Chapter 160: The Day Was Hers
Chapter 160: The Day Was Hers
Seris Darkmoor had not planned to spend her holiday watching a moving picture.
Her two friends had insisted. They had heard the production was unusually well-made and refused to go without her. When she first declined, they looked genuinely disappointed. After a short argument she finally gave in, more to end the discussion than out of any real interest.
They arrived at the theater early and found seats near the center of the lower level. The lights dimmed. The story began.
To her own surprise, Seris found herself drawn in. The narrative was tight, the emotional turns clean, and the final choice of the protagonist left a quiet impression. By the time the screen faded to black, she was still thinking about the ending.
Then the credits started to roll.
Names passed across the screen in steady succession. Actors. Director. Production staff. Music.
And finally—
**Written by Andras Darkmoor.**
Seris stared.
For a moment the words did not register. Then they did.
"What?!"
The shout left her before she could stop it.
---
The shout still lingered in the air when Andras and Saraphina turned toward its source.
Below them, near the center of the lower seating, Seris Darkmoor stood half-risen from her chair. Her crimson eyes were locked on the fading credit line. Two girls from her group were already trying to pull her back down, speaking in hurried, low voices that did little to restrain her. Seris had apparently come to watch the moving picture with two of her friends.
"Seris, sit down—"
"People are staring—"
Seris ignored them completely.
"My brother made a moving picture," she said, loud enough that several nearby rows could hear. "And he never said a single word about it. Not to me."
One of the girls tried again, her tone carefully placating. "Maybe he just didn’t want attention. You know how he is—"
"That’s not the point." Seris’s voice carried genuine irritation now, sharper than simple surprise. "He wrote an entire production, put his name on it for everyone to see, and acted as if it was nothing. Who does that? He didn’t even mention it to me once."
The girls exchanged uneasy glances. A few audience members nearby were already whispering, glancing between the remaining credit and Seris’s unmistakable white hair and features. The recognition was spreading quickly through the nearby seats.
Andras watched the scene without moving from his seat.
Saraphina looked at him. She hadn’t expected Seris to react so strongly.
His sister clearly had no idea.
Seraphina watched Seris from above, a faint sense of curiosity settling in her mind. She had known about Andras’s involvement in the production for some time, yet even his own sister seemed completely unaware of it.
For some reason, that contrast felt strangely amusing.
"You didn’t tell your sister about the moving picture?" she asked.
"No."
She studied his face, searching for some sign of guilt or even mild concern. There was none. The desire to ask why pressed against her thoughts, but she held the question back. Asking in the middle of a crowded theater, with Seris still clearly agitated below them, would only create more attention. In the end she only looked at him in silence.
Andras turned slightly toward her.
"Let’s go outside."
Saraphina hesitated. "Don’t you want to go to your sister and say something? She’s clearly upset."
"No." His tone remained even and unhurried. "Today is your day. Just forget about everything else."
The words caught her off guard.
*Today is your day.*
He had said it as though it were the simplest fact in the world. She looked at him a second longer, weighing the answer against her own sense of propriety, then gave a small nod.
"All right."
They rose and left the private box without drawing further attention to themselves. By the time they reached the main corridor leading out of the theater, Seris’s voice had already been absorbed back into the general noise of the departing audience. Neither of them looked back.
Outside, the afternoon light was brighter than before. People moved along the street in small groups, some still discussing the performance, others already heading toward restaurants and shops. The air carried the mixed scents of the capital’s commercial district—baked goods from nearby stalls, polished metal from the carriage fittings, and the faint residual mana of the street lamps.
Saraphina walked beside him, still thinking about what had just happened. Andras had written an entire moving picture and treated the achievement as though it were nothing special. Even more strangely, he had walked away from his sister’s reaction without hesitation. She still didn’t completely understand how he could be so indifferent to things that would have mattered to most people, but by now she was beginning to accept that this was simply how Andras was.
Andras glanced at her.
"Are you hungry?"
She considered the question. "A little. I didn’t eat much this morning."
"Then we’ll eat first."
They walked a short distance until they found a quieter restaurant with private tables set slightly apart from the main floor. The establishment was refined without being ostentatious. Andras requested a table near the window. Once they were seated and the initial orders placed, the noise of the street faded into a more distant background.
Saraphina rested her hands lightly on the table, her fingers loosely interlaced. The quiet made it harder to ignore the questions still sitting at the edge of her thoughts.
"She was really angry," she said after a moment.
"She often is."
"Not like that." She looked at him directly. "That wasn’t just irritation. She was genuinely upset that you didn’t tell her. It sounded personal."
Andras met her gaze without deflection. "I know."
"And you still don’t care?"
"I don’t see a reason to explain myself to her."
Saraphina was quiet for several seconds. Most people in their position would have at least attempted to manage a family reaction like that. He had simply walked away.
"You’re strange," she said finally.
"You’ve said that before."
"I’m saying it again. Most people would at least try to manage their family’s reaction. You simply left."
"There was nothing that needed managing."
She shook her head lightly, though there was no real disapproval in the gesture. The food arrived soon after. They ate without rushing. Between bites, she found herself asking more questions about the production than she had intended—how much involvement he had beyond the writing, whether he had watched the final version with Evelyne.
"Did they change anything significant?" she asked at one point.
"No. The core remained the same."
Saraphina listened carefully. Each answer only reinforced the same impression: he had done something impressive and then refused to treat it as such. When they finished, Andras set his utensils down and regarded her across the table.
"Is there anything you want to do next?"
She thought for a moment, her gaze drifting toward the window. "I don’t have any particular plan. I assumed we would return after this."
"Then come with me."
He stood. After only a short pause, she followed, curiosity outweighing the last of her hesitation.
They left the restaurant and continued deeper into the commercial district. The streets here were lined with higher-end shops catering to nobles and wealthy merchants. Andras eventually stopped in front of one of the quieter establishments, a place known for custom clothing rather than loud window displays.
Saraphina looked at the entrance, then back at him.
"You want to buy something?"
"For you."
She blinked, mildly taken aback. "You don’t have to. The meal was already more than enough."
"I know."
"Then why?"
"Because I decided to."
The simplicity of the answer left her without an immediate reply. There was no elaborate justification, no attempt to make the gesture sound romantic. He simply stated it as a decision already made. He entered without waiting for further objection. After a brief hesitation, she followed him inside.
The interior of the shop was calm and carefully lit. Soft mana lamps illuminated racks of high-quality fabric and finished garments without glare. The air carried a faint scent of clean linen and polished wood. An attendant approached at once, recognized the quality of their clothing and bearing, and offered assistance with polite efficiency.
Andras selected a few pieces with minimal discussion—simple but refined garments that matched her usual preferences in cut and color—and requested a private fitting room. The attendant nodded and led them toward the rear of the shop.
Saraphina glanced at him as they walked, still not entirely certain she should accept. Buying clothing for a fiancée was not unusual in itself. The way he had simply decided it, without discussion, was what unsettled her. In the end she accepted the situation and stepped into the room when it was indicated.
Andras waited outside.
Several minutes passed. Alone in the fitting room, she changed slowly, her thoughts still half-occupied by the theater, by Seris’s public reaction, and by the quiet way Andras had dismissed all of it. When she finally called that she was ready, she heard the door open and close behind him.
The fitting room was larger than a standard changing stall. A full-length mirror occupied one wall. Saraphina stood near the center, adjusting the sleeve of the dress. The fabric suited her well. She looked up as he approached, suddenly more aware of the limited space than she had been a moment earlier.
"Well?" she asked. "Be honest."
Andras studied her for a moment.
"It fits."
She turned slightly toward the mirror, examining her reflection with a more critical eye. "It’s nicer than I expected. The cut is better than most ready-made pieces."
"That is why I chose this place."
He stepped closer. Not abruptly, but with clear and deliberate intent. She noticed the shift in distance at once and straightened a little, her hands stilling against the fabric. A faint tension gathered in her shoulders.
"Andras?"