Three days later, the caravan finally arrived.
A line of carts rolled into the village square, creaking under the weight of distant goods, spices that stung the air, patterned fabrics fluttering in the breeze, iron tools still marked with travel dust, and a few rare books wrapped carefully in cloth.
For Stella, it wasn't just a market day. It was a window into this place.
This caravan was modest. Not poor, but far from wealthy. The traders spoke loudly, haggling over simple deals, their clothes practical rather than elegant.
Meryl had once explained it to her true caravans, the grand ones, came like moving cities. Twice the guards, twice the merchants, and cargo meant for nobles and wealthy houses. Those rarely stopped here; villages like theirs were too small to matter.
Still, the square was alive.
Villagers crowded between stalls, voices overlapping, laughter mixing with bargaining shouts. The scent of roasted meat drifted through the air, tangled with unfamiliar spices.
Stella and Helena walked side by side through the movement.
Stella observed everything with curious eyes.
"The traders seem to be from all over," she commented quietly to Helena, "A few even look like they're from the South."
As they wandered between stalls, a voice called out, "Helena!"
A man stood near a stall, waving.
He was tall and slender, with silver hair that caught the sunlight.
Age had softened his appearance but not his presence. There was something steady about him calm posture, simple clothes, and eyes that seemed to miss nothing.
Helena's expression changed at once.
"Uncle Albert."
She walked over, and the two exchanged a familiar greeting warm, but restrained, like people who didn't need grand gestures to understand each other.
Albert studied her for a moment, "You've grown. It's been… two years?"
"And your hair is completely gray now," she teased.
"I'm officially old," he replied with a chuckle.
Then his gaze moved to Stella, who had been standing quietly nearby.
"And this?"
"She's my friend, and our guest," Helena answered.
"I see," he nodded, "Pleased to meet you, Miss."
Stella stepped forward politely, "I'm Alina, sir."
"It's a pleasure, Miss Alina. Are you part of the family?"
"No, she's not," Helena said before Stella could respond, "It's a bit of a long story. If you come home with us, Mother would love to see you, and we can tell you everything then."
Albert smiled, "How is Meryl doing these days?"
"She's fine. Come on, let's go, the food must be ready by now."
Helena took him gently by the arm and led the way.
Stella followed a few steps behind, watching them in silence. There was something familiar in the way they moved together less like distant relatives, and more like a father and a daughter who had grown used to each other's presence over time.
According to what Meryl had once told her, Albert was a relative from Helena's father's side. More than that, he had been a close friend of his.
By the time they reached the house, the scent of food had already filled the air.
Meryl welcomed Albert with quiet warmth, as if his arrival had been expected. No surprise, no fuss just calm familiarity.
The table was already prepared, dishes arranged neatly, steam still rising from freshly cooked food. Stella realized then that Meryl had sent them out intentionally.
She had known he would come.
After lunch, they all sat around in the main room, sipping warm tea.
Albert turned to Helena and asked, "Now, what's this long story you mentioned earlier?"
Helena hesitated, her eyes drifting briefly toward Stella.
A silent question.
Stella gave a small nod.
Helena exhaled softly and began.
She told him everything from the day Stella had appeared, to how she ended up staying with them. The room remained quiet throughout, only the occasional sound of tea being poured breaking the flow.
Albert listened without interruption, his expression grew more serious with each passing detail, not harsh, but thoughtful like someone trying to understand something fragile.
When she finished, he leaned back slightly and turned his gaze to Stella.
There was something steady in his eyes. Not pity exactly… but recognition of pain.
"I'm truly sorry for what you've been through, Miss Alina," he said quietly.
Stella nodded once. She wasn't used to words like that, nor did she know how to respond properly. So she didn't try.
Albert didn't press further.
Instead, he asked, "Have your relatives from the north tried to reach you?"
"Not yet," she replied.
"Then… what would you think about returning to them?"
Stella's eyes narrowed slightly, "What do you mean?"
Albert took a sip of tea before answering.
"We're heading north with the caravan in a few days. If you wish, you could travel with us. Return home… and perhaps we can help you."