Life is like a tapestry, and power acts as a thread that connects our past to our present. This thread shapes who we are and how we see ourselves. Every choice we make and every relationship we build adds to this fabric, weaving together the happiness and struggles that come from those who came before us. In this rich tapestry, we discover who we truly are, influenced by the wisdom of our ancestors and driven by our dreams.
However, power is not always easy to handle—it can create great things or tear them apart, bring people together or drive them apart. To find our way through this complexity, we must understand the responsibilities that come with being strong. We need to honor our past, support those around us, and build a future that reflects our beliefs.
In the end, real power comes from the connections we make, reminding us that we are part of something bigger than ourselves. As we follow this path, guided by love and honesty, we create our own future, ensuring that our legacy shines with hope, strength, and lasting light.
*** Remius POV***
The room was vast, with its high, arched ceilings that seemed to stretch endlessly upwards. Each corner of the room held ornate carvings, depicting scenes of battles and triumphs from an age long past. The walls were lined with tapestries, rich in color and detail, showcasing the lineage and history of our family. As I walked further in, the polished marble floor beneath my feet echoed with each step, the sound reverberating through the spacious chamber.
In the center of this grand space stood Liora and Lysander, the twin pillars of light and energy in my life. My gaze first landed on Liora, and as I looked at her, a warmth filled my chest, spreading outwards until it enveloped me completely. There was something about her presence that made the entire room feel brighter, more alive. Her hair, a brilliant yellow, cascaded around her shoulders in soft waves, each strand catching the light in a way that made her seem to glow from within. It was as if the sun itself had taken residence in her tresses, refusing to let the shadows claim even an inch of space around her.
Her bright blue eyes were the very embodiment of curiosity and mischief, drawing me in with their youthful wonder. There was a sparkle in those eyes, a gleam that hinted at the countless adventures she had yet to embark on, the mysteries she was eager to uncover. Just beneath her left eye was a tiny beauty spot, a sweet reminder of her unique beauty. It was a small mark, barely noticeable to some, but to me, it was a symbol of everything that made her special. It added character to her delicate features, making her stand out in a way that was both subtle and profound. I found myself stealing glances at it, marveling at how something so small could have such a big impact on her charm.
When she smiled, it was as if the world around us brightened. Her laughter was a melody, light and joyful, carrying with it an innocence that could easily drown out any worries that dared to creep into my mind. I loved those moments when we would be lost in games or adventures, our shared giggles weaving us closer together in this new chapter of our lives. Though she was my stepsister and not my biological sibling, our bond felt genuine and strong. We were both navigating the complexities of our new family dynamic, and it seemed to draw us together in unexpected ways. I felt a protective instinct over her, a deep-seated need to shield her from any hurt and ensure that her laughter never faded.
Liora possessed an adventurous spirit, always eager to explore and discover new things. Watching her embrace the world around her filled me with admiration; her excitement was contagious. In many ways, I was still learning how to adjust to these changes in my life, and her presence made it easier. She had a way of making the unknown seem less daunting, of turning every new experience into a shared journey. As I stood there, taking in her radiant presence, I realized how lucky I was to have her as my sister. She was a bright light in my life, reminding me of the joy and innocence that could still exist, even amid uncertainty.
Next to Liora stood Lysander, her twin brother, a whirlwind of energy that never seemed to dissipate. At seven years old, Lysander was a force to be reckoned with, his fiery red hair a perfect reflection of the boundless energy that surged through him. His hair, a wild mane of red, seemed to defy gravity, sticking up in all directions as if electrified by his sparkling personality. It was as vibrant as autumn leaves ablaze in the sun, a vivid testament to his playful spirit.
His eyes, in stark contrast to his hair, were the deepest black, striking against the brightness of his mane. They danced with mischief and delight, a constant reminder that trouble was never far behind him. There was something magnetic about those eyes—when he looked your way, it felt like he was about to unleash his next grand scheme. You could almost see the wheels turning in his head, cooking up mischief and laughter in equal measure.
Lysander had a knack for turning even the simplest moments into an adventure. Whether it was concocting elaborate stories or devising playful pranks, he approached each day with an infectious enthusiasm that made it impossible not to smile. When he laughed, it was a bubbling sound that filled the air and seemed to invite everyone around him to join in on the fun. There was a sparkle in his eyes that hinted at his mischievous nature, as if he delighted in the idea of pushing limits just a little. He was the type of kid who thrived on laughter and spontaneity, always the instigator of games that took us on wild escapades in the backyard or through the hallways of our new home.
Despite his penchant for mischief, there was an undeniable warmth that radiated from him. He had a big heart and a genuine affection for those around him. I admired how quickly he could make friends, drawing everyone into his orbit with his charm and exuberance. Being around Lysander felt like stepping into a world of endless play, where anything was possible, and laughter was the rule. In many ways, Lysander balanced Liora perfectly. While she sparkled with her golden hair and serene energy, he was a burst of excitement and joy. Together, they created a dynamic duo that filled our lives with laughter and adventure.
As I watched him dash around with his boundless spirit, I felt grateful for having both of them in my life, each bringing their own light and joy into our world. Their presence made the vastness of our home feel less intimidating, less cold. It was as if they had breathed new life into these old walls, filling them with warmth and laughter that had been absent for far too long.
But as much as Liora and Lysander brought light into my life, there was another presence in the room that commanded my attention. Standing tall and imposing was the Duke of our house—my father, our father, to be precise. He was a man who commanded attention, not just because of his status, but because of the aura he exuded. Even as the head of our family, he bore no signs of aging, looking as though he were merely twenty years old. His red hair flowed like a cascade of flames, smooth and impeccably styled, framing his angular face with an air of aristocratic elegance.
What struck me most, however, was the color of his eyes. They were a piercing, vibrant red—mirroring the hue of Lysander's fiery gaze. But I couldn't help but remember a time not too long ago when his eyes had been black. It was strange to think how they had transformed; in just a few years, it felt like a part of him had awakened or shifted into something even more powerful.
His fiery red eyes now held a depth that suggested a rich history and a sharp intellect, glimmering with an almost predatory awareness that could cut through any pretense. They seemed to glow with an inner fire, a vivid intensity that both intrigued and unnerved me—suggestive of forces both known and unknown. It was as if a new vitality had ignited within him, granting him an air of dominance that was impossible to ignore.
His attire matched his grandeur. Dressed in an impeccably tailored coat, rich with dark embroidery that contrasted sharply with his blazing hair and vibrant eyes, he stood as a figure of authority and elegance. Every detail of his ensemble reflected a sophistication befitting a Duke—a lineage marked by power and respect. As I gazed at him, I couldn't help but marvel at the enigmatic blend of youth and command he possessed. Despite the years that had passed, despite the shifts I had sensed over the years, he exuded an energy that was both timeless and revitalized.
There was a looming mystery about the changes in him—how his eyes had transitioned from dark to a fierce red, and what that might signify for our family and our future. In that moment, as he regarded us, I recognized the duality of his nature. He was not just a Duke, a nobleman with obligations and expectations; he was also a father, albeit one I was still learning about. The resemblance we shared, with his radiant hair and striking eyes now so similar to Lysander's, connected us in ways that felt both intimate and daunting. This was a man of power, a figure encapsulated in the complexities of our lineage, and I was both drawn to and intimidated by him, eager to unravel the mysteries that defined him and our family.
As the three of us stood before him—Liora, Lysander, and I—the atmosphere in the room shifted. The air grew heavy with anticipation, and I could feel the weight of my father's gaze as it rested upon us. He stood behind his massive, intricately carved mahogany desk, his sharp eyes narrowing as he looked each of us in the eyes. He let the silence hang for a moment, a weighty pause that seemed to stretch the tension in the room. Then, with a voice that carried the weight of his authority, he finally spoke.
"Hmm! I see you have gathered," he said, his tone measured yet firm.
The three of us exchanged glances before nodding in acknowledgment. The room was large, with tall windows that allowed streams of morning sunlight to filter in, casting long shadows across the floor. The atmosphere was thick with anticipation; we knew that whatever was about to be said carried significant importance. He saw us nod, his gaze piercing through our shared silence, and he continued, his voice even but filled with a deeper meaning, "Do you understand where we stand in this human country?"
I felt a slight unease in my chest. I thought I understood what he was trying to convey, but I wasn't entirely sure. It was a strange feeling—knowing something, but not fully grasping its depth. I glanced at Liora and Lys
ander, hoping for some sign of certainty in their eyes. But they too seem uncertain, unsure of what exactly Father is getting at. We look at each other, sharing a silent moment of confusion. But as always, I pretend to understand, maintaining the mask of composure that I've learned to wear so well.
Seeing our confusion, Father's expression softens ever so slightly, but his eyes remain sharp. "Do you know how high we stand in society?" he asks, his tone making it clear that this question is not just for the sake of conversation. He's testing us, probing our understanding of our place in the world.
Liora, always the one to step forward, responds first. "We are at the top as part of the duke family!" she says confidently, her voice filled with pride.
Father nods at her response, but there's a hint of something in his eyes—perhaps disappointment or maybe expectation. "Do you know why?" he asks, his voice now carrying an edge of challenge.
He looks directly at Liora, waiting for her response. She shifts slightly, her confidence wavering under his gaze. "Because we are part of the duke family," she replies, though this time her voice is not as strong, as if she's unsure if that's the answer he wants to hear.
Father doesn't acknowledge her words. Instead, he shifts his gaze to Lysander, who is standing beside me. Lysander, ever the one who thrives under pressure, takes a deep breath before answering. "Because we are strong!" he declares, his voice filled with conviction.
Father's gaze finally lands on me. I feel the weight of his expectation pressing down on me. I know what I'm supposed to say—or at least, I think I do. The truth is, I do understand that our family's status is not just due to our noble blood but because of our strength, our deep-rooted history in the formation of Avaloria. But there's no way I can express all of that, not in the way Father expects.
So, I take a cue from Lysander and repeat his words, hoping they'll suffice. "Because we are strong?"
Father's eyes scan each of our faces again, as if he's measuring the depth of our understanding. Then, with a slow nod, he says, "Yes, it is only because we are strong that we are at the top. This world we live in feeds off the weak."
His words hang in the air, a solemn reminder of the harsh reality of our world. In that moment, I realize that this lesson is not just about our place in society, but about survival—our survival. Father's message is clear: strength is the only thing that keeps us at the top, and without it, we are nothing more than prey in a world that shows no mercy to the weak.