As they descended toward a particular district where the houses stood farther apart, surrounded by well-tended gardens and small orchards, Jaegar’s heart began to race.

He recognized the winding lane, the particular arrangement of oak trees that had sheltered his childhood games, and finally, the modest two-story house with its blue-painted shutters and the small herb garden that always smelled of lavender and rosemary.

"Grandmother," he said suddenly, turning from the window with eyes that held both hope and fear in equal measure.

His voice cracked slightly, betraying emotions he had been struggling to contain since their arrival in the human realm. "She... she didn’t want to see me when I left. What if she still feels the same way?"

Angelina, who had been watching her grandson with the careful attention of one who understood the nature of a young heart’s fears, reached across the carriage’s small space to place a gentle hand on his arm.

Her silver hair caught the soft glow of the carriage’s otherworldly light, and her eyes held the wisdom of decades spent navigating the complex currents of family love and loyalty.

"Why don’t you ask her again, dear one?" she said softly, her voice carrying the warmth of summer afternoons and bedtime stories from years long past.

"Hearts can change, especially when they’ve had time to understand what they’ve lost."

The carriage settled onto the asphalt road of the narrow lane with the delicacy of a soap bubble touching water, its ethereal substance somehow finding purchase on the mundane world while remaining invisible to any who might observe.

Even the sound of the swans’ wings folding was muted by Angelina’s magic, ensuring that their arrival disturbed nothing more than a few fallen leaves that swirled briefly in an unfelt breeze.

Angelina made sure to make their presence unnoticeable.

Mirabel, who had been quietly observing this tender exchange between grandmother and grandson, felt her own throat tighten with emotion.

She could tell Jaegar was troubled—his face clouded with a heavy, grim expression.

Whoever the woman was, one thing was certain: Jaegar had truly loved her.

She had served many powerful witches in her time, but there was something profoundly moving about watching Angelina’s fierce protectiveness extend not to magical territories or political positions, but to the simple happiness of a young man’s heart.

"Go to her, Jaegar," Angelina continued, her voice growing stronger with maternal authority.

"Tell her how much you love her. I can see how you miss her—it’s written in every line of your face, every moment of silence when you think no one is watching. That’s why I brought you here tonight, instead of straight home to the farm."

Indeed, she had noticed the change in her grandson from the moment he arrived at her farmhouse and how he told her and cried in her arms.

The boy who had once filled their cottage with laughter and endless questions had grown quiet and withdrawn, going through the motions of daily life while some essential part of him remained elsewhere.

She had watched him stare out windows with the particular melancholy of one whose heart was divided, and she had known that no amount of magical training or protection could heal a wound that had nothing to do with arcane power and everything to do with love denied its natural expression.

The human lands held their own magic—not the crackling energy that filled the Witch Spire or the ancient forces that moved through the sacred groves, but the quieter enchantment of connection, forgiveness, and the courage to reach across the spaces that pride and misunderstanding create between hearts that should be united.

She thought it was best for Jaegar to talk to her and mend their relationship.

And with the way things are right now, Jaegar needs it the most.

As Jaegar stepped down from the carriage, his feet finding solid ground after their journey, Angelina called softly after him. "When you’re finished here, come to the farm. Take all the time you need—some conversations cannot be rushed, and some hearts require patience to fully open again."

"I will be waiting for you."

The young man nodded, not trusting his voice to remain steady if he attempted to speak.

The weight of months of separation, of words left unsaid and hurts left unhealed, pressed down upon his shoulders as he stood before the gate of the house where his aunt, his mom Diana, lived in quiet land far from the magical world that had shaped so much of their family’s destiny.

The carriage began to fade even as he watched, its crystalline beauty becoming as insubstantial as morning mist until only the memory of starlight remained.

He was alone now with his fears and hopes, standing in the pool of light that fell from the street lamp, gathering courage for what might prove to be one of the most difficult conversations of his young life.

The house before him looked exactly as he remembered—the same ivy climbing the brick walls, the same wooden shutters painted the particular shade of blue that Diana had always said reminded her of summer skies, the same brass door knocker shaped like a sleeping cat that had fascinated him as a child.

But everything was different now, because he was different, carrying the weight of experiences that had changed him in ways he was only beginning to understand.

His footsteps echoed softly on the flagstone path as he approached the front door, each step bringing him closer to a reckoning that had been months in the making.

His heart hammered against his ribs with such force that he wondered if the sound might wake the entire neighbourhood, and his hands trembled as he reached for the brass bell pull that hung beside the door.

The bell’s chime seemed to echo through the house with unusual clarity in the night’s stillness, and Jaegar found himself holding his breath as he waited for some response from within. Seconds stretched into what felt like hours before he heard the soft shuffle of slippered feet on wooden floors, approaching the door with what sounded like reluctant curiosity.