"Geoffrey," Richard called out, scrambling to the room where his butlers once worked. "Give me a moment, please," he begged Marquis, his voice edged with desperation.
"Just get this over with," Marquis scoffed, turning to the hooded figure. "Drop them on the couches," he commanded, gesturing to the furniture.
"Softly," he added, remembering how roughly the figure had handled them earlier.
"Yes," the cloaked figure replied, respect evident in his tone. Marquis walked over to the couch, the chandelier's light fading as the sun fully rose.
Geoffrey entered the parlor, accompanied by Richard.
"Geoffrey, could you aid those kids?" Richard asked, pointing towards Elara, Anna, and Leonardo.
Richard sat down heavily on the couch in front of Marquis, while the cloaked figure stood silently beside him.
Marquis's expression was stern and unwavering. "Why didn't you do anything?" he asked flatly.
"Well, I tried—" Richard began.
"You didn't. You watched them burn," Marquis interrupted, his voice filled with sorrow. "You had enough treatments."
"I didn't," Richard protested weakly.
"You did," Marquis said, his sorrow giving way to rising anger. "You're a sorry old man, always thinking of yourself.
It's funny how we're all related in some way or another," he sighed, face-palming. "We share the same blood, no matter how small."
Richard listened to Marquis's words, feeling a deep sense of shame. Here was a young man, barely old enough to be his son, lecturing him.
Maybe he really was a sorry old man. He remembered when it happened. He had been following the Meaux daughters and Leonardo, not closely, but as an escort. He saw how close they were to the explosion, the debris rising and falling, the sudden yells and cries.
He saw how a boy came and tried to save everyone, though not completely. Richard looked at Marquis, his gaze lowering.
"I, um, I have medicine," he said flatly.
"Good," Marquis replied.
Meanwhile, Geoffrey was diligently treating the wounds. He used herbs to cover the flame burns, applying salves with a practiced hand.
Leonardo, thanks to his minimal flame resistance, was in better shape than Elara and Anna, though his condition was still dire. Elara's floral dress was burned at the feet and sides, the fabric slowly disintegrating.
Richard watched as Geoffrey worked, his hands steady and sure. Despite the chaos and pain, there was a methodical calm to his movements. Geoffrey's treatments were thorough, and Leonardo's shaking began to subside.
The herbs provided some relief, and the burns were starting to heal. Elara and Anna lay on the couch, their breaths shallow but steady.
The worst of the burns were being treated, and though their clothing was scorched, their lives were not in immediate danger.
Richard's heart ached with guilt and regret. He had failed them, but now, under Marquis's stern gaze.
Marquis's brown eyes remained fixed on Richard, the disappointment clear. "You need to do better," he said quietly. "The Mortimers were once great, now just an estate in the east." Richard's heart sank.
Marquis's words echoed the painful truth he had been avoiding. He was reminded of Anna's piercing words, so similar to Marquis's: ["What happened to the Mortimers? How did one of the noble families in the tower get reduced to a minor estate in the far east? What pure rubbish."] The very words rang in his ears, gnawing at his conscience. What were they teaching the new generation of heirs in the tower? He continued thinking, feeling the weight of his family's fallen status.
Richard nodded, the gravity of Marquis's words settling heavily on his shoulders. He didn't know if he had a second chance to make things right, but an opportunity lay before him, and he wouldn't waste it.
The parlor, once a place of elegance and comfort, was now a scene of quiet urgency. The chandelier, a grand relic of better days, flickered uncertainly. Its once-brilliant crystals, now dulled by time and neglect, cast fractured beams of light that danced erratically across the room as the sun's rays began to seep in.
The room's rich tapestries, depicting scenes of Mortimer grandeur, seemed to sag under the weight of the present crisis. Heavy velvet curtains framed the tall windows, their deep burgundy hue absorbing the first light of dawn.
The intricate woodwork of the furniture, a testament to the family's former wealth and status, now seemed almost somber, as if mourning the loss of their splendor.
The marble fireplace, once the centerpiece of many gatherings, stood cold and empty, a stark contrast to the warmth and life it once provided.
Geoffrey worked with methodical precision, his hands steady as he tended to the wounds of Elara, Anna, and Leonardo.
The scent of healing herbs mingled with the lingering odor of smoke and ash, creating a dissonant mix that permeated the air. Geoffrey's treatments were thorough, and as the herbs began to take effect, Leonardo's shaking subsided, his breathing becoming more even. The burns, though severe, were starting to heal under Geoffrey's careful ministrations.
Elara and Anna lay on the couch, their breaths shallow but steady. Their dresses, once vibrant and full of life, were now charred and tattered, remnants of their former selves. Elara's floral dress, burned at the feet and sides, still held traces of its original beauty, a stark reminder of the innocence and adventure that had led them here.
Richard watched, his heart heavy with guilt and regret. He had failed them.
Marquis, with his hands still in his hoodie pockets, looked out the window. The rising sun cast a golden glow over the estate grounds, highlighting the contrast between the decay within and the promise of a new day outside.
The morning light touched the edges of the room, illuminating the dust particles that danced in the air, creating a surreal blend of hope and despair. The cloaked figure did not leave more than 5 feet of distance from Marquis.
"How did the train explode?" Marquis asked the cloaked figure while looking out the window. Outside, the chaos was slowly giving way to order as people began organizing themselves.
It was a grim scene—families entered the train and yet the survivors were sons and daughters randomly placed.
Marquis pondered the possibility that if he had'nt been practicing his control over Rasvian energy in the nearby lake to better utilize his attachment skill [Element Manipulation], he himself might be the one being mourned at this moment.
"I have no idea," the cloaked figure replied. This was supposed to be an elimination quest, not one requiring competitors to destroy each other.
Why would someone destroy the train? He sighed, his thoughts swirling with the weight of responsibility suddenly thrust upon him by his father, and not just him but all the other kids as well.
If they did not reach the 17 Wonders and bring back a piece of value as proof, they would be expelled from the tower by the sage who issued the quest. "If only Sage Rolhim had given a more practical quest," he said dryly, then continued with rising frustration, "Who gives a bunch of teenagers a quest to traverse the 17 Wonders?!"
The 17 Wonders, excluding the tower which would make it 18, were geographical cities of immense power. The title of "Wonder" was bestowed upon cities that couldn't be easily controlled by the sages of that realm.
The tower, once a full Wonder, no longer fulfilled its rank as it had become one of the most controlled cities in the realm.
Marquis's gaze shifted from the window to the distant horizon, where the rising sun cast long shadows over the devastated landscape.
The train, once a symbol of their journey, was now a twisted wreck, its bright yellow paint charred and blackened. The explosion had turned a serene morning into a scene of chaos and sorrow, that even the wave he used to help calm the chaos was ultimately useless in the grand scheme of things.
The tower had been created by the sages to stop the endless conflicts among the minor families at the bottom.
A hierarchical order, resembling a pyramid, had been established thanks to the cunning of the sages. This structure was meant to bring stability and control, yet it also bred resentment and competition among the families vying for power.
Marquis's thoughts drifted back to the task at hand.
The 17 Wonders were not just geographical marvels; they were testaments to the power and resilience of their inhabitants. Each Wonder was a city with its own unique challenges and mysteries, resistant to the control of the sages.
To retrieve something valuable from each Wonder was a task that required not just strength and skill, but also wisdom and cunning.
Marquis turned his attention back to the cloaked figure. "We need to be prepared for anything," he said firmly. "This quest is not just a test of our abilities but of our will to survive and succeed."
He paused, frustration evident in his eyes. "This is a test of our abilities," he repeated, his voice tinged with bitterness. "That bastard sage," he muttered, knowing he couldn't voice his true thoughts any further.
The cloaked figure nodded in agreement, a silent acknowledgment that he understood the gravity of the situation and shared Marquis's resentment toward the sage.