Alaric descended the grand staircase of the mansion, his polished boots clicking softly against the marble steps. He had taken extra care this morning, his attire crisp and refined—a tailored black shirt and slacks, exuding an air of quiet elegance. Today was a day for connection, for moments that reminded him of why he had fought so hard and what he stood to lose.
As he approached the dining hall, the warm aroma of freshly brewed coffee and baked bread wafted toward him. The sunlight streaming through the tall windows cast a golden glow over the room, illuminating the faces of his family already seated at the table.
Maria, his mother, looked radiant, her smile brightening as she saw him. Lucy sat beside her, her small hands clutching a glass of orange juice while she hummed a cheerful tune. Morgana, his grandmother, sipped her tea gracefully, her wise eyes softening as they met his.
