Two years slip by in the blink of an eye, and I wake up from a peaceful rest, my heart thumping in my chest. Today is the day of my birthday, and the thrill of it sends a shiver down my spine. I glance around the room, the morning light shining through the curtains, casting shadows on the walls. I can't help but wonder if this day will be anything like it was in my old world, where we threw grand parties, laughter ringing out like music, and presents piled high, each one wrapped in colorful paper and tied with bright ribbons.
Or maybe it's something entirely different here. Perhaps it's just a simple nod of acknowledgment, a pat on the back for reaching this new age, a quiet celebration that blends into the everyday life. As I swing my legs over the side of the bed, the coolness of the floor sends a jolt through me, grounding me in this moment. The anticipation swells within me, a mix of excitement and curiosity about what today will bring. Will there be laughter and joy, or will it be a day like any other? The unknown hangs in the air, tantalizing and full of promise. The soft creak of the door draws my attention, and I glance up to see it opening just a sliver. The familiar face of the family maid peeks through, her expression warm but composed. She hesitates for a moment before stepping inside, the light from the hallway spilling into the dim room. Her gaze falls on me, sitting on the edge of my bed, my feet dangling and idly kicking the air. "Young master, it seems you're already awake," she says softly, her voice carrying the practiced calm of someone accustomed to early mornings.
I smile faintly and tilt my head, letting my tone carry a touch of humor. "Of course I am. I'm always awake before you come in. It's practically a routine at this point." Her lips curve into a small smile, though she does her best to maintain her professional demeanor. She nods in acknowledgment, her movements graceful as she crosses the room toward me. The faint rustle of her dress and the soft tap of her shoes on the wooden floor fill the quiet space. "Well, young master," she begins, stopping a few steps away and folding her hands neatly in front of her, "it's time for you to get dressed and head down to the ballroom. The preparations are nearly complete." Her tone is gentle but firm, a subtle reminder of my responsibilities. I sigh lightly, casting a quick glance at the morning light creeping through the curtains, before nodding and rising to my feet.
The chill of the wooden floor bites against my bare feet, sending a shiver through me as I step toward the wardrobe. The room is quiet except for the faint creak of the floorboards beneath my weight. Reaching for the wardrobe handle, I pause, glancing over my shoulder to find the maid still standing there, her hands neatly folded in front of her, watching me with her usual composed expression. A flush rises to my cheeks, the heat creeping up to my ears as I stammer, "Um… maid, could you, um… like, leave the room? It's a bit embarrassing." My voice is hesitant, my words tumbling out in a rush.
She blinks, her expression softening just enough to show she understands. With a polite nod, she turns on her heel and walks toward the door, her steps deliberate and quiet. As the door clicks softly shut behind her, I exhale, feeling the tension in my shoulders ease.
I pull open the wardrobe doors, the faint scent of polished wood and freshly laundered fabric greeting me. My eyes scan the rows of neatly hung clothes, each piece meticulously arranged. After a moment of consideration, my gaze settles on a striking red and black suit. The rich, deep hues catch the light, the fabric almost shimmering with a subtle elegance. I run my fingers over the material, smooth and cool to the touch, and give a satisfied nod. This will do. Carefully, I lay the suit out on the edge of the bed, its pristine folds a sharp contrast to the rumpled state of my sleeping clothes. I begin to undress, the soft rustle of fabric breaking the silence of the room. The cool air brushes against my skin as I remove my nightwear, sending a faint shiver down my spine. Then, piece by piece, I slip into the fresh, clean suit, its tailored fit hugging my frame perfectly. The crispness of the shirt and the structured feel of the jacket make me stand a little taller, as if the clothes themselves demand a certain dignity. Once fully dressed, I take a moment to glance at myself in the mirror. The deep red and black of the suit seem to exude confidence, a small spark of pride stirring in my chest.
I steady myself, trying to prepare for whatever reason my parents have summoned me to the ballroom. Questions swirl in my mind, but I push them aside as I step out of my room. The hallway stretches before me, lined with paintings of ancestors whose stern faces seem to follow my every move. Ornate vases rest on pedestals, their intricate designs catching the soft light filtering through the windows. A few maids pass by, their movements brisk and efficient, offering polite nods as they go about their duties. My footsteps echo softly against the polished floor as I approach the grand double doors of the ballroom. Standing guard are two maids, their uniforms pristine, their expressions composed. My gaze lingers on one of them—a face I recognize, faint and distant, like a memory from years ago. She was there when I was a baby, though time has weathered her slightly since then.
"Young master, please stand here," she says with a polite bow, her voice firm yet gentle. "I will inform your parents that you've arrived." Without waiting for my response, she turns and disappears through the heavy doors, leaving me alone with the other maid. Minutes tick by, each one dragging longer than the last. My eyes wander over the carved details of the door, the gilded trim catching the light as I wait. When the first maid returns, she gives a small, practiced smile and says, "You may go in now." I give her a quick nod, swallowing the lump in my throat as I step forward. The doors seem taller now, almost imposing, their weight a reminder of the expectations waiting on the other side. I place my hand on the handle, pausing for a moment. Taking a deep breath, I inhale sharply, holding it for a heartbeat before exhaling slowly. Then, with deliberate motion, I push the door open and step inside.
As I step into the ballroom, the vast space is eerily silent, save for the faint creak of the door closing behind me. I barely have time to take in the elegant decorations—streamers of gold and red draped across the walls, tables laden with food and gifts—when suddenly, a chorus of voices erupts. "Surprise!" I jump, my heart pounding in my chest as what seems like fifty or sixty people emerge from behind curtains, furniture, and pillars. The room, once silent, is now alive with laughter and applause. My mouth opens, but only a stammer escapes. "What's this—" Before I can finish, a familiar figure darts out of the crowd and wraps me in a tight embrace. It's my older sister, her long hair tickling my face as she presses me firmly against her. "Happy birthday, little bro!" she exclaims, her voice bright and cheerful.
I try to respond, but my words come out muffled as my face is unceremoniously squished into her chest. "Sis, I'm not a baby…" I manage to grumble, though my voice is barely audible. She only laughs, ruffling my hair with one hand. "Well, you are to me! You're five now, and I'm thirteen. That makes me so much older and wiser than you!" Her teasing tone is playful but relentless. I push against her, trying to free myself, but she holds on tighter, as if to prove a point. "Can't escape me!" she declares with a triumphant grin, effortlessly pulling me along like a captive.
Still holding me in her iron embrace, she steers us toward our parents, who stand at the center of the room, their faces alight with pride. The crowd parts for us as we approach, laughter and murmurs trailing behind. I let out a resigned sigh, knowing there's no escaping her grip, at least not today. As we weave through the gathered guests, my sister still clinging to me like a second shadow, we finally reach our parents standing at the heart of the room. My father's tall, commanding figure is softened by the warm smile on his face, while my mother's elegant demeanor radiates pride and joy. "Good morning, my dear boy, and happy birthday," my father greets me, his deep voice carrying both affection and authority. He places a firm, reassuring hand on my shoulder, giving it a light pat. My mother steps closer, her delicate fingers ruffling my hair with a gentle, familiar touch.
"This is… a lot more than I was expecting," I admit, my voice carrying a mix of awe and gratitude. I step back slightly and bow deeply. "Thank you, Mother and Father!" They exchange a glance, their faces breaking into amused smiles. My father chuckles, shaking his head. "Don't thank us, boy! It's your big fifth birthday—we had to go all out!" My mother joins in, her laughter light and melodic. "Yes, sweetie, we simply had to. It wouldn't be right to let such an important day pass without a proper celebration." Her tone is full of warmth, and I can't help but feel a wave of pride and happiness swell in my chest. The grandeur of the room, the crowd gathered to celebrate me, and the love in my parents' voices make it all feel like a moment I'll never forget.
As the lively chatter and laughter fill the ballroom, a maid approaches quietly, her steps soft but purposeful. She stops beside my father and bows slightly. "The main course is ready, sir," she says in a polite, measured tone. My father nods in acknowledgment, lifting the delicate glass in his hand. With a light clink against the edge of a nearby plate, the room falls into an expectant hush. "Everyone, please take a seat!" he announces, his voice commanding yet warm. The guests begin to move, a soft shuffle of chairs and footsteps filling the space as they make their way to the long, elegantly decorated tables. The scent of freshly prepared food wafts through the air, enticing and rich. I follow my parents and sister to our seats near the head of the table, where the finest silverware and crystal glasses await. The chairs are plush, and the tablecloths drape gracefully to the floor, adorned with intricate embroidery.
Once everyone has settled, the maids step into action with practiced efficiency. They glide between the tables, their movements precise, as they begin placing plates before each guest. The dishes are works of art—perfectly arranged portions of roasted meats, vibrant vegetables, and delicately garnished sauces. Glasses are filled with drinks, the soft pouring of liquid adding to the ambient sounds of the room. I glance around, the warm glow of the chandeliers illuminating the eager faces of the guests as they admire their meals. The atmosphere is charged with anticipation, the feast promising to be as grand as the celebration itself. As the last trays of drinks and platters of food were passed around, the ballroom buzzed with cheerful chatter and bursts of laughter. The clinking of glasses mingled with the soft hum of music, creating an atmosphere alive with celebration. Guests toasted one another, their smiles warm and voices raised in mirth as they savored the feast laid before them.
Minutes later, the sound of a spoon tapping against crystal silenced the room. My father, standing tall and commanding at the head of the table, held his glass aloft, his presence instantly drawing every eye. The room fell quiet, save for the soft rustle of fabric as people shifted to face him. He cleared his throat, a gleam of pride in his eyes as he glanced down at me. "As you all know," he began, his voice strong and deliberate, "my son has turned five today." His gaze lingered on me, his smile softening into something both proud and affectionate.The crowd murmured their congratulations, a few nodding and raising their glasses in silent acknowledgment. "And," my father continued, pausing just long enough to heighten the suspense, "our birthday present to him will be…" He let the words hang in the air, his dramatic pause making my heart race.
Finally, his voice rang out, clear and triumphant: "Going to Sanctus Arcanum Academy!" A wave of applause erupted through the room, the guests clapping and cheering with renewed vigor. The sound echoed off the grand walls of the ballroom, filling every corner with its infectious energy. I sat there, stunned for a moment, before a thrill of excitement coursed through me. This was it—a day I would never forget. After the celebration winds down, I make my way back to my room. The grand halls, once alive with laughter and conversation, are now eerily silent, the only sound my soft footsteps echoing against the polished floors. The air feels heavier somehow, thick with the remnants of the evening's excitement.
Pushing open the door to my room, I step inside and am greeted by a cool draft. The room feels cold but oddly comforting, like an embrace from an old friend. The faint glow of moonlight filters through the curtains, casting long shadows on the walls. I make my way to the bed, the soft fabric of the sheets brushing against my fingertips as I sit on its edge. I lean down to untie my shoes, my fingers moving mechanically, my mind replaying the night's events. But as I straighten up, a strange sensation washes over me. My vision begins to blur, shapes twisting and warping at the edges. A strange fuzziness clouds my eyes, and then—something appears. An image forms, vivid and startling, as if I've been pulled into another world. I find myself in a dark room, its atmosphere heavy with an ancient, foreboding presence. Black pillars rise high into a shadowy void, their surfaces slick and polished like obsidian. Gothic lights flicker dimly above, casting ghostly patterns that dance across the blackened floor. Before I can take in more, a figure emerges from the darkness. It's Sera—or rather, an older version of her. Her presence is commanding, her movements fluid as she approaches. Her eyes gleam with something unreadable, and her lips part as she speaks in a low, measured tone. "Lord Noctis, the deed is done."
She bows deeply, her voice echoing as though the words themselves carry power. As she straightens, she steps closer, her gaze locking onto mine. Before I can react, she leans in, her lips brushing mine in a kiss that feels both tender and electric. The vision shatters abruptly, like glass breaking under pressure. I'm back in my room, gasping for air. My head pounds fiercely, a searing pain spreading from my temples. "What was that?" I whisper hoarsely, clutching my head in my hands. My fingers dig into my scalp as the ache intensifies, my breath coming in ragged gulps. The cold room feels suffocating now, the comforting silence replaced by an oppressive stillness. My heart races as I sit there, trying to make sense of what just happened. I just lay down still clutching my head "why.." I fall asleep. The night was long and peaceful, but abruptly the maid came in early in the morning. "Wake up young master you need to pack"
I lay down on the bed, my hands still clutching my aching head. The pain pulses faintly now, a shadow of its earlier intensity, but the confusion lingers. "Why…" I whisper into the dark, my voice barely audible. Exhaustion weighs heavily on me, pulling me into its depths. My eyes close, and sleep takes me swiftly. The night stretches long and quiet, a peaceful reprieve from the strange events of the evening. The silence wraps around me like a cocoon, unbroken until the early morning light begins to creep into the room. Suddenly, the door creaks open, and the maid's brisk footsteps announce her presence. "Wake up, young master," she says, her voice gentle but firm. "You need to pack."
I groan softly, rubbing my eyes as the haze of sleep clings to me. Before I can fully register her words, she strides to my bedside and pulls the covers off with practiced efficiency.
"Why are we in such a hurry?" I mumble, my voice groggy as I sit up, the cold air biting at my skin. My limbs feel heavy, reluctant to leave the warmth of the bed. "You are leaving for your new school in an hour," she replies calmly, her hands already busy pulling an empty bag from the closet. She moves with precision, as if every second matters. "Please pack your belongings now." I blink at her, stifling a yawn as her words finally sink in. "Okay…" I mutter, dragging myself to my feet. My movements are sluggish, my body still waking up as she turns and leaves the room, her footsteps fading down the hallway. Left alone, I move through the room with a dazed efficiency, grabbing clothes and personal items, stuffing them into the bag without much thought. My fingers fumble with a few stray items, the weight of sleep still heavy on me.
Once packed, I stumble out of my room, the strap of my bag slipping slightly off my shoulder as I make my way down the hall. The cool marble beneath my feet and the distant hum of activity in the house remind me that the day has already begun, whether I'm ready or not. I shuffle into the main hall, still stifling a yawn, my bag slung over my shoulder. The morning sunlight streams through the towering windows, casting long beams of light across the polished marble floors. The grandeur of the space feels almost surreal compared to the quiet haze of my thoughts. At the center of the hall, my parents stand side by side, their expressions warm yet tinged with a quiet melancholy. They seem to have been waiting for me, their gazes softening as I approach. "Take care, son," my father says, his voice steady but filled with pride. He places a firm hand on my shoulder, squeezing it lightly.
My mother smiles, her eyes glistening faintly. "Work hard, and don't forget to write to us." Her voice is gentle, but there's an undertone of worry she can't quite hide. We exchange our goodbyes, their words lingering in my ears as I step toward the grand double doors. Just as my hand brushes the cold metal handle, I hear quick footsteps behind me. "Wait!" a familiar voice calls. Before I can turn, my sister flings herself onto my back, her arms wrapping around me in a playful yet affectionate embrace. "Bye, little bro!" she exclaims, her voice muffled slightly as she cuddles me from behind. I chuckle softly, feeling the weight of her small frame pressing against me. "Goodbye, sis," I reply, reaching up to ruffle her hair. She laughs, the sound bright and carefree, a stark contrast to the heavy farewells I'd just shared with our parents.
Gently, I pull her arms loose and set her back on the ground. She grins up at me, her cheeks flushed with the excitement of the moment. With one last look at my family, I step outside. The cool morning air greets me, sharp and refreshing. A grand carriage awaits, its black lacquered exterior gleaming in the sunlight. The driver nods at me as I climb inside, the interior plush and inviting. The door shuts with a soft click, and the carriage lurches forward, the wheels crunching against the gravel drive. I lean back against the cushioned seat, watching through the window as the familiar silhouette of our estate grows smaller and smaller, eventually fading into the horizon. My heart swells with a mixture of anticipation and trepidation as the carriage carries me toward my new life at the academy.