What Mayen experienced that night before the wedding went, alas, into the silence of forgotten memories. Despite the stress and the emotions, though many and diversified they had been that day, the boy had wanted something, and that thing had been just that, to forget about the eye. Only in the world of dreams had he failed to eradicate its image, but those nightmares were few and so unreal that they became senseless. One year later, this eye which had troubled him deeply now became but a triviality; in the end, it did not exist for him.

The current date was Thursday the twentieth of the month of Windor, year 3’405. It was also the very first day of Summer. Almost a full year had passed since the wedding of Mayen’s older brother, and many details had changed. His bedroom now was on the first floor, taking the space Mewen once had. The attic now had a free bed for travellers year-round. Meals were somewhat boring without a sibling. His brother never woke him up anymore, but that barely was a change for no one almost ever woke before Mayen; nonetheless, the first few occasions it did happened had been awkward. Maybe the most trivial detail of it all was actually the most apparent after ten months : the number of people was an unpair number.

Curiously enough, both Rowen and Mayen had expected the dagger and the dream of Commendar Spencer to have been a major source of change. The boy had revealed his parents the dagger and what Commendar Spencer had disclosed to him, believing they had a right to know. At first, Lauria had been beyond herself and had not just burnt the evening meal, she had literally turned it to charcoal. As days went, however, the initial shock which had been like a fire had been quelched to smoke. For now, neither the dagger nor the vision had had any tangible repercussions. Of course, all of it was kept secret from the villagers, even from Mewen.

Mayen had turned sixteen on the first day of the of Yoven, which had been last month. Sixteen and still no future wedding arrangements. Rowen intended to remedy the situation. Both of Mayen’s parents remained healthy, and yet they knew one day death would come and their son would need a home of his. Home was synonym of family, of where one did more than just sleep and live. Home, Kastosians would say, was where one belonged to. Home was where you were born and, in best circumstances, would die out of age. At home, you cared for them and them for you in return. Home was more than simply a house; home was your identity.