Vyan blinked up at the man, whose designer trench coat was now sporting a stylish mud splatter pattern, courtesy of his clumsiness. He braced himself for a painful tongue-lashing, because nothing says "welcome back to prison" like angering another nobleman.
However, the nobleman's reaction was not quite what he had expected.
"Master?" the old man gasped, like he had just stumbled upon a unicorn worthy of millions of gold coins.
Is everybody high today? Or is it just me hallucinating from blood loss?
"Um, sorry to disappoint you, but I'm not your master," Vyan deadpanned, mentally preparing for another round of noble-induced headaches.
"No, no, pardon me. It was a slip of tongue," he frantically corrected himself and lowered himself to Vyan's level, uncaring of his expensive garment swabbing dirt from the ground. "You are my young master. You are definitely him!"
What is this, 'The Lost Heir: The Sequel?'
"I am not your lost young master, either, sir," Vyan interjected, trying to avoid getting sucked into a bizarre family reunion.
"But how could that be? Look at those eyes—that divine shade of red!" He insisted that Vyan's eyes were some kind of mystical ruby red. Talk about seeing the world through rose-colored glasses. Or in this case, ruby-colored eyes.
Vyan scoffed. "Please, wouldn't I know if I had your so-called divine eyes? I mean, red isn't exactly a subtle color."
"Why don't you check for yourself right now?" he requested, his absolute confidence wavering Vyan's own.
Reluctantly, Vyan glanced at his reflection in a nearby boutique window, expecting to see his usual amber gaze staring back at him. Instead, he was met with the sight of two fiery red orbs staring back like a pair of angry vampires.
"Wow," Vyan breathed out. "Well, I guess that explains why I am seeing all red," he quipped, because when life hands you a supernatural makeover, you might as well crack a joke.
But right after that, Vyan's panic skyrocketed faster than a squirrel on a sugar rush. Because more than the fact that his eye color changed, it was the fact that his orbs were now red of all the godforsaken colors. RED! The eye color of the cursed!
Of course, his luck being what it was, he would now become the target of every superstitious nutjob with a handful of garlic and a wooden stake. Great, just what he needed on his already overflowing plate of problems—death by a mob of pitchfork-wielding peasants.
Geez, what have I done to deserve a cursed eye makeover?
Just then, he remembered the freaky conversation inside his head.
Oh, right, it must be that goddess! She said she had a gift for him, and that meant she was sending him a curse.
I told you you gave me nothing, but that doesn't mean you will give me a goddamn curse!
Maybe there was still a way he could reverse his situation. Maybe if he apologized to Hecate, she would take back the curse.
But before he could start drafting his "Sorry, Goddess, my bad" apology letter, the old man was still yammering on about some 'Young Master' nonsense. Did the guy have a button for 'Ignore' mode? Because Vyan was tempted to find out.
Vyan shot to his feet. "Listen, sir, I appreciate the enthusiasm, but I am not your young master. Trust me, I would remember if I were someone so important."
But the man wasn't taking the hint. "No, please, Young Master, you have to believe me. You are Young Master Vyan."
"How do you know my name, huh?" Vyan snapped, his patience wearing thinner by the second. He needed to hide these eyes before someone reported him.
The old man's gaze dropped to Vyan's neck and then came the bombshell: the locket.
Vyan's gaze also followed the silver chain around his neck, where his name was engraved, and suddenly, the weight of it felt heavier than a backpack full of anvils.
Memories flooded back, memories of a time when life was simpler, before it became a dumpster fire of betrayal and curses.
With a swift yank, he tore the locket off like he was ripping off a Band-Aid soaked in lemon juice. He didn't need reminders of the past clinging to him like a clingy ex. He wanted nothing given to him by Iyana on his body.
"This stupid thing? It holds no value. Because I am not even sure if Vyan is my real name. So, stop wasting your time on me, sir."
But the man wasn't willing to back down and dropped a revelation like it was a mic drop moment, "No, I am certain. It is your true name—the name given to you by your older brother. Vyan Blake Ashstone."
His head spun faster than a roulette wheel.
Vyan Blake Ashstone?
That sounded more like a character from a bad fantasy novel than his real name. But then again, in the circus of his life, anything was possible.
But not this. This was not possible. This was way too good to be true.
His laughter echoed through the empty streets like a drunken banshee at a ghost party. "Oh, you have got to be kidding me," he wheezed, the bitter taste of irony thick on his tongue.
"Ashstone, the golden surname of the Grand Duchy of Haynes? Yeah, right. Next thing you will tell me that I am the sole survivor of that family and I am to become the next Grand Duke," he mocked and chortled at his own words.
But receiving radio silence from the old man, he looked into his eyes and there was a spark of something that gave him pause—something that made Vyan's heart waver and hope for a miracle.
Miracle? Nah, that couldn't be.
Miracles were for people who visited the church every day or had saved the empire, not for gutter rats like him. Who knows if he was getting duped entirely right now?
"By chance, do you want my kidney or something?" Vyan arched an eyebrow.
The old man gasped. "Why would I want that?"
"I don't know. You probably want to lure me by this false act and take me somewhere and sell me off as a slave to another kingdom," Vyan shrugged. "I mean, look, I am not open to getting sold off, but I might be willing to sell a few body parts for a hefty sum of money," he offered, earning a soft chuckle from the man.
He shuffled around looking for a pocket watch and showed it to Vyan. "Look at this, and you will know I am not looking to sell your body parts."
Vyan squinted at the intricate carvings on the pocket watch and tried to remember the emblem of the House Ashstone. Not that Vyan was an expert or anything, but it did seem authentic.
So… this man was truly a part of the House Ashstone. That meant, there was a slim chance he might be claiming the truth.
"Please, young master, give your humble servant, Benedict Carloz, the chance to show you where you truly belong," Benedict insisted, his wrinkled eyes burning with determination.
There was no way all of this was true. If by one in a billion chance, if it was, then Goddess Hecate truly had sent him a gift, alright—a gift so gigantic that he was not sure he would be able to handle it.
Because seriously, he was the Grand Duke's family? Going from a penniless knight with no home to the family with the second-most power in the entire Haynes Empire?
No way, right…?