Leon's days in the Valerian household were a mix of quiet observation and learning-a taste for everything. Though he was still an infant, his mind retained the clarity of his previous life, with his ability to notice the intricate workings of the world around him. The Valerian estate was more than a home; it was the nerve center of a vast, prosperous county, every corner pulsing with purpose.
His father was an imposing figure-Count Edmund Valerian. Leon would lie in his crib or sit in the arms of someone and watch as Edmund held court in the grand hall with his advisors. The room was a feat of architecture: high, arched ceilings with carvings of fantastical creatures adorned the room, and tall, stained-glass windows let sunlight pour in onto the polished stone floor in colorful patterns. At the center of it all sat Edmund, dressed in his customary deep blue tunic embroidered with the family crest, a silver falcon in mid-flight.
Edmund's voice carried a tone of authority, yet it was tempered with fairness. He listened attentively to the concerns of his advisors, each speaking of matters ranging from trade routes to defense against roaming bandits. Sometimes, villagers would petition for assistance, their meager words receiving careful thought. From a dispute over farmland to a request for more guards, Edmund made his decisions in full regard for law and compassion alike. The people held Edmund in great esteem, and it showed in the way they left the hall with their heads bowed and utterances of thanks.
Leon's respect for his father increased with each passing day. Edmund did not allow the weight of governance to bear down on him, and yet he still retained the respect of all his people. He was not a tyrannical man; he ruled with honor, and it was obvious that Valeria's prosperity depended on his leadership.
As Edmund attended to the matters of the county, Lady Amelia Valerian saw to it that the household was as regular as clockwork. She walked through the grounds with a grace like ease, her mere presence seemed to calm every troubled soul who was privileged enough to cross her path. Leon would find her in the grand hall most of the time, speaking to servants carrying in fine linens or trays of victuals. She knew everybody's name and spoke softly, never showing anything other than how much she valued them.
Amelia's compassions extended beyond the estate walls. Several times, Leon watched her leave the manor in a carriage, accompanied by maids with baskets filled with various provisions. These trips, he found out, were destined for visiting the sick and needy of the surrounding villages. When she returned-her golden hair ruffled and her hands faintly stained with the stain of herbs-her face would reflect a quiet satisfaction. She radiated a kindness that endeared her to everyone, from the highest-ranking steward to the children playing in the village square.
Leon quickly realized that the mutual respect between the Valerians and their staff was not merely a product of noble obligation. The servants worked diligently, their movements efficient and purposeful, not out of fear but out of genuine loyalty. Gardeners trimmed the hedges on the sprawling estate grounds, their faces marked by concentration as they shaped the greenery into artful designs. Cooks in the kitchen prepared feasts, their hands moving swiftly as they kneaded dough, chopped vegetables, and seasoned meats. Guards patrolled the estate with watchful eyes, gleaming with polished armor in the sun. Each person had a function, and the pride in their work was apparent.
The estate was alive with bustle, a bee hive of industry, and Leon watched in fascination. He enjoyed the flux of individuals, the cadence of their daily activities. Even the most minute particulars-the steady swish of a broom, the soft clatter of dishes being laid for dinner-painted a picture of a household thriving on cohesion and direction.
The Valerian household was steeped in the tradition of education, and Leon was no exception, gravitating toward it with an intensity he would not have suspected within himself. Tutors came each morning to enlighten his older siblings in a variety of subjects: mathematics, history, even the art of swordplay and social etiquette. Instruction often took place in the library, a cavernous room dominated by high shelves lined with rows of leather-bound books. The air was thick with the smell of old paper and varnished wood-a feast for Leon as he listened, either from his crib or his play area.
The tutors all ignored him, thinking him too young and unable to fathom anything, but Leon could grasp everything effortlessly. And more often than not, people were shocked at how quick he was. When Cedric, his scholarly brother, noticed Leon babbling sounds that mimicked the language lessons, he began to teach him simple words and phrases. Leon's progress, though subtle, was undeniable, and the adults attributed it to natural intelligence. Leon smiled inwardly, knowing that his secret lay in the knowledge carried over from his previous life.
Among the lessons, swordsmanship held a special allure for Leon. His father and brothers spent hours each day honing their skills in the training yard. From his perch in the garden, he could see them sparring under the watchful eye of Sir Roland, the family's head knight. Clanging steel on steel sounded as Edmund demonstrated techniques to Arthur, the eldest son. Precise and powerful, each strike was a trademark of years of mastery.
Where Benedict's was fluid, his strikes came fast and unpredictable, as he would dart around an opponent. Cedric, not quite as inclined to battle, was no slouch in his practice either; his stance was measured and deliberative. Diana herself joined them, contrary to the norms expected of noblewomen. She was a fearsome and graceful opponent in her fierce determination, earning the respect of the knights.
The Valerian sword style had always been famous across the region. It focused on speed and accuracy, combining agility with grace. To watch them practice was to feel one's very skin tingle with anticipation. He could almost feel a sword settling into his hand, the exhilaration of motion, the satisfaction of mastering a technique. Even as his body was still much too little and frail, Leon dreamed about the day when he would be among them in the yard, prepared to make a name for himself.
With every passing moment that Leon observed his family and their household, he grasped more and more the expectations held for him as a nobleman. The Valerians were rulers, yes, but first and foremost, leaders, guided in their conduct by a sense of duty and righteousness. Their riches and power were not spent on self-indulgence but to better the people and lands of their kingdom. It was a legacy of respect, diligence, and compassion.
Leon felt that legacy weigh upon his young shoulders, yet it was a burden he did not fear. Rather, it filled him with determination-to meet and surpass those expectations, to take the knowledge and experience from his past life and do something worthwhile with it. There was a long road ahead, but Leon was prepared to take the first steps, longing to get ready for a myriad of challenges and opportunities that lay in store.