The journey back to the Astor estate was a blur. The powerful surge of magic still thrummed within Vincent's veins, the aftereffects of engraving the Vritas runes leaving him with an intoxicating sense of strength. But as the familiar spires of the estate rose on the horizon, the warmth of power faded.
The Astor family estate loomed before him, a towering structure of dark stone and ancient architecture. It was both a home and a prison, filled with history, secrets, and suffocating expectations. The gates creaked open as Vincent approached, and the cold air seemed to freeze the very space around him. It felt as though he were walking back into the belly of a beast—one that would chew him up and spit him out if he weren't careful.
As he made his way through the grand entrance, the large, echoing halls of the estate greeted him with their usual silence. The dimly lit corridors were adorned with portraits of long-dead ancestors—grim-faced men and women who had walked the same halls, their fates sealed by ambition and blood. The Astor legacy was one of power, but also of ruin. And Vincent had to ensure that his would be different.
The sound of soft footsteps echoed through the corridor, drawing his attention. A figure appeared at the top of the staircase: Eleanor, his younger sister.
Her presence brought a fleeting sense of normalcy. Eleanor's smile, bright and welcoming, was one of the few things in this world that felt real. She was everything Vincent was not—strong, kind, and always brimming with energy. Despite the dark aura that clung to their family, Eleanor had always been a light.
"Vincent!" she called, her voice carrying down the hallway.
Vincent paused, feeling an unexpected pang in his chest as he looked up at her.
Eleanor's long, auburn hair cascaded down her back, and her bright blue eyes sparkled with warmth as she descended the stairs, a genuine smile on her face.
"Mother was so worried when you fainted," she said, her voice laced with concern. "She sent for the healers, but you're awake now! How are you feeling?"
Vincent's heart clenched at her words. In the past, he had never been close to his sister. Their bond was distant at best, strained by his mother's manipulations and his own coldness. But now, with the memories of his previous life flooding through his mind, it felt wrong to push her away. It wasn't her fault that their mother was the way she was. She was just a victim of the same family legacy that had haunted him since birth.
"I'm fine," Vincent said, his voice cool and controlled, the façade of Vincent Astor's indifference slipping easily into place. He did not allow himself to soften, to show weakness. The life of Vincent Astor demanded strength—and he couldn't afford to appear vulnerable. Not in front of his sister. Not in front of anyone.
Eleanor hesitated, her smile faltering as she took a step closer, sensing the change in his demeanor. "You're sure? You've been through so much recently—what with the Academy starting tomorrow and everything…"
Vincent felt his chest tighten at her words, but he forced the emotion away. His role in this world was clear: Vincent Astor was a son of power, a figure destined for greatness. There was no room for softness, no room for the emotions that Vincent had once felt.
"I'm fine," he repeated, his voice harder this time.
Her brow furrowed in concern, but she didn't press him further. Instead, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him in a hug. "I'm glad you're okay," she said softly.
For a brief moment, Vincent stood frozen, unsure of how to respond. The warmth of her embrace was like a distant memory, a glimpse of something pure and real in a world filled with shadows. But he couldn't allow himself to linger in it. He couldn't let her get too close.
With a practiced, subtle motion, he gently pulled away, putting several steps of distance between them. His face hardened, adopting the cold expression he had long perfected as Vincent.
"I'll be fine, Eleanor," he said, his tone distant, almost cruel. "You should focus on yourself. The Academy is a dangerous place. It's not a place for family matters."
Her face fell slightly, but she quickly recovered. "Of course, Vincent. I know you're strong, and you'll do great at the Academy. I'll be there with you, after all."
At the mention of the Academy, a flicker of unease passed through Vincent. He had planned to keep his distance, to avoid drawing attention to himself or forming any significant connections, especially with the other students. But the thought of being there with Eleanor… it would complicate things. He couldn't let anyone see him as weak or vulnerable—not even his own sister.
"I'm not going to be there for you, Eleanor," Vincent said, his voice cold and sharp. "We're going to the Academy to forge our own paths. Don't expect me to shield you."
Her face fell slightly, a flicker of hurt flashing across her face before she masked it with a forced smile. "I understand, Vincent. But I'll always be here if you need me."
Vincent said nothing, merely nodding once as he turned toward the large, opulent doors that led deeper into the heart of the estate. His steps echoed through the marble halls, and though Eleanor didn't follow, he could feel her eyes on his back—hurt, confused, but unwavering.
He had to keep his distance. He couldn't afford to get too attached. Not now, not when everything he had worked for could fall apart with one misstep.
But as he walked away, a small part of him—the part that was Adrian Cross—felt the weight of his sister's love pressing against him like an invisible chain, pulling at him. He hated the feeling. The one thing he couldn't afford was weakness, and his sister's kindness was a reminder of the life he had left behind.
Inside the lavish study of the Astor estate, Lady Seraphina, his mother, sat at a grand desk, her long, dark robes flowing like a shadow. Her crimson eyes glowed faintly in the dim light, her lips curled into a cold, imperceptible smile as she looked up at her son.
"You've returned," she said, her voice icy and authoritative.
Vincent's chest tightened. He hadn't seen her in days, and he wasn't sure what to expect. Vincent had always known that his mother's affection came with strings—strings that could tighten and suffocate at any moment.
"I'm here," Vincent replied, standing stiffly before her. "And I'm ready for the Academy."
Seraphina's gaze never wavered as she studied him. There was no warmth in her eyes—only cold calculation. "Good," she said, her voice like ice. "The Academy is the next step in your ascent, Vincent. But remember, your destiny is intertwined with my own. Do not forget your place."
Vincent met her gaze, refusing to flinch under the weight of her cold stare. "I know my place, Mother," he said, his voice steady, though there was a fire burning within him. "I'll make sure our name is known."
Seraphina's lips twitched into a slight smile, but it didn't reach her eyes. "I expect nothing less."
As he turned to leave, Vincent felt the weight of her words press down on him, suffocating and inescapable. His mother had always been a figure of power, a tyrant in her own right. And in this world, that meant there would be no room for weakness, no room for the softness of familial love.
Vincent steeled himself for what was to come. The Academy was just the beginning of a new life. A life where he would be the one to shape his own fate—not his mother, not his sister, and certainly not the twisted legacy of the Astor name.
But as he left the study, a part of him couldn't shake the lingering feeling of Eleanor's warmth.
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