Chapter 38: Arriving at Onyxia’s Home

“This is your home?”

Celia looked up, her voice a little dry.

The horse had been standing in front of that cast-iron, ornately carved gate for a long time.

She had even forgotten to dismount.

“Yep.”

The answer came from behind her, matter-of-fact.

Onyxia didn’t even look up, though she didn’t know what Celia was so surprised about.

She was thoroughly enjoying her current actions.

She was lazily nuzzling her chin against Celia’s shoulder, her hands wandering around Celia’s waist, the tip of her tail swaying contentedly.

“You didn’t say.”

Celia paused.

“Your home is so… big.”

She tried her best to keep her tone as calm as possible, but the scene before her gave her no such opportunity.

The griffin statues flanking the gate looked down upon her, their gilded beaks and talons gleaming under the afternoon sun.

Beyond the gate, a tree-lined avenue stretched straight and deep.

At its end, a three-story main residence stood quietly, its creamy-white stone looking absurdly expensive against the backdrop of Askala’s rugged wilderness.

There were wings on either side of the main house.

Behind it, the pointed tips of towers were faintly visible.

To the southeast was a rose garden.

From the northwest direction came the whinnying of horses; the scale sounded like it could accommodate thirty mounts at once.

And then there were those white pavilions scattered across the lawn, the marble fountain, and the goddess statue at its center that was easily two stories tall.

Celia withdrew her gaze.

She thought of her own dwelling in the Elven Lands.

A treehouse, one she shared with her cousin…

“Big?”

Onyxia lifted her head, following her gaze in a lazy sweep.

“It’s alright. Running around here as a child, I never thought it was that big.”

She paused.

“But coming back after being away, it does seem a bit more spacious than before.”

Celia fell silent.

“Just a bit more spacious?”

“Mhm. What are you waiting for? Let’s go in.”

But before Celia could even push the gate open, footsteps sounded from the distance.

The gate opened automatically.

Behind it stood a row of maids.

They were all Foxkin, graceful in demeanor.

They wore identical gray-silver aprons tied at the collar, their hair buns immaculate, even the number of stray hairs that had fallen seemed to have been measured.

Forming two rows at the foot of the steps, they bowed in unison to the two on horseback.

“Young Miss, welcome home.”

Onyxia gave a hum of acknowledgment, dismounted, and casually handed the reins to a maid who stepped forward.

Then she turned and very naturally reached out a hand to Celia.

Celia stared at that hand, pausing for a moment.

Just yesterday, she had been worried that if Onyxia’s home was too small, she could just pitch a tent in the yard.

Turns out, she was the clown all along?

“…This way, please, Young Miss.”

The head maid stepped aside to guide them, her gaze sweeping over Celia extremely quickly—no excess curiosity, only perfectly appropriate respect.

“Madame is waiting in the Tea Room.”

Madame? What’s going on?

Celia’s mind was already in chaos.

Meeting the elders already? So soon?

She didn’t even have time to mentally prepare.

From the gate to the Tea Room, the walk took… ten minutes? Fifteen? Before she could even recover from the spectacle of those two rows of maids, she was already sitting across from Madame.

All the words she had prepared, those “I’ll take good care of Lia,” “Please rest assured”—not a single one was used.

Madame didn’t give her a chance to say them.

Madame just looked at her gently, gently poured her tea, and gently said, “I’ve finally met you.”

As if she had been waiting for her for a long time.

Celia picked up her teacup.

…Wait.

She suddenly thought of something.

She raised her head, her gaze sweeping quietly over this Tea Room—the floor-to-ceiling windows, the celadon vases, the white roses, the tea set that looked exorbitantly expensive at a glance, and the tower spires still clearly visible in the twilight outside the window.

Onyxia was this wealthy.

And she, Celia, though a Dark Elf, seemed to have a total net worth that wouldn’t cover a single vase here.

Celia suddenly froze.

An old and classic script floated into her mind.

Wealthy parent.

First meeting.

Gentle elder.

And then?

Then, at just the right moment, the elder would dismiss everyone else, take a pre-filled check from a drawer, gently push it across the table, and say in that still-gentle tone:

“Miss Celia, this money is enough for you to start a new life anywhere. Please leave my daughter.”

—Snap.

Celia could already see that check landing in front of her.

She even subconsciously began formulating a response.

“Madame, Lia and I are truly—”

No, too cliché.

“Money isn’t an issue, I—”

No, she was indeed poor.

“You may have misunderstood, we’re just—”

That sounded too scummy, especially after what they did in the wilderness just a few days ago, even if she was the one on the bottom.

…

Celia fell silent.

She realized she couldn’t think of a single line that would both politely refuse and maintain her dignity.

She more despairingly realized that her mind had even quickly run through the numbers.

If Madame really made an offer, what amount would count as “sufficiently sincere”?

Ten thousand gold coins?

Fifty thousand?

A hundred thousand?

Should she refuse outright, or… hesitate symbolically before refusing?

Enough.

Celia closed her eyes, forcibly cutting off this embarrassing internal monologue.

—But what if?

All the stories she’d read were written this way.

“Celia.”

A voice sounded right by her ear.

Celia’s eyes snapped open, meeting Onyxia’s eyes, which were now inches away.

The latter had leaned in at some point and was tilting her head, looking at her.

“What are you thinking about?”

Onyxia asked.

“I called your name three times.”

Celia looked at her.

She opened her mouth.

“…Nothing.”

She heard her own voice, knowing it sounded dry.

Onyxia didn’t speak.

She kept her head tilted, her gaze slowly moving from Celia’s eyes to her reddening earlobes, then to her fingers, which were clenched so tightly around the teacup that her knuckles were white.

Then she smiled.

“My mother likes you a lot. The first thing she said to me was ‘Lia, you have good taste.'”

Celia was stunned.

“So,” Onyxia gently pried open the hand clenched around the teacup, slipping her own fingers in to interlace them, “you were thinking about something weird just now, weren’t you?”

Her tone was still light, but carried a knowing certainty.

Celia didn’t deny it.

Nor did she admit it.

She just looked down, at their joined hands, watching as Onyxia’s slender fingers slotted one by one between hers, like performing some solemn ritual.

The twilight had completely settled.

Outside the window came the sound of maids lighting the corridor lamps, the faint halos of light spreading one by one across the lawn.

From the direction of the distant kitchen, the faint aroma of dinner wafted over.

Celia took a deep breath.

“…No,” she said.

“Really? My mother left a while ago, and you’re still spacing out here?”