder if that spark we felt in the old Starlight was one-of-a-kind. I hope something so special can be recreated.”
Ark was quiet for a moment, watching her. “Well, that’s just the thing.”
She turned to face him fully, brow arched.
“What if,” he said, his voice gentle, “it doesn’t need to be recreated? What if it can be relocated?”
She tilted her head, frowning. “What do you mean?”
A slow smile spread across his face—that gleam in his eyes again. The one that meant he’d been thinking, theorizing, plotting.
“I have a proposal,” he said. “About the basement.”