The days that followed saw no respite from his siblings' intrusions. Alaric spent much of his time in his room, planning another project, his mind consumed with ideas and designs. However, it wasn't long before a surprising visit interrupted his solitude.
One afternoon, there was a firm knock at his door. Alaric sighed, expecting another one of Damian or Eliza's bothersome attempts to pry into his affairs.
"Come in," he said, his voice laced with irritation.
To his surprise, it was Count Vargas who stepped into the room. The Count's presence was imposing, his gaze sharp and probing.
"Father," Alaric greeted, masking his surprise with a neutral expression. "What brings you here?"
Count Vargas didn't waste any time with pleasantries. "Alaric, what exactly have you been doing during your time away?"
Alaric raised an eyebrow, leaning back in his chair. "Why the sudden interest, Father? I thought you had more pressing matters to attend to."
"Do not test my patience, Alaric," Count Vargas replied sternly. "Your siblings have been relentless with their questions, and rumors are spreading once again. I need to know what you've been up to."
Alaric couldn't resist a smirk. "Curiosity seems to be a family trait."
The Count's eyes narrowed. "Enough with the snarky remarks. I want answers."
Seeing that his father was not in the mood for games, Alaric sighed. "Fine. If you must know, I've been working on a new type of weapon."
"A weapon?" Count Vargas echoed, his interest piqued. "Show me."
Alaric hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "Alright. Meet me at the training grounds."
As Count Vargas left the room, Alaric stood up, heading to his hidden storage. He carefully picked up both the Reaver and the Emberblast, his prized creations. These pistols represented months of hard work and innovation, combining traditional craftsmanship with his unique approach to magic.
He made his way to the training grounds, the weapons concealed under his cloak. When he arrived, Count Vargas was already there, waiting with an impatient expression.
"Let's see what you've been hiding," the Count demanded.
Alaric took a deep breath, stepping forward. He unveiled the Reaver first, holding it up for his father to see.
"This is the Reaver," Alaric explained. "It channels mana to fire concentrated energy projectiles. It's designed to be used by individuals with low magical output, like myself."
Count Vargas inspected the weapon closely, his expression unreadable. "Interesting. And the other one?"
Alaric revealed the Emberblast, its brass-coated parts gleaming in the sunlight. "This is the Emberblast. It utilizes steel's mana conductivity and a flare shard's potent flame magic to launch waves of fire."
The Count's eyes widened slightly, unable to hide his curiosity. "Show me."
Alaric nodded, stepping back to a safe distance. He took aim at a target dummy, channeling his mana into the Reaver. With a sharp crack, a burst of energy shot out, striking the dummy with precision. The impact left a scorched mark, the smell of burnt fabric filling the air.
Count Vargas nodded approvingly. "Impressive. Now, the Emberblast."
Switching to the Emberblast, Alaric concentrated. A wave of flame erupted from the weapon, engulfing the dummy in a fiery blaze. The intensity of the heat was palpable, even from a distance.
Count Vargas was silent for a moment, clearly impressed. "You've done well, Alaric. These are formidable weapons."
Alaric allowed himself a small smile. "Thank you, Father."
The Count's gaze softened slightly. "You may continue your work, but be cautious. If word of these weapons gets out, it could attract unwanted attention."
"I understand," Alaric replied. "I'll be careful."
As they left the training grounds, Alaric felt a sense of caution and bitterness. Memories of the last time he had displayed his abilities in front of his father flashed through his mind. The mockery, the humiliation—he would never forget how they had laughed at the pistol gift on his fifteenth birthday. He was determined not to let history repeat itself.
The next morning, Alaric awoke to the familiar sound of knocking on his door. He groaned, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
"Who is it now?" he muttered under his breath, already knowing the answer.
"It's us, Alaric!" Eliza's voice rang out, falsely sweet. "We just want to talk."
Damian's voice followed, dripping with feigned concern. "Yes, Alaric. We're worried about you."
Alaric sighed, reluctantly opening the door. "What do you want?"
Eliza and Damian exchanged glances before stepping into the room. "We just wanted to see how you're doing," Eliza said, her eyes darting around the room, searching for any signs of what he might be up to.
"Yes, you've been so secretive," Damian added, trying to appear sincere. "We only want to help."
Alaric crossed his arms, leaning against his desk. "Help? Since when have either of you been interested in helping me?"
Eliza pouted, her tone shifting to one of practiced sympathy. "Oh, come now, Alaric. We're family. We care about each other."
"Family," Alaric repeated, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Is that what this is about? Or are you just curious about what I've been working on?"
Damian's eyes narrowed slightly. "You can't blame us for wanting to know. You've been acting so strange since you got back."
Alaric sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I'm fine. I'm just... focused on my projects. Is that so hard to understand?"
Eliza stepped closer, trying to peer at the table behind him. "And what projects might those be?"
Alaric moved to block her view. "None of your concern."
Damian frowned, frustration creeping into his voice. "Father said you were working on some kind of weapon. Is that true?"
Alaric's expression hardened. "Yes, it is. And it's none of your business."
Eliza's eyes widened with feigned surprise. "A weapon? That sounds dangerous. Are you sure you should be doing that?"
Alaric couldn't suppress a bitter laugh. "Of course you'd think that. You both always underestimate me."
Damian raised an eyebrow. "We're just trying to look out for you, Alaric."
Alaric shook his head. "No, you're trying to pry into my affairs. Just leave me alone."
Eliza pouted again, but there was a glint of annoyance in her eyes. "Fine, we'll leave. But don't think this is over."
As they left the room, Alaric felt a mixture of relief and frustration. They wouldn't give up easily, but he had no intention of revealing his work to them. Not yet, at least.
Returning to his desk, he resumed his work, the blueprints for his next project spread out before him. His siblings' curiosity might be a nuisance, but it wouldn't stop him. He was determined to prove his worth, no matter what it took.
"They'll see," he muttered to himself, picking up a pen. "They'll all see what I can do."
With renewed focus, Alaric continued his work, the weight of his siblings' scrutiny fading into the background as he lost himself in his designs.