Chapter 3 — The first 5 years

Part 1

Five years have passed since Ren was born. Five years that, looking back on them now, seem to have gone by in the blink of an eye, even though at the time each day felt like its own little adventure, full of discoveries none of us ever expected from such a small child.

I still remember the surprise I felt when he said “mama” for the first time, that day in front of the main door. When I told the other maids that same night, they all agreed the boy was developing at an unusual pace.

A great sign, they said, toasting almost jokingly with their teacups as if we were celebrating some hard-won victory. So, from then on, we started teaching him the basics of the language — pointing out the names of objects, repeating simple words over and over while we cooked, cleaned, or simply carried him around the halls.

For my part, I made it a priority to develop both his mind and his body. I wanted him to be as ready as possible for whatever life had in store for him, no matter what that turned out to be.

By the time he turned two, it was clear Ren had an unusual amount of potential. In just a few months he learned to walk — with constant stumbles and falls, yes, but with a determination none of us expected from a child so young.

I remember one afternoon in particular when he fell at least seven times trying to cross the main hallway, and each time, before I could even reach him to help, he was already pulling himself back up, fists clenched, with an expression of determination that was almost comical on such a tiny face.

That, however, brought a new problem with it: his disappearances became even more frequent, and his hiding spots started spreading beyond the mansion's walls, out to the back gardens and even the stables.

He learned, with an unsettling quickness, to memorize corners, hallways, even doors that one of the girls had carelessly left open. More than once we had to organize a small search across the whole property, only to find him sleeping peacefully behind some bush, as if nothing had happened.

That was also the year his grasp of the language took a noticeable leap. As a kind of test — more out of my own curiosity than anything else — I started having him memorize the names of every maid in the mansion. There were seven of us in total, counting myself: Lucía, Marabel, Fiora, Talia, Noor, and Ysolde.

To my surprise, Ren learned them all with no real effort, and it wasn't long before he started using them in short, if incomplete, sentences. I remember the look on everyone's face — mine included — the first time he pointed at Fiora and said, with total seriousness, “Fiora... cooks well.”

Fiora blushed so hard she had to leave the room, pretending she'd forgotten something in the kitchen. Bit by bit, that child was already making it clear he was no ordinary child.

By the time he turned three, he'd grown interested in learning to read fluently. Every night before bed, I would tell him stories from the past — some my own father used to tell me as a girl, others I'd picked up from the older maids.

I noticed how intensely he cherished them, almost movingly, as if each story meant far more to him than any normal child his age could possibly grasp. Sometimes he'd ask me to repeat the same story several nights in a row, and I, unable to say no to those attentive eyes, would end up indulging him every time.

That same year, though, something happened that I hadn't expected. Ren started feeling uncomfortable sleeping with me, and in a way that was as curious as it was funny, he ended up asking me — with that seriousness so particular to him, as if he were negotiating some important treaty — for his own room, like every other maid in the house had.

Of course, all of us felt proud hearing it; some even joked that he'd soon be demanding his own salary too. But I have to admit, it stung a bit more than I expected, at least for me.

I couldn't help remembering that I myself slept beside my mother until I was five, back in that house that no longer exists. Maybe it was selfish of me to feel that way, but I couldn't quite help it. Even so, I had his own room ready for him that same week, making sure it was as close to mine as possible.

The fourth year brought with it a new interest: household chores. Ren started spying on the other girls while they worked, hiding behind columns or half-open doors, and more than once he tried to copy them, clumsily helping out however he could — sweeping badly, folding clothes any which way, but always with an enthusiasm that made up for his lack of technique.

It was also around that time that I decided it was finally time to do something about his parents. Four years had passed since they left, and although I understood their reasons, I felt Ren deserved something more than the occasional letter and vague promises of a “soon” that never seemed to arrive.

I sent a letter to Master Edric, in the capital, asking that they return, at the very least, for his fifth birthday — a date of great importance, since it would be the time of his magical branch ritual.

A sacred ritual, through which every individual forms a bond with the land and awakens their magical power for the first time. Whatever the result turned out to be, something inside me told me Ren would develop his in a way that was anything but ordinary.

In that same letter, I also suggested that, if possible, a grand party be held in his honor. After all, if anyone deserved a celebration like that, it was this child who had grown up practically alone, surrounded by maids instead of his own parents.

And so we arrive at this point: barely three months before his fifth birthday.

It's snowing. I've spent all morning watching the flakes fall from the kitchen window, wondering whether I should take Ren out to play for a while before the snow piles up too much.

And then, without warning, the front door opens.

Sebastian walks in, shaking the snow off the shoulders of his coat, wearing that same serene expression that always defines him. He's been away for several weeks, attending to family matters on Master Edric's behalf, and the moment his eyes land on Ren, he can't help but break into a genuine smile, visibly moved by how much the boy has grown in so little time.

But Ren, who had been playing quietly near the entrance, freezes at the sight of him appearing so suddenly. Before he can even process who it is, he's already running toward me, terrified, as if a real intruder had just broken into the house.

I lift him into my arms, feeling his heart racing against my chest.

“There's nothing to be afraid of,” I tell him calmly, rubbing his back. “It's only Sebastian, the man in charge of all the mansion's maids. And, on top of that, a very dear friend of your father's.”

Sebastian bows to him with a reverence full of respect, as if Ren were already, in every sense, his young lord.

“Your father sent this today from the capital, young master,” he says, holding out an envelope sealed with the family crest.

Ren, still a little wary, stretches out his small hands to take it. And without hesitation, without anyone asking him to, he begins reading it aloud.

I can see, out of the corner of my eye, how Sebastian is momentarily left speechless beside me: the boy reads with flawless fluency, without stumbling over a single word, as if those letters came as naturally to him as breathing.

And then, all at once, Ren starts shouting with pure joy.

“They're coming! My parents are coming, and they're throwing me a party!”

Without waiting for anyone's response, he slips out of my arms and dashes straight outside, shouting with happiness at the top of his lungs, letting the letter drift gently down onto the fresh snow.

“Ren, don't go out without your coat, you'll catch a cold!” I shout, though I already know it's too late to stop him.

Sebastian looks at me with an expression full of pride, almost paternal.

“Seems like you've had quite an eventful few years,” he remarks, with a half-smile he can't quite hide.

I smile, a little embarrassed, not entirely sure how to respond to that. After all, “eventful” is a fairly generous way to describe five years of chases, impossible hiding spots, and a boy who learned to read faster than anyone could explain.

Our conversation, however, is interrupted by a shout coming from the garden.

Ren has slipped on the snow.

“It's so coooold!” he shouts, sprawled on his back in the freshly fallen snow, flailing his arms and legs as if it were the worst tragedy of his entire life.

I run straight toward him, leaving Sebastian with the other maids at the entrance. As I go, I catch, from a distance, one of them asking him if he'll be heading back to the capital now.

“From now on, I'll be resuming my post here at the mansion,” he answers, his voice firm. “And, while I'm at it, I'll be training young Ren for his birthday ritual.”

Meanwhile, I'm already pulling Ren up out of the snow, brushing off his clothes between scoldings and laughter I can't quite hold back, while he, his nose completely red, won't stop sneezing, still smiling as if nothing in the world could ruin this day for him.