The journey through the Throndsen lands finally brought them to the grand entrance of Falcon. Arlon leaned slightly out of the carriage window, catching his first glimpse of the massive stone bridge ahead. It stretched across a deep ravine, with shimmering water far below reflecting the afternoon sun.
The water wrapped around the city like a natural moat, its presence both elegant and imposing.
At the far end of the bridge stood a gatehouse carved into the cliffside, with tall watchtowers flanking the entrance. The guards stationed there squinted at the approaching carriage, their gazes narrowing as they spotted the Throndsen family crest emblazoned on its side.
"Open the gate! It's the Throndsen family carriage!" one guard shouted, his voice carrying over the bustle of the area.
Creak—
The massive iron gates creaked as they were pulled open, revealing the road leading directly into the city. Guards lined up in perfect formation, bowing deeply in respect as the carriage passed through.
Inside the carriage, Arlon sat stiffly, observing the scene with mixed emotions.
The heavy gates gave way to the sprawling city of Falcon beyond. Arlon couldn't help but admire the view—the city had no enclosing walls, yet it was breathtaking. The open landscape flowed like a painting, with bustling markets, sprawling fields, and neatly arranged homes stretching out in all directions.
In the distance, Throndsen Castle rose atop a hill, its silhouette commanding attention against the blue sky.
"This is too much," Arlon muttered under his breath, his gaze flickering between the guards and the city that now stretched before them. "I told Dimitri to take a quieter route, but here we are parading through the main road like we're announcing a festival."
Ace, lounging lazily on Arlon's lap, tilted his head with amusement. "What's with the face? You look like you just swallowed that tea you hate so much."
Arlon shot the cat with a tired look. "I'm not fond of unnecessary attention," he replied, his voice even but tinged with irritation.
Ace smirked. "You're the heir to the Throndsen family. Attention is basically your middle name."
As they entered the city proper, Arlon noticed the way people stopped in their tracks. Conversations halted mid-sentence. Merchants froze, their wares halfway raised to customers, and parents pulled their children aside as they pointed at the passing carriage.
The crowd parted instinctively, forming a wide path for the vehicle. Guards flanked the carriage, ensuring no one got too close.
"So much for going unnoticed," Arlon thought, his lips pressing into a thin line. He leaned slightly out of the window, listening to the murmurs of the crowd.
"Lord Arlon is here? It's been so long!"
"Look at that crest. The Throndsen heir must be inside."
"I heard he's as powerful as his father, Duke Ceil. Could it be true?"
The whispers reached his ears, making him feel even more self-conscious.
"My Lord," Dimitri's calm voice cut through his thoughts. "Your discomfort is unnecessary. This level of respect is the norm for someone in your position. Embrace it."
Arlon sighed, shifting in his seat. "Norm or not, I'd rather avoid this circus."
Ace yawned dramatically, flicking his tail. "If you want, I can jump out and tell everyone to go home. Might make things worse, though."
"Don't you dare," Arlon replied flatly, though a hint of humor crept into his tone.
Clip-Clop Clip-Clop –
As the carriage moved deeper into the city, Throndsen Castle came into view, its pristine white walls veined with silver and gold commanding the skyline. The towering spires shimmered in the sunlight, their carvings and gargoyles casting long shadows.
In the immaculate courtyard, a fountain of a falcon in flight stood at the center, surrounded by blooming flowers and perfectly trimmed hedges, softening the castle's imposing grandeur.
Screech—
The carriage slowed to a halt at the courtyard's center, and Arlon took a deep breath. The guards and servants lined up on either side of the path, their heads bowed low in unison.
As silence settled, memories surfaced unbidden. Arlon thought of his mother's death during the war and the void it left in his heart. He remembered his father, Ceil Throndsen, his anchor through those times, until illness struck him while caring for the Duchess's twin daughters, claiming all their lives.
Ceil had fought desperately to save them, but in the end, it had cost him his own life.
Arlon's chest tightened at the memory. The loss of his father had forever changed him, leaving a void that even time had failed to heal. And though he understood the Duchess's grief over losing her daughters, he couldn't shake the resentment he felt toward her.
Now, as he stood before the castle that symbolized his family's legacy, he couldn't ignore the reality of his situation. His stepmother was still a part of his life, and whether he liked it or not, he would have to face her.
Step—
The sound of footsteps drew Arlon from his thoughts. Dimitri stepped out of the carriage first, moving with quiet precision. He turned back toward Arlon, gesturing for him to follow.
Taking another breath, Arlon stepped out, his polished boots meeting the cobblestones with a soft thud. The warm breeze carried the faint scent of blooming flowers and freshly tilled earth.
His gaze immediately sought the figure descending the grand staircase that led from the castle's main entrance.
And there she was—the Duchess,Emilia Throndsen.
She was a striking woman with quiet authority. Her faded blonde hair fell in soft waves, framing graceful features. Sky-blue eyes sparkled with warmth as she approached, her long gown flowing elegantly. Despite her poise, her genuine smile softened the formality of the moment.
Arlon stood still, his hands clasped behind his back, as she stopped a few feet before him. His mind buzzed with thoughts. She's… so welcoming. I thought there'd be more coldness or distance. This is almost too warm.
"Arlon," she greeted, her voice soft yet steady, carrying a motherly warmth. "You've arrived safely. I'm so glad."
Arlon inclined his head slightly, masking the unease bubbling beneath his calm exterior. "The journey was smooth," he replied evenly, his tone betraying none of his conflicted feelings.
Her smile widened as she stepped closer. "You must be tired from such a long trip. I trust Dimitri ensured everything was to your liking?"
"Of course, Your Grace," Dimitri answered smoothly, bowing slightly. "Lord Arlon was well cared for."
Emilia chuckled lightly. "That's good to hear. I know how diligent you are, Dimitri." Her gaze returned to Arlon, her expression softening even further.
Her eyes flicked to the four individuals who had stepped out of the carriage with him: Lawrence, Alice, Anthony, and the young wolf boy Eric. Her sky-blue eyes sparkled with curiosity as she addressed Arlon.
"It seems you've brought guests with you," she said warmly. "I hadn't expected company, but I'm delighted to welcome them."
Before Arlon could respond, Dimitri stepped forward, bowing slightly. "Your Grace, I will explain their presence in due time."
Emilia gave a gracious nod. "Very well, Dimitri. Please, all of you, come inside," she said, gesturing toward the grand doors behind her. Her voice was as warm and inviting as the sunlight streaming across the courtyard.
The group murmured their thanks and followed her lead. Servants bustled about at her command, preparing rooms for the guests and arranging for dinner. As they walked through the castle's elegantly decorated hallways, Arlon moved with quiet detachment, his gaze taking in the intricate details surrounding him.
The marble columns were carved with scenes of valor, while tapestries hung heavy with gold embroidery, each one telling a story of the Throndsen family's long history. The soft glow of chandeliers illuminated the corridors, casting warm light on the polished floors. The castle was a testament to the Throndsen legacy—grand, imposing, and suffused with history.
As they continued down the hallway, Arlon's attention was caught by movement near one of the grand pillars. Two slender figures peeked out cautiously, their pale blonde hair catching the light. His chest tightened as he immediately recognized them—his younger half-sisters, the twins.
The two girls, now in their early teens, peeked cautiously from behind the pillar. They froze under his gaze, their wide eyes hesitant. Though older, their fragile demeanor and nervous glances made them seem younger, their delicate features a mirror of their mother's.
They're just children, Arlon thought, his heart constricting at the sight. Yet, the memories of his resentment toward their mother—the pain of his father's death and the years of emotional distance—clouded his feelings. He didn't know how to reconcile the mix of guilt, anger, and uncertainty swirling inside him.
Still, in their eyes, there was no malice, only a quiet yearning for connection.
The twins quickly disappeared behind the pillar, leaving Arlon to wrestle with his thoughts in silence. They want to talk to me, he realized. But they're afraid. The weight of their expectations lingered, an unspoken pressure he didn't know how to face.
Ahead of him, Emilia remained oblivious to the fleeting interaction. She gestured toward a set of ornate doors leading to the guest rooms. "You'll find everything you need here," she said, her voice as warm as ever.
Arlon followed her lead, keeping his face composed, though the image of the twins' hopeful eyes stayed with him.
Later that evening, Arlon found himself walking through the castle's quiet halls with Dimitri at his side. The butler's movements were as precise as ever, his silver-blue hair catching the flickering torchlight as they approached Arlon's chambers.
Coming to a halt outside the door, Dimitri turned to face Arlon, his sharp green eyes as unreadable as always.
"Dimitri," Arlon began, his voice low but firm. "Do not mention anything about me receiving the Sky Soul to the Duchess or anyone else in the household. The decision on how to proceed with it will remain mine."
Dimitri's expression didn't falter, though his gaze flickered faintly with understanding. He inclined his head. "As you wish, my lord," he replied, his voice a touch colder than usual. There was no question in his tone, only obedience.
Arlon's gaze softened for a brief moment as he studied Dimitri, but it wasn't trust that passed between them—it never had been. Instead, it was an unspoken understanding.
Without another word, Arlon turned toward his chamber and entered, the heavy door closing behind him with a soft thud.
Creak—
The room was bathed in pale moonlight, its polished floors reflecting the faint glow. The familiar scent of lavender lingered in the air, a distant echo of a life Arlon no longer recognized.
Sinking into a chair by the fireplace, he stared at the flickering flames, his thoughts a tangled web of duty, power, and the looming nobles' meeting. The Sky Soul and the weight of his family's legacy pressed heavily on him.
His mind wandered to the twins—the hesitant hopefulness in their eyes. Should I reach out? Or will I only let them down? He leaned back, letting the fire's warmth soothe him, though his thoughts drifted far beyond the room.
Eventually, unable to shake his restlessness, Arlon stood and crossed the room, his steps muffled by the thick carpet beneath his boots. He made his way to the arched window and stopped, his gaze falling on the sprawling city of Falcon below. From this vantage point, perched on the cliffside, the entire duchy stretched out before him like a living map.
Whoosh—
The chamber was vast and elegantly designed, with tapestries depicting the family's history and falcon carvings lining the high ceiling. A royal blue and silver canopy bed stood in one corner, while shelves of books and relics hinted at its former occupant's refined taste.
The circular balcony offered a sweeping view of the land. The hum of the city and the rustle of the wind created a quiet melody as Arlon stepped out, resting his hands on the stone railing and scanning the horizon with sharp purple eyes.
The view was breathtaking—fields of gold stretched endlessly into the distance, dotted with bustling markets, quiet villages, and the shimmering blue of the harbor in the far east. Yet, despite the serenity of the scene, his thoughts churned with unease.
This had been the original Arlon's room, his haven. The realization settled heavily on him. So, this is where he stood. How many times did he look out at this same view, burdened by his guilt and ambition?.
His gaze drifted toward the lively streets of Falcon below. Despite the city's openness and charm, there was an undeniable weight in its history—a legacy shaped by power and sacrifice.
Father ruled all this with his ideals of peace and balance, Arlon thought, his grip tightening on the railing. But it had come at a cost. The memories of Ceil Throndsen's death rose unbidden: the illness that struck his younger half-sisters, the endless nights his father spent searching for a cure, and, finally, the sickness that claimed Ceil's own life.
For so long, Arlon had blamed the Duchess and her daughters for his father's death, channeling his grief into resentment. Yet, now… now, he wasn't so sure.
They suffered too, he realized, recalling the timid, hesitant glances of the twins earlier.
They're just children. Arlon blamed them for so long... but they were only victims, like the rest of us.
The wind picked up, carrying with it the distant sounds of life from the city below. Taking a deep breath, Arlon closed his eyes for a moment.
This is my life now. My family. My people. Whether I like it or not, I'll have to face them all—and soon.
Fwoosh!—
The faint shimmer of purple light broke Arlon's thoughts. Without turning, he spoke. "You've been invisible this entire time, haven't you?"
With a flicker, Ace materialized on the balcony railing, his trademark smirk firmly in place. "Had to make sure you weren't being followed," he said, stretching lazily. His crimson eyes sparkled mischievously as he added, "Oh, and I noticed those two twin girls shadowing you since you entered the castle."
Arlon frowned, straightening slightly. "The twins?"
Ace nodded, leaping down from the railing and onto the smooth stone floor. "They've been glued to you like shadows. Cute, really. Guess they're curious about their big brother."
Arlon sighed, his mind racing. He had noticed the twins earlier but assumed their curiosity was fleeting. Now, it seemed more deliberate.
"They must be trying to figure me out," he muttered. "They've probably heard stories. I doubt they'd approach me directly, though."
Ace settled onto the canopy bed, sprawling out as though it were his personal throne. "You've got time to deal with them. No need to rush."
Arlon crossed his arms, leaning back against the railing. "No need, but avoiding them isn't the answer either. I'll figure out how to approach them. When the time is right."
Ace yawned theatrically, waving a paw. "Fine, fine. Now, what's for lunch? Roast beef? Maybe soup? Something decent, for once."
Ignoring Ace's playful musings, Arlon turned away from the balcony, the cool wind still brushing against his back. Crossing the room, he paused by his desk, his fingers lightly brushing its polished surface.
His thoughts churned with the weight of his next steps—strategizing his role in a family filled with unspoken expectations while preparing to navigate the treacherous web of Throndsen politics
After a moment, he decided he needed to take action rather than lose himself in thought. Rising from his seat, Arlon exited his chamber and stepped into the grand hallways of the castle.
As Arlon stepped into the grand hallways, the air shifted. Servants hurried past him, their movements stiff with a practiced deference that bordered on fear. Each bow was low, each gaze averted, but the tension in their presence was unmistakable.
It mirrored the villa staff's unease, though here it felt sharper—etched into the very fabric of the castle. For a moment, Arlon wondered if it was the Throndsen name that weighed on them, or something else entirely.
The castle's labyrinthine layout didn't make things any easier, and for a moment, Arlon worried he might get lost. Fortunately, he remembered the path Dimitri had led him through earlier. After a few turns, he arrived at a massive, ornate door.
Arlon pushed open the ornate door to the library, a quiet haven of knowledge. Towering shelves lined the space, filled with leather-bound tomes and faded parchments. The air carried the scent of aged paper and polished wood, calm yet weighty. In the distance, the faint rustle of pages hinted at life within the stillness, sparking a flicker of curiosity in him for the first time in hours.
Wandering the aisles, he scanned the spines for anything useful. His fingers brushed over a section labeled Ancient Languages and Histories, and he selected a thick tome. Turning its pages, he muttered, "It's better to focus on one comprehensive book than waste time on scattered volumes."
Rustle Rustle—
As he reached for another book, a faint sound of rustling caught his attention. He froze, listening intently. The noise came from the other side of the shelves. Moving quietly, he rounded the corner and stopped short.
A small girl sat cross-legged on the floor, her pale blonde hair catching the soft light streaming through the window. She was engrossed in her book, her small frame almost blending into the shadows of the towering shelves.
Irien, Arlon realized instantly. One of his twin half-sisters.
For a moment, he debated leaving. But before he could retreat, Irien abruptly closed her book with a soft thud.
"Irish? Is that you?" she called, turning her head slightly.
Arlon froze, holding his breath. He shifted to leave, but she stood and began walking in his direction.
Step— Step—
"Is someone there?" Irien asked again, her small footsteps growing louder.
Irien rounded the corner and froze. Her wide, curious eyes locked onto his masked face, her steps faltering as though she hadn't expected to find him there. For a moment, the silence stretched between them, her small frame stiff under the weight of his gaze. The flicker of hesitation in her eyes was unmistakable—equal parts awe and fear.
"You're…" Her voice trailed off as recognition dawned on her face.
Arlon tilted his head slightly, waiting. Irien fidgeted, glancing down at her hands nervously.
....
The silence stretched unbearably, and Arlon found himself grasping for words. "Do you like reading?" he asked, his voice steady but tinged with a hesitation that betrayed his discomfort. The question felt clumsy, but it was all he could muster.
Irien's head shot up, her nervous expression softening. "Yes!" she replied eagerly, her voice filled with quiet enthusiasm.
"That's good," Arlon said, allowing a faint smile to touch his lips beneath the mask. "It's a useful habit to have."
Irien shuffled her feet, looking at him shyly. "Are you here alone?"
She shook her head. "No… Irish was with me, but she went back to our room to grab her things."
"I see," Arlon replied, his tone neutral. An awkward silence settled between them, and he struggled to find the right words.
Finally, he stepped back and nodded slightly. "I won't disturb you any further. Enjoy your reading."
Irien's eyes widened slightly, as though she wanted to say more. Instead, she gave a small nod and murmured," T-Thank you…," she said, her voice soft but uneven, as though still unsure how to bridge the gap.
Arlon paused briefly before turning and walking away, his cape trailing behind him. As he disappeared around the corner, Irien clutched her book to her chest, staring at the space where he had been.
He's not as cold as I thought, she mused, a faint warmth settling in her chest. For the first time in a long while, the weight of her nervousness seemed to ease.
Step— Step—
Meanwhile, Arlon moved deeper into the library, his thoughts a mix of relief and frustration. This isn't going to be easy, he thought, scanning the shelves for his book. But maybe it doesn't have to be impossible.