Chapter 6: Chapter 5 – The Stranger

Chapter 5 – The Stranger

The afternoon sun was heavy over Valeburne, its light dimmed by the dust kicked up by passing wagons and the clamor of daily life. The city, though far from the Empire’s glittering capital, still pulsed with motion—footsteps of merchants, shouting of sellers, cries of hungry children, and the slow drag of time for those left behind.

Seraphina sat slumped beside a worn pillar near the market road. Her skirt was dirty, the soles of her shoes nearly worn through. Her small hands were clenched into fists on her knees. Her eyes were red and sore.

She had no more tears to shed.

In her lap lay the letter—the one that had shattered her. Unlike the priest’s careful script, this letter had been scrawled in trembling ink. Her sister’s handwriting. Her sister’s words.

“I want to see you. One last time.”

That was all it took.

Two months of fighting against the tide, of menial jobs, of rejection, of wandering the edges of pleasure districts only to be turned away for being “just a child”… and now this. She had come to the city with fire in her chest and returned to ash in her hands. The world was too cruel.

She was too late.

No… she wasn’t. Not yet. Her sister was still alive.

But Seraphina had no money. Not even enough for a single slice of bread, let alone a wagon back to her village. She had asked—begged, even—but most people ignored her like street dirt. Some sneered. Some offered help with twisted conditions.

If you come across this story on Amazon, it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.

She bit her lip, hard. Her legs trembled. The letter fluttered in her lap from a passing breeze.

And then—a shadow.

Delicate, poised, and out of place.

Seraphina slowly looked up.

Standing before her was a woman who didn’t belong to the filth of the market road. Her long platinum blonde hair shimmered like silk, catching the light with ethereal grace. Her eyes, a soft green, were clear but sharp—like someone who had seen the world but not let it harden her. She wore a soft traveling cloak embroidered with fine silver thread, and her boots, though dusty from the road, were made of noble leather.

A noblewoman.

Seraphina’s throat closed. She tried to stand, to bow, to scurry away.

But the woman simply asked, in a warm and gentle voice, “Are you alright? Why are you crying?”

The kindness in her voice was like honey. It made Seraphina’s chest ache.

“I…” Her voice cracked. “My sister… she’s sick. She’s all I have, and I—”

She stopped herself. A part of her still feared scorn. But something in the woman’s calm expression, the tilt of her head, made Seraphina trust her. Just a little.

So she spoke. Not the full story. Not the whole pain. But enough.

And the woman listened.

When she finished, silence lingered. The city noise kept bustling behind them, but for a moment it felt like the world had paused.

The noblewoman didn’t say anything right away. Instead, she reached into her sash and pulled out a pouch. It jingled lightly as she handed it over—soft, precise, without hesitation.

Seraphina blinked at the pouch. Four gold coins. Enough to return home… and more.

Her hands trembled. “I—I can’t accept this—”

“You can,” the woman interrupted gently, placing it into her hand. “And you will.”

“But… why?”

The noblewoman gave a small smile—tired, maybe, but sincere. “Because I see something honest in your eyes. You’re not begging. You’re trying. That’s rare.”

Seraphina stared at her, speechless.

The woman continued, “Go. Run to your sister. If you need a place to return to… come find the Valessia estate. Tell the staff that the young lady gave you permission.”

“Valessia…” Seraphina repeated under her breath. She knew that name. A ruling noble house of this city. This woman… she was a daughter of nobility?

“I’ll work for you,” Seraphina said quickly, her words tumbling out. “Even if you never pay me, I’ll work until I’ve returned every coin. I swear—!”

The woman shook her head. “That’s not necessary.”

But Seraphina had already bowed deeply, tears gathering again—not from sorrow, but from gratitude. In the sea of people who turned away, this woman had looked at her. Had helped her.

Somewhere, deep down, a part of her still whispered immature thoughts—If I had met her sooner… If I had worked for a noble like her, maybe I could have already saved my sister.

But she pushed those thoughts aside.

The woman didn’t owe her anything. And yet she helped.

Seraphina looked up once more. “Thank you. Truly.”

The noblewoman’s smile was brief, but warm. “Go now.”

Clutching the pouch to her chest, Seraphina didn’t waste another second. She bolted toward the merchant caravans, her legs burning with urgency, hope returning like a pulse.

She would reach her sister. She would make it.

This time… she wouldn’t be too late.