Noir's mind was still buzzing from the cryptic encounter the night before. The warning about the Crimson Eyes had sent a shiver down his spine, and it hadn't left since. He walked through the halls of the Lavelle estate, each shadow in the corners seeming deeper than before. The world around him felt… off. Someone knew more about the Crimson Eyes than the Lavelle family, and it was clear that he wasn't the only one paying attention.
His instincts from his life as a thief were screaming at him—this world was full of dangers he couldn't yet see. He had to be cautious, had to watch everyone, even his own "family." Trust was a luxury, and Noir wasn't sure he could afford it.
As he made his way to the council room for another meeting with Lord Lavelle, his thoughts remained on the warning. Whoever that mysterious figure was, they knew something important. Something that Noir couldn't ignore. But how did they know? And more importantly, why approach him now?
…..
The heavy wooden doors of the council room swung open with a familiar creak. Inside, Lord Lavelle sat with a small group of advisors, their faces tight with tension as they pored over documents and maps spread out on the table. The room smelled faintly of old paper and ink, a reminder of the many decisions that had been made in these walls—decisions that had led to both the rise and fall of the Lavelle family.
"Eryk," Lord Lavelle called out as Noir stepped inside. "We have much to discuss."
Noir took his seat at the table, glancing over the maps and papers. The same noble houses he'd heard about before were marked out—House Vale, House Solis, House Thorne. But there was something else on the map this time, a new marking near the Lavelle estate. It looked like a small military encampment, stationed too close for comfort.
"The gathering of nobles is upon us," Lord Lavelle said, his voice heavy with the weight of responsibility. "This will be our last chance to secure alliances, Eryk. Without their support, we will be forced to sell more of our land, and with it, our influence. House Vale has already made moves to encroach on our territory."
Noir listened quietly, his mind racing. He wasn't the real Eryk, but he had to play this role convincingly. He couldn't let on how out of his depth he felt. And yet, as he stared at the maps, something nagged at him. The military encampment was too close, too obvious. And the noble houses were behaving too predictably.
He leaned forward, tapping his finger on the map. "They're baiting you."
Lord Lavelle frowned. "What?"
"They want you to think this is all about alliances," Noir continued, his voice calm but sharp. "You're looking at this like a noble. But if there's one thing I've learned, it's that nobility blinds you to the obvious. House Vale isn't just trying to form alliances—they're trying to test our defenses. That military camp is too close to be a coincidence."
One of the advisors scoffed. "You think they'd attack us directly? That would be political suicide."
Noir shrugged. "Maybe. But it wouldn't be the first time someone used deception to weaken their opponent. They're watching us, waiting for the right moment. You need to outmaneuver them, not meet them head-on."
Lord Lavelle's eyes narrowed, and for a moment, the room fell silent. Noir could feel the weight of the older man's gaze on him, as if he were trying to figure out where this sudden insight had come from. But after a long pause, Lord Lavelle gave a slow nod.
"You may be right," he admitted, his tone grudging. "We've been focused on securing alliances, but if Vale is planning something more… subtle, we'll need to change our approach."
Noir felt a small sense of satisfaction. He had pointed out something the others hadn't seen—something that came from his life as a thief, not a noble. He wasn't playing by their rules, and that gave him an advantage. But it also reminded him of how different he was from these people. They lived by codes of honor and tradition. Noir lived by survival.
…..
Later that day, Noir found himself standing in the estate's training hall once again, facing Master Theron. The stern man paced back and forth in front of him, his gaze never leaving Noir as he spoke.
"Magic is an extension of the self," Theron explained. "It draws on your will, your emotions. But without discipline, it will consume you. The Crimson Eyes are powerful, yes, but they are also dangerous."
Noir listened intently, feeling the pulse of magic in his veins. He had felt it before, flickering just beneath the surface, but every time he tried to grasp it, it slipped away. Now, though, with the pressure mounting and the weight of the Lavelle name hanging over him, he needed to learn how to control it. Magic wasn't just power—it was survival.
"Today, we will push further," Theron continued, his voice steady. "You must learn to channel the raw energy within you, to bend it to your will."
Noir nodded, though inside, he felt a twinge of uncertainty. He wasn't a noble by birth, wasn't raised in a world where magic was second nature. He had lived a life of deceit, quick reflexes, and survival. But now, magic was his tool, and he needed to master it.
Theron stepped back, motioning for Noir to focus. Noir closed his eyes, feeling the pulse of energy building within him. He reached for it, his mind sharpening like a blade, and for a moment, he felt it—raw, untamed power coursing through his veins.
A flicker of light appeared in his hand, a spark of energy. It danced in his palm, wild and unpredictable. Noir's eyes snapped open, his heart pounding in his chest.
"Focus," Theron instructed. "Control it."
But the spark was too wild. Noir's emotions, the pressure of everything around him, made it difficult to rein in the energy. The spark grew larger, more erratic, until it finally burst, sending a small wave of heat through the room. Noir stumbled back, gasping for breath.
Theron watched him carefully, his expression calm but firm. "Control is key, Eryk. Without it, the magic will consume you."
Noir nodded, though frustration gnawed at him. He needed to get this right, needed to understand how to wield this power. Magic was a tool, and like any tool, it had to be mastered.
…..
After the training session, Noir made his way to the gardens, hoping to clear his mind. But as he walked among the hedges and flowers, his thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps behind him.
"Eryk," Lilia's voice called out, her tone sharp.
Noir turned to see her approaching, her eyes filled with concern. She stopped a few feet away from him, crossing her arms over her chest.
"You've been different since your illness," she said, her voice low. "Distant. I don't know what's going on with you, but you're not the same."
Noir tensed. He had been trying to keep his distance from Lilia, trying not to let her see through the cracks in his facade. But she was sharp, too sharp. She had noticed the changes in him, and now she was questioning him more openly.
"I've just… been under a lot of pressure," Noir replied, his voice measured. "Father's been pushing me to prepare for the gathering. It's been overwhelming."
Lilia narrowed her eyes. "That's not all of it. There's something else. You've changed, Eryk. And I don't know if I can trust you anymore."
Noir's heart skipped a beat. She was getting too close, asking questions he couldn't answer. He needed to deflect, to put her mind at ease, but the tension between them was growing, and he could feel it slipping out of his control.
"Lilia," he said, stepping closer. "I'm still your brother. I'm doing everything I can to help this family."
She studied him for a moment, her expression unreadable. Then, without another word, she turned and walked away, leaving Noir standing alone in the garden. The distance between them was growing, and Noir wasn't sure how long he could keep up the act.
…..
Later that night, the Lavelle estate was plunged into chaos.
Noir was in the library, reading over old texts about the Crimson Eyes, when the first explosion rocked the estate. The sound of shattering glass and the clash of steel echoed through the halls. Noir shot to his feet, his heart racing as he heard the unmistakable sounds of a battle outside.
He rushed to the nearest window, his eyes widening as he saw masked figures swarming the estate's courtyard. Mercenaries, their weapons glinting in the moonlight, were cutting through the estate's guards with brutal efficiency.
Noir's instincts kicked in. He grabbed a dagger from a nearby shelf—an ornamental piece, but sharp enough to do damage—and sprinted toward the courtyard. The sounds of battle grew louder as he approached, and he felt the familiar rush of adrenaline coursing through his veins.
This wasn't the first time Noir had fought for his life. He had been in tight spots before, surrounded by enemies, outnumbered, but this time was different. This time, he had magic.
'Of All The Damn Times-' Befoe noir can finish his frustrated thought.
He ducked beneath the swing of a mercenary's sword, his body moved on instinct. He lashed out with the dagger, catching the man's arm and sending him stumbling back. But there were more—too many. Noir could feel himself being surrounded.
He gritted his teeth, focusing on the pulse of magic within him. He reached for it, just as he had in training, and this time, it answered. A burst of energy erupted from his hands, sending two mercenaries flying backward. The power was raw, wild, but it was enough to give him space.
Noir's chest heaved as he stood in the midst of the chaos, the heat of battle swirling around him. He had tapped into the Crimson Eyes, but the magic was unstable, draining him quickly.
The battle raged on, but Noir could see reinforcements arriving—more Lavelle guards pouring into the courtyard to fend off the attackers. Whoever had sent these mercenaries had done so to send a message, but the Lavelle estate would stand.
For now.
…..
In the aftermath of the battle, Lord Lavelle stood in the courtyard, surveying the damage. The bodies of the mercenaries were being cleared away, and the wounded were tended to. Noir approached, his body aching from the fight, but his mind sharper than ever.
"That wasn't just an attack," Noir said, his voice low. "That was a warning."
Lord Lavelle nodded grimly. "House Vale, most likely. They want to weaken us before the gathering."
Noir's jaw clenched. This world was more dangerous than he had realized, and the threats were very real. If he was going to survive—if the Lavelle family was going to survive—he needed to master his magic, and fast.
Because the real battle was coming.