The truck rumbled down a winding cobblestone path that cut through a dense grove of evergreen trees. Rays of sunlight filtered through the canopy, casting dappled patterns on the road as the vehicle approached an estate that loomed in the distance. As they drew nearer, Eris's jaw dropped.
The Aulric family mansion was nothing short of magnificent. Its sprawling grounds were bordered by a high stone wall adorned with ivy and glowing sigils, a subtle sign of its magical protections. At the center of the estate stood the mansion itself, an elegant structure of pale stone with towering spires and arched windows. Above the gates, etched in gold, was the family crest: a blazing sun rising at dawn, its rays casting light over rolling hills.
The gates opened soundlessly as they approached, triggered by some unseen mechanism. Standing just beyond them was an elderly man in a crisp black suit, his posture as rigid as a blade. His hair was silver, and his eyes sharp despite his age. The butler stepped forward, his demeanor a perfect blend of respect and authority.
"Master Vince," he greeted with a slight bow. His voice was deep and measured, carrying the weight of familiarity. "Welcome home. It has been some time." His gaze flickered briefly to Eris before returning to Vince.
Vince, however, barely acknowledged him. His expression was stony, his usual air of gruff indifference replaced by something colder.
"Reinhardt," he said curtly. "Prepare a room for him." He jerked his thumb toward Eris without looking at him. "Servants' quarters will do."
Eris blinked in surprise, glancing between Vince and the butler. "Wait, what—"
"You'll have a roof over your head and a bed to sleep in," Vince interrupted, his tone leaving no room for argument. "That's more than most get."
Reinhardt nodded smoothly, unfazed by Vince's brusque manner. "Very well. Follow me, young master," he said to Eris, his tone polite yet distant.
Eris hesitated, unsure of what to say or do. He had a thousand questions, but Vince had already turned away, striding toward the mansion without a backward glance.
As Eris followed Reinhardt, his amazement only grew. The estate grounds were meticulously maintained, with manicured gardens, ornate fountains, and pathways lined with glowing lanterns. Inside the mansion, the air was cool and carried the faint scent of polished wood and lavender. The walls were adorned with tapestries depicting scenes of Nyxoria's history, and the floors gleamed with an almost mirror-like finish.
"This is… Vince's home?" Eris finally asked, his voice tinged with disbelief.
"Indeed," Reinhardt replied without breaking stride. "The Aulric family is one of the oldest viscount houses under the Emberheart duchy. Their influence and legacy are significant, though the current relations between Master Vince and his family…" He trailed off, his expression neutral but his pause heavy with implication.
"Wait, so he's a noble?" Eris stopped in his tracks, struggling to process the revelation.
Reinhardt turned to face him, his sharp eyes studying Eris for a moment before he answered. "Yes. Though it would appear he prefers not to dwell on that fact."
Eris opened his mouth to ask more, but Reinhardt resumed walking, clearly uninterested in further discussion.
Meanwhile, Vince climbed the grand staircase to the upper floors of the mansion, his footsteps echoing in the otherwise silent halls. He ignored the curious glances from passing servants and made his way to a door at the end of a long corridor.
Inside, his quarters were stark and utilitarian, a sharp contrast to the opulence of the rest of the mansion. The walls were bare save for a single sword mounted above the bed, and the furniture was minimal—just a bed, a desk, and a chair. Vince threw his bag onto the desk and sank into the chair with a weary sigh.
Reinhardt led Eris to a smaller, less extravagant wing of the mansion. The servants' quarters were modest but clean, each room equipped with a simple bed, a desk, and a wardrobe. Reinhardt opened a door and gestured for Eris to enter.
"This will be your room for the duration of your stay," he said. "If you require anything, ring the bell by the door, and someone will attend to you."
Eris stepped inside, still reeling from everything he had seen and heard. The room was plain compared to the rest of the mansion, but to him, it felt luxurious.
"Thank you," he said, turning to Reinhardt.
The butler inclined his head. "Rest well, young master."
With that, he departed, leaving Eris alone to process the whirlwind of revelations.
As he sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the unfamiliar room, one thought echoed in his mind: Who exactly is Vince Aulric?
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The study of Viscount Aulric was a sanctuary of precision and austerity, a testament to the man's pragmatic nature. Dark mahogany shelves lined the walls, filled with meticulously arranged books and relics of a storied military career. A single, massive window allowed moonlight to spill into the room, casting long shadows over the polished floors and the heavy desk at its center. Behind it sat the viscount himself.
Viscount Aulric was a man of striking presence, his golden eyes sharp and penetrating beneath thick, dark brows. His hair, once as black as night, now bore streaks of silver, adding a gravitas to his already commanding aura. Dressed in a tailored black suit accented with gold trim, he radiated authority and power. The faint glow of his Crest shimmered on the back of his right hand—a radiant, geometric sunburst that pulsed faintly with golden light, its intricate patterns suggesting layers of depth and power.
Reinhardt entered the room, bowing deeply. "My lord, Master Vince has returned."
The viscount, seated in his leather chair, didn't bother looking up from the letter he was reading. His voice, when he spoke, was calm but tinged with a cold detachment. "And?"
Reinhardt hesitated briefly, accustomed to his master's demeanor but still unsure how much to elaborate. "He arrived with a companion. They are currently settling in."
The viscount's golden eyes flicked up briefly, his expression unreadable. Then, with a dismissive wave of his hand, he returned his attention to the letter. "See to it that they cause no disruption."
Before Reinhardt could reply, the door opened, and another figure stepped into the room. Arthur Aulric, the viscount's eldest son, strode in with an air of arrogance. His dark hair was swept back neatly, and his golden eyes burned with a cold intensity that mirrored his father's. The Crest on his left forearm was angular and jagged, resembling shards of fractured sunlight, and it glimmered faintly as he moved.
"So," Arthur said, his tone laced with contempt, "the stray has come crawling back."
Reinhardt, sensing the growing tension, bowed and excused himself quickly, leaving father and son alone.
The viscount didn't respond to Arthur's jibe, but his silence only emboldened the latter. Arthur took a step closer to the desk, his lips curling into a sneer. "What does he want this time? Surely he hasn't returned to bask in the glory of the family he abandoned."
"Enough," the viscount said softly.
Arthur froze, his body tensing as his father's gaze finally lifted to meet his own. The viscount's eyes, though calm, carried a weight that seemed to crush any resistance. Without raising his voice, he exuded a power that demanded absolute obedience.
Arthur swallowed hard, his jaw clenching as he lowered his head slightly in a show of reluctant submission. "Yes, Father," he muttered through gritted teeth.
The viscount leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled. "Vince is of no concern to you. Focus on your own duties, Arthur."
"Yes, Father." Arthur's voice was tight, barely concealing his frustration as he turned and stormed out of the study, his Crest flaring briefly before dimming.
====================================================
Vince stood in the small bathroom adjoining his quarters, the steam from the shower still clinging to the air. He wiped a hand across the fogged mirror, revealing his reflection. His face, angular and sharp, bore the faint marks of exhaustion. But it wasn't his face he focused on—it was his eyes.
Golden, like the rest of the Aulric family. The same piercing hue that marked his lineage. But there was one glaring difference: his hair. Where his father and brother's hair was as dark as midnight, Vince's was a striking blond, a stark contrast that had always set him apart.
The bastard child.
The words echoed in his mind, a bitter reminder of the life he had led under the Aulric roof. His reflection stared back at him, unflinching, as he traced a finger over the faint glow of his Crest on his forearm. Unlike his father's blazing sunburst or Arthur's jagged shards, Vince's Crest was softer, more intricate—a latticework of delicate rays that intertwined like the threads of a spider's web. It pulsed faintly, as though reluctant to reveal its power.
He turned away from the mirror, letting the darkness of the room swallow him as he sat on the edge of the bed. For a moment, he allowed himself to close his eyes, the weight of the mansion's walls pressing down on him. This place wasn't home; it had never been.
And yet, here he was.
======================================================
The garden of the Aulric mansion was a pristine expanse of manicured hedges, glowing flowerbeds, and marble fountains that sparkled under the soft light of magical orbs. The air was fragrant with the scent of night-blooming roses, their petals shimmering faintly as though infused with Essence.
Arthur strode through the gravel pathway, his dark hair catching the ambient glow. His golden eyes, sharp and calculating, scanned the garden until they landed on two figures seated on an ornate bench near the central fountain.
His mother, Lady Evelyne Aulric, sat with perfect posture, exuding an air of refined elegance. Her long, dark hair cascaded over her shoulders in silken waves, adorned with faint golden highlights that gleamed in the light. Her golden eyes carried an icy disdain that seemed to pierce through anything they settled upon. She wore a gown of pristine white, its fabric shimmering faintly with enchanted thread, and her Crest—a radiant halo-like design—was faintly visible on her wrist.
Beside her sat Arthur's younger sister, Selene, a striking reflection of her mother in both beauty and temperament. At just sixteen, she already carried herself with the poise of a noble, her long, raven-black hair falling neatly down her back. A faint glow illuminated her golden eyes, giving her an ethereal yet intimidating presence. Her Crest, a delicate array of overlapping rays resembling a blooming flower, adorned the back of her hand, pulsing faintly with latent energy. She wore a simple but elegant dress of pale gold that complemented her fair complexion.
"Arthur," Evelyne greeted coolly as her son approached. "I trust you've heard the news."
Arthur scoffed, crossing his arms. "I've seen him. The stray returns, dragging his filth with him."
Evelyne's lips curled into a thin smile, though her eyes remained cold. "How typical. Always running back when he needs something, like the scavenger he is."
Selene, who had been idly tracing her Crest with a finger, looked up with a sneer. "I don't understand why Father even allows him back. He's a disgrace to our name."
Arthur nodded in agreement, his expression darkening. "He should've stayed wherever he's been skulking. Every time he's here, it's a stain on the family."
Evelyne's gaze shifted to the fountain, her voice soft but venomous. "Your father is too pragmatic for his own good. That boy should have been left to rot, not coddled with a roof over his head and the scraps of this family's name."
Selene let out a disdainful laugh. "Maybe we should remind him where he belongs. Show him what happens when you sully the Aulric name."
Arthur smirked but said nothing, letting his sister's words hang in the air. Evelyne, however, placed a hand on Selene's shoulder, her expression hardening. "We will do no such thing. Not openly, at least. Leave him to bury himself in the filth he was born into."
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The room was sparse and dimly lit, the wooden floor creaking slightly underfoot. Eris stood before the small, cracked mirror hanging on the wall, droplets of water still clinging to his skin from the shower. He stared at his reflection, his ghostly gray eyes catching the faint light like a haunting specter.
His face was angular and sharp, the contours of his cheeks and jawline hardened by years of malnutrition and struggle. His skin, pale and scarred in places, told the story of a life lived on the brink. He reached up, fingers brushing the long strands of his hair, still damp and streaked with faint silver. Normally tied back in a ponytail, it now framed his face, making him appear more vulnerable and human than he usually allowed himself to feel.
The silver streaks, once a source of ridicule, now seemed to glow faintly in the dim room. He traced the scar along his left cheek with a finger, a reminder of one of the countless scrapes he had barely survived. His shoulders, lean but taut with sinewy muscle, bore the marks of hardship—burns, cuts, and faint bruises that refused to fully heal.
His gaze fell lower, to his hands, calloused and worn. These hands, he thought bitterly, have stolen, fought, and bled to survive.
Memories flooded his mind. The gnawing hunger that had once been a constant companion. The cold nights huddled under rags in alleys reeking of waste. The fear of being caught stealing a loaf of bread or the terror of a beating when he failed to bring in enough coin.
Eris clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. But I survived.
He stared back at his reflection, his ghostly eyes narrowing as if daring the mirror to challenge him. For a fleeting moment, he allowed himself to feel the anger and determination that had kept him alive. He straightened his posture, his long hair falling behind his shoulders as he tied it back, the streaks of silver gleaming faintly.
"This is just another trial," he whispered to himself. "And I'll endure it. Like I always have."
The room felt smaller now, the weight of his memories pressing down on him. But as he turned away from the mirror and stepped toward the bed, a quiet resolve settled over him. Whatever lay ahead, he would face it on his own terms.