The Verelion estate stretched endlessly, its grand halls and towering archways steeped in quiet opulence. Sunlight filtered through stained-glass windows, scattering muted colors onto the polished marble floors. Beyond the heavy drapes, mist clung to the sprawling grounds, curling around stone fountains and statues of forgotten heroes.
From the confines of his nursery, Lucien studied the estate with calculating eyes. Though still bound by the weakness of his infant body, his mind remained sharp, absorbing every detail. The estate exuded an ancient power, its grandeur veiling a labyrinth of secrets waiting to be unearthed.
Power begins with understanding, Lucien thought. And this estate is ripe for discovery.
---
The creak of the nursery door broke his focus. Elira stepped in, her soft footsteps barely audible against the polished floor. She carried herself with a quiet grace, her chestnut hair neatly tied into a braid.
"Good morning, young master," she said, her voice warm yet distant. She set a silver tray on the table, the faint clink of porcelain breaking the silence.
Lucien's gaze flicked to her, sharp and inquisitive. Elira wasn't like the other servants. Where they moved with mechanical precision, she carried an air of quiet curiosity. Her emerald eyes, though respectful, seemed to linger just a moment too long.
She's observant, Lucien noted. But there's more to her than a simple servant.
As she adjusted the folds of his blanket, she began to hum—a soft, lilting tune that drifted through the room like a ghost.
"That melody…" Lucien's fingers twitched. Though unfamiliar, it stirred something deep within him, a distant echo of a forgotten memory.
"It's an old Aranthian lullaby," Elira explained, her voice barely above a whisper. "My grandmother used to sing it. They say it was a favorite in the courts long ago." Her gaze turned distant, as though peering into another time. "This estate holds more than walls and riches, young master. It holds echoes of those who came before."
The tune tugged at something buried within Lucien, an inexplicable thread of calm threading through his growing unease. An invitation, or a warning? he wondered, studying her face for any sign of duplicity.
---
Later that day, Elira carried Lucien through the estate's labyrinthine corridors. The grand staircases and portraits of Verelion ancestors loomed over them, their painted eyes solemn and watchful.
"The Verelion name commands respect," Elira said softly as they passed beneath a towering archway. "But with power comes responsibility… and burden."
Lucien filed her words away, his mind racing to piece together the family's legacy.
They stopped before a set of towering double doors. Elira hesitated for a moment, her hand hovering over the ornate handle, before pushing the doors open.
"This is the estate library," she murmured, her voice reverent. "A place where time stands still."
Lucien felt the shift in the air immediately. It was as though he'd crossed a threshold into another world, one steeped in quiet reverence and unspoken knowledge.
The library was a cathedral of wisdom, its towering shelves brimming with tomes bound in leather and gold leaf. Dust motes swirled lazily in the beams of light that pierced through the high windows. The faint scent of parchment and aged ink hung in the air, mingling with the faint aroma of candle wax.
Even the sound of Elira's footsteps seemed an intrusion, the oppressive silence swallowing all else.
"Few come here now," Elira said, her voice barely above a whisper. "But the Verelions have always kept their knowledge close."
Lucien's gaze swept the room, lingering on the spines of books that seemed to hum with untold stories. In the far corner, shadows pooled unnaturally, shifting as though whispering secrets meant only for those who dared to listen. Knowledge is survival, he thought.
---
Near the far end of the library, a faint glimmer caught his eye.
Elira's steps faltered as they approached a small pedestal, upon which rested an artifact encased in glass—a pendant of intricate design. Its center held a gem that glowed faintly, its light flickering like firelight.
The air grew heavier with each step, the weight of the artifact's presence pressing against Lucien's chest.
"Elira…" Lucien's voice was barely audible, but she stiffened as if she'd heard it clearly.
The moment his fingers brushed the glass, a low hum reverberated through the room. It was deep and resonant, like the tolling of a distant bell, and it seemed to pulse in time with Lucien's heartbeat. The sound vibrated through his bones, its rhythm settling into the recesses of his mind, undeniable and insistent.
"Lir'ena taen…" Elira murmured, her voice trembling. Her gaze flickered toward the pendant, and for a fleeting moment, fear danced in her eyes.
Her lips parted, but no sound came at first, her hands tightening around Lucien as though torn between shielding him and retreating. "The stories…" she began, her voice unsteady. "They speak of relics tied to the old wars. Perhaps this is one of them."
Lucien's breath hitched as a vision seized him.
---
A vast battlefield stretched before him, its earth churned and blood-soaked. The air was thick with the acrid tang of smoke and the metallic stench of spilled blood. Lightning tore across the storm-darkened sky, illuminating broken swords and shattered armor.
At the center of the chaos stood a lone figure, their silhouette wreathed in flickering light. Around them, runes pulsed rhythmically, their glow like embers fanned by an unseen wind.
The clash of swords echoed faintly in the distance, mingling with the low rumble of thunder. The hum grew louder, the runes' light intensifying until they seemed to burn into Lucien's very soul.
---
Lucien gasped as the vision faded, his chest heaving. A lingering ache settled deep within him, as though the runes had left an imprint far beyond the physical.
Elira's face was pale, her hands trembling as she stepped back from the pedestal. "It reacted to you, young master," she whispered, her tone edged with fear.
Lucien's mind raced, his thoughts sharp and cold. This isn't destiny—it's an opportunity. And opportunities are meant to be seized.
Fear… yet not of me, Lucien mused, narrowing his eyes at Elira. She knows more than she reveals. I'll need to unravel her secrets in time.
---
That night, as the estate fell into its usual stillness, Lucien lay in his crib, the vision replaying in his mind. The hum of the pendant, the battlefield, the runes—they were threads of a tapestry yet to be woven.
His gaze fell to the edge of the crib, where the faint symbol from the pendant was etched into the wood. Its lines glowed faintly in the moonlight, pulsing like a heartbeat.
A soft hum resonated from it, barely audible yet undeniable.
Secrets were weapons, and Lucien intended to wield them.
This world hides behind its shadows, he thought, his small fists clenched. But I'll uncover every one, no matter the cost.