December 7th, 1178 – 10:30 PM
The dim candle light flickered against the towering bookshelves, casting elongated shadows across the stone walls of the library. Lance let out a slow breath as he flipped the final page of the book resting on his lap—a culinary guide detailing the preparation of various monster meats. The parchment felt rough beneath his fingers, the ink slightly smudged from years of handling. He yawned, stretching his arms above his head before his gaze drifted toward the lone window in the room.
The night sky stretched endlessly beyond the glass, the full moon suspended like a watchful eye, bathing the vast estate in a silvery glow. The distant rustling of leaves whispered through the darkness, carried by the cold winter breeze that seeped through the cracks in the old stone walls.
I'm so bored. Lance let his head tilt back against the cushioned chair, exhaling in frustration. I can't even leave this mansion without Frederick catching me, no matter how stealthy I am.
With a resigned sigh, he shut the book and returned it to its place on the shelf. The library had been his sanctuary for years, but even the endless knowledge within these walls couldn't quell the growing restlessness inside him. He needed something more—something beyond this estate.
His footsteps echoed softly as he made his way down the dimly lit corridor, the sconces along the walls burning low. The air smelled faintly of aged parchment and wax, a scent he had grown accustomed to over the years. He reached his bedroom, a grand space that once held a simple crib but now boasted an enormous four-poster bed, it's dark wood carved with intricate patterns of dragons and mythical beasts. Heavy crimson curtains framed the large window, their fabric shifting slightly in the breeze that slipped through the barely open glass.
Lance climbed into bed, the thick blankets cocooning him in warmth. His eyelids grew heavy, and just as sleep threatened to claim him—
CRASH.
His body tensed.
What the hell was that?
The sharp sound shattered the quiet night, coming from somewhere outside his room. Lance held his breath, listening. A few seconds of silence, then—
CRASH.
The unmistakable sound of glass breaking.
His heartbeat quickened. He slipped out of bed, his bare feet meeting the cool marble floor as he crept toward the door. Pushing it open just enough to peek outside, he scanned the hallway. Nothing. The flickering torches along the corridor cast eerie, shifting shadows against the walls.
Carefully, he stepped out, moving as quietly as possible. He followed the sound, his pulse thrumming in his ears as he ventured down a hallway. The deeper he went, the colder the air became, as if this part of the mansion had been forgotten.
Finally, he stopped in front of a slightly ajar door, the moonlight from a nearby window illuminating the brass handle.
Lance hesitated. His reflection stared back at him in the polished metal—his bright red eyes gleaming in the pale light.
Taking a steadying breath, he pushed the door open.
Inside, the study was a mess. Glass shards littered the floor, the remnants of an expensive decanter glistening like fallen stars against the dark wooden planks. Scattered papers covered the large mahogany desk at the center of the room, a map sprawled open with frantic writing scrawled over its surface.
And standing there, shoulders tense and hands gripping the edges of the desk, was Luther Gilthunder.
Lance's father.
The man turned slowly, his red eyes—identical to Lance's—glowing like embers beneath his furrowed brows. Veins bulge along his neck, and his normally composed expression was fractured with something raw and unrestrained.
"Son…" Luther's voice was deep, hoarse, his gaze locked onto Lance like a predator caught mid-hunt. "What are you doing up at this hour?"
The tension in the air was suffocating.
Lance swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. "I—I heard something break," he said cautiously. "I just wanted to make sure everything was okay."
Luther didn't move for a moment. Then, as if realizing his own state, he exhaled sharply and ran a hand through his tousled black hair, smoothing it back. His grip on the desk loosened, and he let out a low chuckle—one that didn't quite reach his eyes.
"It's nothing, son," he said, his voice more controlled now. "Just… news of your brother's victories on the new continent. I got a little excited, that's all."
Lance's gaze flickered to the desk. The map—marked with red ink—held notes scrawled across its surface. He couldn't make out the words from where he stood, but something about the way it was written looked frantic. Urgent.
Luther followed his son's gaze and, with a quick motion, flipped the map over.
"You should be asleep," he said, his tone lighter but firm. "Actually, I forgot to mention—tomorrow, you'll be starting at the Hebrew Academy of Magic."
Lance's breath hitched. His head snapped up, eyes widening.
"…Really?" His voice brimmed with excitement, disbelief evident in his tone. "I can finally leave the house?"
Luther gave a small nod, his lips curving into a smirk. "Yes, son. And… I'm sorry I haven't been around much." He sighed, rubbing his temples before meeting Lance's gaze again. "I must admit, I've been a bit… distant. But I'll be home more often now."
Lance barely heard the last part. His mind was already racing with the possibilities. He was finally getting out. He was finally going somewhere.
"I'll be ready!" he said quickly, the exhaustion from before completely forgotten.
Luther let out a soft chuckle. "Good. Now, go get some rest—you've got a big day ahead of you."
Lance nodded, turning on his heel and walking back to his room. This time, he practically floated with excitement.
Tomorrow, everything will change.
December 8th, 1178 – 7:30 AM
Lance stood atop the sink, staring at his reflection in the mirror. His small frame barely reached the glass, but that didn't stop him from admiring himself.
I look good, he thought with a smirk before carefully climbing down.
As he stepped out of the bathroom, he was met with the familiar sight of Frederick waiting for him. "Are you ready to depart, young master?"
Lance grinned, adjusting the fine silk of his new coat as he turned to his butler. "Yup, let's get to it."
It still felt surreal—this life of wealth, luxury, and personal attendants catering to his every need. Just a few years ago, the very idea of being confined inside a lavish estate would have seemed ridiculous. Yet now, after so long within these gilded walls, he was finally stepping out into the world on his own terms.
Frederick led him toward the grand entrance of the manor, the heavy oak doors creaking as they swung open. A crisp morning breeze rushed to greet him, carrying the scent of damp earth and distant pine. The vast estate grounds stretched out before him, bathed in the golden hues of early sunlight. Birds flitted between the bare branches of towering trees, their songs harmonizing with the rhythmic clatter of hooves against cobblestone.
Lance inhaled deeply, savoring the clean, unfiltered air. True fresh air. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, he was no longer bound by the suffocating walls of his family's estate.
Wow… I can't believe how different my life has become. His red eyes gleamed with excitement. I used to be forced outside, treated as nothing more than a farm boy. Then, I was locked away, confined to the library. But now… A smirk tugged at his lips. Now, I finally have the chance to experience wealth, power, and freedom the way they were meant to be enjoyed.
Laughter bubbled up from his chest, rich and full of anticipation.
The sound of approaching hooves drew his attention. A sleek black carriage, adorned with the Gilthunder family crest, rolled up to the entrance. Two magnificent stallions, their dark coats gleaming, snorted impatiently as the driver adjusted the reins. The polished wood of the carriage reflected the morning light, its gold-trimmed edges an unmistakable display of status.
Frederick stepped forward, lifting Lance effortlessly into the plush, velvet-lined interior before settling in beside him. The scent of leather and fresh polish filled the small space, a stark contrast to the rustic outdoors.
"All ready!" Frederick called out.
The driver snapped the reins, and with a sharp crack of the whip, the carriage lurched forward. The rhythmic trot of the horses resonated through the cobbled path, each step carrying Lance closer to the unknown.
He leaned back against the cushioned seat, gripping the armrest as a wave of exhilaration coursed through him.
For the first time in his life, he wasn't just surviving, he felt alive. Suddenly, a familiar yet long-forgotten sensation washed over Lance—a sharp tingle at the back of his mind, like an unseen force stirring within him. Before he could fully process it, a translucent screen materialized before his eyes, glowing faintly with an otherworldly light.
His Status Window had returned.
His breath caught in his throat as he scanned the text, his eyes narrowing in disbelief.
Name: Lance Gilthunder
Title: None
Archetype: None
Strength: 2
Speed: 2
Intelligence: 11
Vitality: 1
Mana: 3
Dexterity: 1
[Archetype Forming…]
[Title Forming…]
[Archetype and Title will be granted within 24 hours]
[Survive the next 24 hours]
Huh? SURVIVE?