When he was taken from his home, he was mostly relieved.

Andreis had been living in the Gintrul Islands of the Kingdom of Draisel, which were treated as a separate entity. The kingdom itself may as well have been a fairy tale for him and his people.

You don't get to worry about pretty castles when you're busy dealing with endless natural disasters. They don't dwell on politics. Any form of rulers, dukes, or leadership had long fallen apart. No one wishes to stay on a group of islands prone to near-constant hurricanes. If you can afford it, you leave.

Andreis' parents had not been well-off. Dirt poor, in truth. Enough so when his father was swept away in the churning waters of a storm, he hadn't had time to cry. Maybe wouldn't have even if he'd had the luxury of time. It's hard to cry for those you hardly know.

Not when survival is the priority.

His mother was alive, but rarely around after his father was swept away. She often worked the fields, at least the few on high enough ground to grow anything. She grew many peppers, some squash, and anything hardy enough to withstand the blistering heat, high winds, and the heavy cling of humidity.

They don't use currency for exchange here. They trade in foods, animal products, and items gained from their sparse lands.

He never expected he would be the trade.

His mother, feverish almost with her excitement, held his face. Her eyes locked on him, intense and unnerving.

"Love, my dear boy, Andreis... a better life. You can have a life most would only ever dream of-" She nods to the tall man standing behind her. The wind is loud today, the stranger's fancy black overcoat fluttering with it. His clothes are clean, unwrinkled.

He wonders how the man can look so spotless after living in a cave.

"Go. Go with him. Get out of here, never look back."

He doesn't really know what to make of it. His eyebrows furrow.

"Mom? What about you?"

His head is dragged against her chest. He hasn't been held like this since he was a toddler. He holds her sleeve, uncertain.

"I'll be great. This will fix everything," Her voice quivers. She may not be around much, but Andreis knows his mom loves him. He can feel the tremble of her hands, perhaps unwilling to let go. "This will fix everything..."

He wonders if she's trying to convince him, or herself.

"Okay, mom."

He stares out the window.

The mainland is very different. They don't live in high caves on the tallest mountains. They live on mostly flat land, bright greens and vibrant colors dancing everywhere. The buildings they call home are huge. He wonders at the need for such a large space. It seems like too much to manage for him.

It's dizzying.

He doesn't understand the man. It doesn't matter. He mostly communicates with gestures.

Their ride in the carriage is a long one.

It had been a long few days. They took a fancy boat, then climbed into a gleaming white carriage shortly after. He had stared in awe at first, until he was pushed into the transport.

He was given clothes that were a tad too big, but they were clean and scented with fragrances he didn't recognize. He was used to smelling of rock dust, of the salt of the sea, of peppers clinging to his hands. His hair was cut on the boat, from his choppy shag of white hair down his mid-back to a short cut. They had left some longer up top, the sides shorter.

He finds himself touching it often, curious how soft it feels after it was washed with some bubbly stuff.

The man with him currently was different from the one in black who had taken him from Mother. This one had stared at him with cool green eyes when he was first brought into the carriage. The man in black sat up with the driver. After several minutes, the new man turned his gaze outside, notably disinterested. He didn't say a word the whole trip.

Andreis isn't sure who he is, but his demeanor makes him seem important. Was this the man he was traded to? He can't make sense of everything happening. It's all foreign, but he's sure the man with green eyes is important.

The silence and the rocking lull him to sleep, his head against the window.

When they finally stopped the carriage, he woke with a groan, the lurch of the stop forcing him awake.

He rubs his eyes, peering out the window. He had first looked at the man, the stranger with dark, reddish-brown hair. He had already been stepping out of the carriage. It doesn't matter. He is entranced by the estate before him.

It's huge, more so than the ones he had seen on the way. The ones he had seen were a fly speck in comparison.

Why so much room? Why so big? Is it really necessary? He can see it looming tall over the huge stone walls. Surely this place must be lived in by hundreds; otherwise, why make it?

The green-eyed man is walking up to the gate, already open for his arrival. Many people wearing white and black clothing stand lined up as he walks through.

A life that could only be dreamed of, yet none of his dreams had ever matched the splendor of the view before him.

He is pulled out of the carriage by another white-and-black wearer and rushed along.

He wishes his mom had the chance to see this sight, too.

"Amelia. This is your brother, Andreis Fesitra."

"Oh..." The girl in front of him breathed out the noise, her eyes flickering.

She is swallowed in the large chair, her hands trembling where they rest primly on the table's edge.  

Those eyes are the same green as the man. On her, though, they're softer, prettier. Nervous. She doesn't seem to know where to look, her skittish gaze drifting several places. His chest, his face, his hair. They drift to the man, only to snap away as if she had committed a terrible act.

Finally, her eyes settle on her silverware before her.

She does not eat much, her eyebrows drawn down, her lips pressed into thin lines. Upset.

Andreis has trouble looking away from her, somewhat fascinated by this girl, so close to him in age. He knew very few children back on the islands.

It's a little strange for him to see someone who looks as out of place as he feels. Her hair is a soft pink, which he finds lovely. She's full of color, her face gentle and easy to read. Compared to all the black-and-white of the others, she's a burst of color.

He can't help but watch her and wonder.

It saddens him when she leaves, and he is left with so little color.

The home is mostly white. Dark colors are the only company besides the silver of the other decor. Vases, busts, drapes. All silver, dark green. The only real color he had seen in this place was the girl and the gardens outside.

He eats.

The food is a bit bland. It's the only real disappointment he has discovered yet.

As days pass and he learns, he never stops being fascinated with Amelia. It helps that she's the only other here his age, but it's also the idea of having a sister.

He never had siblings before. He isn't sure his parents had meant to have him; they certainly hadn't been looking to bring another into the constant struggle that was the outer islands.

He finds himself wanting desperately to speak to her.

Why does she always look so forlorn?

Why do the servants avoid her?

Why is Vineil so closed off?

Where is her mother?

Does she miss her mom, too?

He learns as much as he can. As fast as he can.

He wants to speak to her. His sister.

In truth, the idea of prophecies was lost on him. For one, they didn't have them on the Gintrun islands. For two, he mostly finds them as silly as having houses as large as mountains.

The ideas of the rich elude him. He would even assume it's a form of entertainment if he hadn't seen how seriously they are taken.

He often tries to scold Milly for her gossiping.

"Lady Amelia was caught sneaking off to see her little Hundreis friend again. She's probably off to do it again now. Truly, no matter how much she is scolded, she simply can't act befitting her station. My lord, do you think I ought to repor-"

"Stop it."

Milly pauses, her hands freezing over his books. His tutoring session had ended. One of many where Amelia had quickly escaped the room before he could try to walk with her.

He didn't want to, anyway. Not this time.

Not when his maid had immediately started grumbling about her.

"She could at least try to be kinder to you, young lord." Milly says instead, voice soft. "I'm just looking out for you."

"Stop it." He repeats, his tone firmer.

When he finds the words, he'd be sure to use the right combination to get Milly to understand.

She's unfair.

"You're not my brother!"

He knows he's not. He still can't help but hurt to hear it.

When she is pulled away by Clainon, the butler whispering in her ear, Andreis sits in his chair, silent. The dining hall had become chaotic at her exclamation. The maids were loudly complaining. Some of the older women, bold with their age, yelled. He's the only one with the right to whine in this situation, he figures, yet the adults are the ones having a tantrum.

He fiddles with the green orchids in his hand. It's the only gift he had cared about. They were a pretty light green like her eyes. They hadn't been put in water yet and were beginning to wilt.

Like her, he supposed.

He's seen plenty of people wilt like she does. The islands were unforgiving. Many grow so lost they can't escape their misery.

How was he surrounded by adults who simply couldn't see?

The next few years annoy him. Responsibilities abound with people he understands less, the more he learns about them. He writes to Amelia, hoping for a response. He scolds Milly until she learns to shut her mouth about his sister. One isn't enough, but it's a start.

He doesn't really care about being heir. He doesn't care about whatever intentions Vineil has for him, in truth. When he was traded here, his goal had become to get to know Mila. The rest was background noise; he danced to the tune only to stay.

He asks about her often.

"My lady is feeling unwell." Clainon used to say it flippantly. Now, so many years later- so many years too late- he says it with clear concern in his haggard face.

Milly struggles with the question as well. "She's not left her room. I don't know what to report, my lord. She doesn't have a maid for me to get more from."

He wonders at this. Andreis had figured out quickly that nobles were to be respected, revered. That's how even he has been treated, a random child from a devastated island who just happened to be picked over anyone else. If his bout of luck was all it took for respect, then why couldn't they offer that to Mila?

Who used to work so hard just to be seen?

How blind are these people?

Why would they leave her so isolated?

Even he saw her, despite how little he truly had been around.

He sinks deeper into the soft seat he is in, the smell of food from his homeland making him feel deeply homesick. They make it for him often when he admits he wasn't fond of the local cuisine.

He misses his mom. He hopes whatever she traded him for was worth it.

The next time he sees Amelia, she's in front of the carriage that brought him here. The ornate one, only used for special occasions.

He is struck by how few suitcases she has. Just two, small, not befitting a noble of a grand house.

"Amelia. It is good to see you."

In her hand, she is loosely holding a worn doll, its bright red hair hanging limply. She stares at it with an intensity he's more used to seeing on Vineil. His voice startled her, her eyes flicking up to meet his.

"It has been a while." She says it casually, her lips quirking at something. Not quite a smile, but close enough. He clings to it.

Few people are here to see her off. Himself, a scattering of guards, Clainon. He gets the sense that the only reason she hadn't just climbed in to leave already is because of the butler. The old man held the door to the carriage shut, probably to give Andreis a chance to be here.

Andreis had requested it, after all.

He smiles at her. She turns her gaze back down to the doll, visibly uncomfortable under his attention. It settles unpleasantly in his stomach.

"How long will you be gone?"

"Hm. Who knows?"

He had grown more used to her cryptic answers. It draws a chuckle out of him.

She meets his gaze again, longer this time. There are dark circles under her eyes, the pale skin doing little to hide them. She doesn't bother to do so with makeup.

She holds the doll out to him.

"She shouldn't go with me. Can you... give her to father? Brother?"

The use of the title jolts him. Enough so when she places the doll into his loose hand, he barely thinks to tighten his grip, his hand catching the little dress just in time before she slips free.

"Huh? Ah... of, of course." He manages out, searching her eyes for something, anything.

Amelia smiles at him, looking as though a weight has dropped from her shoulders. Her eyes are tired, yet calm.

"Thanks. Good luck here."

He vaguely registers this as the farewell it is meant to be.

She climbs up the small steps of the carriage, urging Clainon to open it. He does.

The carriage pulls away.

"...Clainon?"

The old man was still staring after the carriage. There is something like regret on his face.

"My lord?"

Andreis turns his gaze to where he knows Vineil's office is. For a moment, he wonders if the curtains had shifted or if it's his imagination.

"I think we ought to clean things up here. For when she gets back."