Ryan stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the collar of his deep purple tunic—the Regal Robes of Duskveil—formal attire reserved for noble events. The fabric was rich but understated, with silver embroidery tracing the cuffs and hem, a quiet reminder of his family's status. His maids had done their work well; every strand of hair was in place, his face freshly groomed, sharp features accentuated. He barely recognized himself, the boy who had spent more time practicing sword swings than worrying about appearances. The amethyst-adorned ear cuffs gleamed softly, adding an unfamiliar but fitting final touch.
He descended the stairs, finding his parents waiting at the foot of the grand hall.
His mother, Helena, was a vision of grace in her dark green gown, the fabric flowing effortlessly as she moved. The subtle gold accents traced the neckline and sleeves, drawing the eye without being ostentatious. Her auburn hair, neatly braided and pinned with a silver clasp, framed her features with a calm elegance that always made Ryan feel at ease.
His father, Roger, dressed in a dark blue tunic, looked every bit the seasoned noble, though his graying hair and warm smile softened the imposing figure he cut.
"Ah, there he is," Roger said, glancing over at Helena with a thoughtful nod. "What do you think, my dear? Did the maids finally manage to turn our son into a proper noble?"
Helena smiled softly, shaking her head. "He's always been one. It's just that now it shows a little more."
Roger chuckled, turning back to Ryan. "Not bad, son. Though I half-expected you to come down in your training gear, sword strapped to your side."
Ryan allowed a brief smile. "Not today, Father."
Roger stepped back, looking him over, a playful grin creeping onto his face. "You know," he leaned in, lowering his voice as if sharing a secret, "you're about half as handsome as I was when I was your age. Long way to go, boy."
Ryan shook his head but couldn't help the small grin that tugged at his lips. "I'll keep that in mind."