The Rosvella mansion stood like a proud and silent sentinel on the hill, its stone walls etched with the history of wealth and influence. The mansion's towering structure seemed to stretch toward the sky, its spires cutting through the clouds. Inside, however, Naryn knew there was little that reflected the grandeur of its outer appearance.
As a servant in the sprawling estate, Naryn had grown accustomed to the harsh rhythms of life within these walls. The days began before dawn, when the first rays of sunlight pierced the heavy curtains of the servant's quarters. Naryn would wake before the other servants, his body already used to the rigid schedule that dictated his every move.
"Get up, boy! The floors won't sweep themselves," his father's voice echoed through the narrow corridor of the servant's wing, his deep, gravelly tone reverberating off the stone walls.
"Yes, father," Naryn replied softly, stretching as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. His father, an older man with orange hair, worked in the lower kitchens and had always been the pragmatic one. "Work is all you need to get by," he would say, a sentiment that Naryn had long learned to accept, even if it didn't sit well with him.
The mansion's vast halls were a labyrinth, each passage leading to another world entirely worlds that Naryn would never be a part of. He spent most of his days in the service of the Rosvella family, carrying out the tedious tasks that kept the estate running smoothly. He cleaned the marble floors, polished the silver, and prepared meals. But always in the back of his mind, there was a question what if he could have something more?
He had watched the Rosvella children grow up, living in the grand part of the mansion that was sealed off from the servants. He had caught glimpses of them during the rare moments when his duties allowed him near their quarters. Anden, the eldest son, was the most prominent of them all. Anden's arrogance was legendary, and Naryn's resentment toward him had only grown with time. Anden had everything a life of privilege, tutors, leisure, and the promise of an even greater future. Naryn had none of that.
"Morning, Naryn," came the voice of Mila, a fellow servant. She was carrying a bundle of freshly laundered linens as she hurried down the corridor. Mila was kind to Naryn, though they both knew their place in the mansion's hierarchy.
"Morning, Mila," Naryn replied as he picked up his broom and began sweeping the entryway. He paused for a moment to glance through the tall windows that looked out into the gardens. The Rosvella children were outside, running through the sprawling lawns, their laughter floating in the air like music.
Mila followed his gaze. "It must be nice to have no worries," she said, her voice tinged with bitterness. "Just running around like that. No care in the world."
Naryn didn't answer at first and said."It doesn't matter what it's like. It's not for us."
His words were practical, but the way they sat in his mouth felt hollow.
Mila sighed. "You're probably right." She adjusted the linens in her arms and offered a faint smile. "Well, back to it then."
Later that afternoon, while polishing the silverware in the grand dining hall, Naryn's attention was caught by muffled voices in the adjoining study. His ears perked up as he recognized his father's gravelly tone mingling with a deeper, more authoritative voice.
Driven by curiosity, he moved cautiously and peeked through the crack in the door.
His father stood before Lord Rosvella, the imposing patriarch of the family. The man's sharp features and calculating eyes carried the weight of command. Beside him sat Lady Cecelia, her icy demeanor as unchanging as the stone walls around them. Anden, the Rosvella heir, leaned casually by the window, his gaze fixed on the gardens below.
"Father ?" Naryn's voice came out before he could stop himself. All heads turned in his direction.
"Naryn !" his father snapped, his tone sharp with reprimand. "What are you doing here ?"
Lord Rosvella waved a hand, silencing the outburst. "Let him stay. It concerns him, anyway."
Naryn stepped hesitantly into the room, feeling the weight of their gazes.
"My son," his father began, glancing nervously at Lord Rosvella. "You've been assigned a... task. You'll accompany Master Anden to the academy."
Naryn's breath caught in his throat. The academy ? It was a place of legend, reserved for the elite lords, heirs, and prodigies destined for greatness. He could hardly believe he was hearing those words.
"Anden ?" Lady Cecelia's voice cut through the silence, her brow arching in disbelief. "Why should a servant accompany our son to the academy ?"
Lord Rosvella sighed as if he'd already had this argument. "Anden is fifteen now. As is Naryn. The academy permits one servant to accompany each student, and he is the most suitable candidate."
Anden turned sharply, his expression a mask of cold disdain. "I don't need a servant following me," he spat. "Especially not him."
"You'll do as you're told," Lord Rosvella said, his tone leaving no room for debate. "Naryn will serve you there, just as he has served us here."
That night, as Naryn prepared for the uncertain future ahead, his father sat by the hearth, the flickering fire casting long shadows across the room.
"You're to accompany Anden," his father said softly, almost as if speaking to himself. "The academy is a rare opportunity. You'll have more freedom than you've ever had here, but it won't be easy. You'll have to work harder than ever. Do you understand ?"
Naryn nodded slowly, his mind swirling with a hundred questions. "But what if… What if Anden doesn't want me there ?"
His father looked up from the fire, his face softening for a moment. "It doesn't matter what he wants. You'll be there, and you'll do your duty."
"But what about me ?" Naryn asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "What if I want something more than just serving ?"
His father sighed, a weary, almost defeated look in his eyes. "I've told you, boy. There's no room for dreaming. Work hard, and you'll survive. That's all you can do."
Naryn's heart sank as he stared into the fire. The academy loomed in his thoughts, both a promise and a cage. He had no illusions. Anden would not be kind. He had never been kind.
The next morning, the mansion's gates stood open, and Naryn stood with a small bag of belongings at his feet. Anden was already there, his figure straight and unyielding as he supervised the loading of the carriage.
Anden sneered as Naryn approached. "Ah, there you are, slave. Don't just stand there. Carry my bags might as well start earning your keep."
Naryn clenched his jaw, his hands tightening around the handles of Anden's luggage. He knew better than to argue. Silently, he heaved the heavy bags into the carriage and took his place among the luggage.
As the gates creaked shut behind them, Naryn looked back at the mansion one last time. This was the beginning of something new something uncertain, something dangerous. And whatever it brought, he would endure. For now, that was enough.
The carriage jostled over the uneven cobblestones, the rhythmic clatter of wheels on stone punctuating the silence. Inside, Anden reclined on a plush seat, casting occasional disdainful glances out the window, seemingly unimpressed by the sight of Naryn, who was perched awkwardly among the luggage. The tension was tangible, and with each jolt, Naryn felt it more acutely.
Silence reigned for a prolonged period. Naryn had no intention of breaking it, and Anden appeared perfectly content to disregard him. The landscape outside swept past in a blur of lush greens and golden hues, a world Naryn found vast and alien compared to the confines of the mansion.
At last, Anden spoke, shattering the monotony. "Stay out of my way. Understood ?"
Naryn raised his head, his expression impassive. "Understood, Master Anden."
Anden, the younger Rosvella heir, sneered. "Master. Remember your place. You're here to facilitate my life, not to pretend at nobility. Should you force me to address your ineptitude, you will regret it."
Naryn suppressed a comeback. Arguing with Anden was futile; the young master's ego was as inviolable as his status. Instead, he nodded silently, eyes cast downward.
The journey resumed in an uneasy silence until dusk approached, casting the sky in shades of amber and crimson. When the driver announced a stop for the night, they pulled up at an inn on the outskirts of a tranquil village. The inn was modest, its timbers aged by the elements.
Anden alighted first, commanding without a glance back, "Bring my luggage."
"Right away," Naryn murmured, lifting the heavy trunks from the carriage. Despite the strain, he dutifully followed Anden into the inn, uncomplaining.
Upon entering, the innkeeper welcomed them with a warm smile. "Welcome, sirs ! Your rooms are prepared upstairs. Dinner will be served shortly."
Anden waved the man away with a flick of his wrist. "Ensure my quarters are up to standard." He then addressed Naryn. "Bring the luggage upstairs. No dallying."
Naryn nodded and lumbered towards the stairs, each step heavy with burden. Arriving at Anden's designated room, he placed the bags beside the bed with care and made to leave.
"Wait," commanded Anden, his voice sharp as a lash.
Naryn halted, turning around. "Yes ?"
"Did I permit you to leave ?"
"No, Master."
"Then stay. Remain there until I dismiss you."
Naryn stood stiffly, his hands balled into fists. The lavishness of the room, a stark contrast to the tight servant quarters he knew, and Anden's casual sprawl on the bed, radiating privilege, only intensified the growing resentment within him.
Finally, after an extended silence, Anden gestured indifferently. "Leave. And ensure you do not disgrace me tomorrow. The academy demands flawlessness."
Naryn inclined his head. "Understood,Master."
That evening, Naryn sat alone in the small, dimly lit servant's quarters behind the inn. His muscles throbbed from the day's work, yet his mind was alive with questions. The academy dominated his thoughts a bastion of power, knowledge, and privilege, a place where he felt out of place.
The door creaked open, and an older man stepped in, his wrinkled face warmed by a gentle smile. Dressed in the modest garb of a coachman, his hands bore the calluses of years of labor.
"You must be the youngster traveling with Lord Rosvella's son," the man remarked, placing a mug of hot tea on the table before Naryn.
Naryn responded with a cautious nod. "Yes, sir."
"Drop the 'sir.' Name's Garret. I've been driving carriages for the nobility longer than you've been around," he said with a chuckle, easing into a chair opposite Naryn. "Figured you might want some company. The Rosvellas have a reputation for being... less than generous."
A slight smile formed on Naryn's face. "I appreciate it, Thanks."
Garret observed him briefly. "You're young. You must have caught their eye somehow. It's not common for a servant to accompany them to the academy."
Naryn paused, uncertain of how much to divulge. "I haven't done anything special. I'm merely... here."
Garret arched an eyebrow but refrained from probing further. "Well, take this advice. Stay low, but stay also on alert. The academy is more than a place for learning magic and combat. And everyone, including the servants, has a part to play, willing or not."
"Ambition ?" inquired Naryn, his interest kindled.
"Indeed," Garret replied, reclining. "You'll understand in time. Just be wary of whom you trust."
Naryn nodded, feeling the gravity of Garret's words. The academy was indeed more intricate and perilous than he had envisioned.
As dawn broke, the journey continued, with the carriage moving unwaveringly towards its destination. With each mile closer to the academy, the landscape transformed; flat plains were replaced by undulating hills, and the air became crisper, infused with the essence of pine and the hint of impending rain.
At last, as the sun commenced its descent, they could see the academy far away.
Naryn's breath hitched as he beheld the academy far away. The academy in the distance gave off a different aura that even Naryn could sense.
Anden's smirk widened upon seeing Naryn's reaction. "Overwhelming, isn't it ? But you'll find your niche... even if it's just mopping floors."
Naryn remained silent, his eyes locked on the academy. A knot of apprehension tightened within him, yet a spark of resolve ignited.
I will survive this, he assured himself. I always survive.