The morning arrived too quickly.
Arthur opened his eyes even before the light truly filtered through the window.
For a moment he stayed still, staring at the ceiling, listening to the first sounds of the house: Brandt’s heavy footsteps going down toward the forge, the rustle of Ysolde in the kitchen, and a little later Tessa’s still sleep-rough voice muttering something.
He got up slowly.
He took off his shirt and studied himself in the mirror with more attention than usual.
The skin was smooth.
Not in an obvious way, not yet.
But when he ran his fingers along his forearm or over his neck, he felt a difference.
The small imperfections he had had for years seemed softened.
The features of his face, if he looked at them too long, had an almost imperceptible extra softness.
His hair, still short, seemed a touch more orderly even after a night of restless sleep.
And there was the scent.
Sweet.
Light.
Constant.
It was not strong enough to be noticed by just anyone, but he now recognized it clearly.
It came from his skin, and the more he tried to ignore it, the more present it became.
He opened the Status.
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[Curse: Gender Transformation – Blood of Lysara] Phase: 1/4 Progress: 11%]
Still the same.
For now.
He got dressed again, went down the stairs, and tried to put on the most normal expression possible.
In the kitchen Ysolde set a bowl of hot soup in front of him and observed him for a moment longer than usual.
“You slept little,” she said.
It was not a question.
Arthur shook his head.
“A bit.”
Tessa, already seated at the table, looked him up and down.
“For a few days now you’ve had a strange face.
And you keep touching your neck.
Did you hurt yourself?”
“No.”
“Then why do you do it?”
Arthur lowered his gaze to the soup.
“Habit.”
Tessa did not seem convinced, but she did not insist.
Brandt came in a little later, sat down, and spoke only of the day’s work.
Among other things, he mentioned the Greaves family’s order.
“Talia is coming today to check.
Make sure everything is in order and don’t do your usual silent act.
Arthur nodded in silence, feeling his stomach tighten slightly.
The morning’s work passed slowly.
He sharpened, checked handles, arranged tools.
Every now and then he raised his eyes toward the door, as if he could make her appear ahead of time just by looking.
The part of him that was twenty-two tried to stay rational: She’s only a customer.
She’s checking an order.
Nothing more.
The part that was Arthur, however, already felt the weight of that grey gaze that had watched him two days earlier in the square.
Toward mid-morning the bell above the door jingled.
Arthur raised his head.
Talia Greaves entered with the same composed step as always.
She wore a dark dress of simple but careful cut, her hair gathered in a low ponytail, and she carried a small leather bag.
Her grey eyes quickly scanned the shop before settling on him.
“Good morning,” she said.
The voice was calm, neutral, but precise.
Brandt raised a hand from the forge in greeting and returned to his work.
Ysolde, from behind a side counter, gave her a polite nod.
Tessa looked at her with the open curiosity of someone who does not yet know how to pretend indifference.
Arthur wiped his hands on his apron and approached.
“The order is ready.
Work blades and the requested tools.”
Talia nodded and followed him to the counter where the pieces had been arranged.
She leaned slightly to examine them one by one, with precise, unhurried movements.
Arthur remained standing beside her, trying not to stand too close and at the same time not to look as if he were avoiding her.
At a certain point she raised her gaze toward him without straightening completely.
“Did you work on these?”
“Yes.
On the handles and the sharpening.”
Talia ran a finger along the edge of a blade, then set it back on the counter.
“Good work.
Precise.”
She made a small pause, as if she were choosing the next words carefully.
“Two days ago, in the square, you had a strange face.
You still have it today.”
Arthur felt the muscles in his back tighten.
“I’m just a little tired.”
Talia studied him in silence for a few seconds.
There was no judgment in her gaze, only a quiet attention that felt more uncomfortable than many direct questions.
“The scent,” she said suddenly, in a low voice.
Arthur stiffened.
She did not raise her tone.
She continued speaking as if she were commenting on any ordinary detail.
Sweet.
It’s not soap.
And it’s not the typical smell of a blacksmith’s shop.”
Arthur opened his mouth, but could not find an answer right away.
The rational part wanted to invent something banal.
The more instinctive part felt only the panic rising slowly.
“It must be… something we have at home,” he managed to say.
Talia did not smile and did not contradict him.
She simply observed him for another moment, then returned to checking the last tool.
“Perhaps.”
She finished examining everything, nodded in satisfaction, and opened the bag to leave the payment.
“Tell your father the work is in order.
And that the next commission will arrive in about a week.”
She settled the bag on her shoulder and turned toward the exit.
Before moving away completely, however, she stopped and looked at him again.
“Arthur.”
He raised his eyes.
“Whatever is happening to you, you’re becoming less good at hiding it.”
There was no threat in the sentence.
There was not even too much gentleness.
It was only an observation, spoken with the same calm as always.
Then she left.
The bell jingled again, and the shop returned to its usual noises.
Arthur remained still behind the counter for several seconds.
Only when he was sure no one was watching him too closely did he open the Status.
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[Curse: Gender Transformation – Blood of Lysara] Phase: 1/4 Progress: 14%]
It had risen by another three points.
He ran a hand over his face, feeling once again that skin that was too smooth and that scent he could no longer pretend not to perceive.
Talia had noticed it.
She had said it openly.
And even if she did not know the truth, she had seen enough to make one thing very clear to him:
the time left to hide everything was growing shorter and shorter.
From the back of the shop came Tessa’s voice, lower than usual:
“Brother… did that woman say something strange to you?”
Arthur shook his head without turning.
“No.
Nothing important.”
But as he went back to work, with hands that were not entirely steady, he knew he was lying.
And he also knew that, sooner or later, lying would no longer be enough.