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.