Thaddues stared at the translucent screen hovering quietly within his sight. The words Upgrade in Progress remained unchanged, accompanied only by the small time indicator above it. Weeks had already passed, yet the system showed no other visible changes aside from percentage bar that took almost a week to rise.
For the first time in a long while, he found himself genuinely uneasy.
Why was it taking so long?
If he were being honest, he missed the daily sign-in rewards. The routine had become strangely comforting over the months. More importantly, the system had always been his greatest advantage since arriving in this world. It's because of this that he can only practice magic he already know.
He only hoped the wait would be worth it.
"My lord."
The voice pulled him from his thoughts.
Thaddues looked up as a woman entered the courtyard garden together with the small child beside her. For a brief moment, he almost failed to recognize her.
After being washed, fed, and properly clothed, the woman looked entirely different from the desperate figure who had begged in the dirt alley of Shadow City. Though nearing thirty, she possessed a quiet beauty that hardship had failed to erase. Her long black hair rested neatly behind her shoulders, while her tanned skin and composed posture gave her the appearance of someone educated and refined.
Only the child beside her revealed traces of their unusual origins.
Even dressed in clean, simple clothing, the little girl's silver-platinum hair stood out beneath the sunlight, paired with deep purple eyes that seemed almost unnatural. She gazed around the courtyard with unconcealed curiosity, distracted by every flower, fountain, and marble pillar she saw.
The two bowed before him.
"Did you enjoy your stay last night?" Thaddues asked.
"Yes, my lord," the woman answered softly. "Ser Esteban saw us lodged in fine comfort, my lord. I daresay we have not slept beneath such a roof in many years."
"That is good to hear." Thaddues nodded lightly. "I called you here to settle the terms of your service to House Peverell."
At his words, the parchment on the table lifted itself into the air along with the quill. Ink flowed across the page on it, forming neat lines of writing.
The little girl's eyes widened in amazement.
Her mother, however, merely stiffened in shock before forcing herself calm. She wisely chose not to question the magic before her. He was their benefactor.
"Your role," Thaddues continued, "will be Head Housekeeper of House Peverell. Your annual salary shall be ninety Gold Dragons."
The quill continued writing.
"Your authority shall rank beneath Esteban's," he said evenly, "though your duties will be confined to the upkeep and orderly running of the household. When the estate is properly established, you will likewise be granted leave to employ additional maids and servants under your supervision." Thaddues said using noble tone. Avoiding using modern words as possible to avoid misunderstanding.
The woman listened in stunned silence.
"You will receive one day of rest each week, along with a thirteenth-month salary equivalent to one month's pay. You shall also have eight days of sick leave and eight days of vacation leave annually. Unused leave may be converted into additional Gold Dragons."But Thaddues can't help it. It was much easier to say it in these words.
The woman looked utterly overwhelmed.
Thaddues understand, even in modern times such benefits would have been considered generous.
In Westeros, they were almost absurd.
Thaddues finally asked, "What is your name?"
"Isolde, my lord," she answered quickly.
"My Lord your offer is generous—" Thaddues cut her off. "That is why you must never betray me, Isolde."
Isolde, ate her words. Realization appearing in her eyes, determine she nodded at him.
Then, hesitating slightly, she glanced toward her daughter.
"My lord… my daughter is useful as well. She can work for the house too."
Thaddues shook his head with a faint smile.
"She may stay with you, but she is too young to work."
He did not reveal that he already had different plans for the child—plans that would take years before they could truly begin. More importantly, he had no intention of forcing a child into servitude at such an age.
He was not that cruel.
At his response, Isolde suddenly began to cry.
Not loudly, but quietly, almost disbelievingly.
For a moment she looked as though she could not distinguish dream from reality. Yet the warmth of the sun, the scent of flowers in the courtyard, and the calm figure seated before her reminded her that everything happening now was real.
"Now," Thaddues said gently, "if you are satisfied with the contract, sign your name."
The parchment floated toward her.
"Yes, my lord."
With trembling fingers, Isolde signed.
The moment the ink dried, she felt a strange sensation spread through her body—subtle, almost impossible to describe. Much like Esteban before her, she sensed that something had changed.
But she ignored it.
At that moment, gratitude drowned out every other thought in her heart.
She trusted the man before her.
After all, he had saved them when nobody else would.
Thaddues' gaze shifted toward the little girl, who was now staring at him openly without fear.
"Does she already have a name?"
Isolde wiped the tears from her eyes before answering.
"No, my lord."
A shadow crossed her expression.
"I gave birth to her during our journey to Dorne. Those were… difficult times."
As she spoke, an old memory surfaced within her mind—a man with pale golden hair that gleamed beneath the sun and eyes the color of lilacs.
Thaddues noticed the sadness in her expression but chose not to press further. Everyone carried wounds they preferred hidden.
Some stories were better left untold.
"Then her name shall be Lily," he said.
The child blinked in surprise.
"Like the purple water lilies," Thaddues continued calmly, "for they share the same color as her eyes."
The little girl stared at him for several seconds before shyly smiling.
A small smile but genuine.
Far away in Salt Shore, within the meeting hall of House Gargalen, the atmosphere was far less peaceful.
Several trusted advisors sat around a long table together with Lord Gregory Gargalen himself. Scrolls, maps, and cups of untouched wine covered the table as discussion regarding House Peverell request continued.
"We risk angering this wizard-lord if we refuse him settlement rights in Salt Shore," one advisor warned.
"And yet Salt Shore has belonged to House Gargalen for centuries," another countered immediately. "If we yield too easily, the other houses of Dorne will see weakness."
"What exactly are we even expected to give him?" a third asked with frustration. "Land? Villages? Authority?"
The debate continued back and forth.
Some feared Thaddues.
Others feared appearing weak before Dorne even more.
Lord Gregory remained silent for much of it, though his expression steadily darkened.
"I witnessed what happened in Sunspear myself," he finally said. "The man created a dragon from a goblet before the eyes of half the court."
The room quieted.
"Whether it was illusion or sorcery matters little," Gregory continued. "Men believe it was real. Angering him may bring consequences—not only for us, but for our standing within Dorne."
Several advisors reluctantly nodded.
Yet the maester cleared his throat.
"My lord, if House Gargalen bends immediately, the other Dornish houses may believe we can be pressured through fear alone. That perception may prove dangerous in the future."
Gregory grimaced.
The maester was not wrong.
That was precisely the problem.
Before anyone could continue, the doors opened and a servant hurried into the hall carrying a sealed letter.
"My lord a letter came from Sunspear," the servant said nervously, offering it forward.
Gregory accepted the parchment absentmindedly—until he saw the seal pressed into the wax.
His expression froze.
For the first time that evening, genuine alarm crossed his face.
His fingers tightened slightly around the letter.
Several advisors exchanged confused glances as Gregory slowly opened it and read its contents.
Then he sighed.
A long, tired sigh.
When he finally looked back at the table, much of the resistance in his eyes had vanished.
"Send a letter to House Peverell," he ordered calmly.
The room fell silent.
"They are welcome to settle in Salt Shore at any time."
"My lord—" one advisor began.
Gregory raised a hand.
He no longer cared if the other houses viewed him as weak.
Better that than earning the hostility of the woman whose name rested upon the letter before him.
Princess Deria Martell the Peace Bringer of Dorne.
TBC
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