Julian Hale
After the intense training session with Aldric and a refreshing morning bath, I felt both invigorated and ready for the day. The cool water had washed away the lingering fatigue from the early hours, and now it was time for my next duty—arithmetic lessons.
The air in the hallway was still, save for the soft shuffle of my footsteps as I walked toward the study room. The sound of my boots echoed faintly, a soft reminder of the spaciousness of the halls. I reached the door of the room where I spent many hours learning. Mara, ever attentive, was standing just beside the entrance. She turned toward me and, with a polite nod, opened the door for me. The familiar scent of old parchment and ink immediately filled the air as I stepped inside.
The walls were lined with bookshelves that stretched from the floor to the ceiling, each shelf organized with volumes of all kinds—some worn from use, others new and still smelling faintly of fresh print. In the center of the room stood the large, circular table, its translucent surface gleaming softly in the light filtering through the tall windows. The five chairs around it were equally simple but elegant, each one matching the table
"Good morning, Anna," I greeted as I stepped inside, my voice breaking the calm silence that had settled over the room.
At the table, Anna Brooks was already seated, her posture as composed as always. She looked up from the book she had been studying and adjusted her round glasses, the slight movement of her hand adding to the gentle rustling of pages. Her expression softened as she smiled at me, her eyes crinkling at the edges. "Good morning, Julian," she replied warmly. "I hope you haven't forgotten what I reminded you last lesson."
I sat down, and she slid an arithmetic book toward me. The lesson started without delay.
As I worked through the calculations, I could feel the familiar sense of focus settle over me. The quiet scratch of my quill on parchment blended with the steady rustle of Anna's pages turning, both of us moving in sync through the calculations. Numbers and equations filled the space between us, a language of logic and order.
Every now and then, I would glance up, catching Anna's focused expression as she read from the book in front of her or offered a quick explanation. Her voice was calm and patient as she guided me through more difficult problems. The lessons weren't rushed, and her explanations were always clear, leaving me with a sense of accomplishment each time I solved a particularly tricky problem.
Minutes turned into an hour, and I lost track of time as the room seemed to shrink, just the two of us in this little bubble of education. The scratch of quills against parchment became a comforting rhythm in the quiet space, like a gentle lullaby that helped me concentrate.
"That's why it's equal to thir—" Anna was in the middle of explaining a particularly tricky equation when the door behind us suddenly creaked open.
"Good morning, Ms. Brooks," came a deep voice, cutting through the quiet atmosphere.
I turned in my seat, surprised, and saw my father stepping into the room, his tall figure filling the doorway. His presence in the study was unusual—he rarely interrupted my lessons.
"Could you dismiss today's class?" he asked, his tone polite but with an edge I couldn't place. His smile, though friendly, didn't quite reach his eyes, leaving a slight unease in the air. "I need my son with me."
I sat still for a moment, a little surprised, but more curious than anything. My mind wandered as I wondered why my father was here. His unexpected appearance and the way he had asked for me made it clear that something important had come up, though I couldn't quite figure out what. Anna's expression shifted only a little, but she nodded in understanding without hesitation.
"Of course, Lord Hale," she said, her voice as calm and steady as always. "We'll continue the lesson another time."
The soft scrape of her chair against the floor broke the quiet as she stood, gathering the books and papers. I followed her lead, standing up and pushing my chair back with a soft squeak, a quiet smile tugging at the corners of my lips.
As we walked side by side down the hallway, the usual sounds of the house, the rustling of distant voices and the faint creaks of the old floorboards, seemed distant. The only thing I could hear now was the steady rhythm of our footsteps. My thoughts drifted, trying to piece together the reason behind my father's request. He'd never interrupted my lessons before, and it was rare for him to ask for me like this.
"Mara will be waiting for you in your room. Get dressed and come down to the entrance in thirty minutes," my father said softly, his gaze fixed ahead, his voice calm but purposeful. There was a slight tension in the way he held himself, but it wasn't a demand—just a quiet expectation.
I nodded, my curiosity about the sudden change in plans only growing as I turned and walked toward the staircase. The house was quiet now, the faint echo of my footsteps on the marble floors accompanying me as I climbed the stairs. The stone was cool beneath my feet, and the air in the hallway felt fresher, as though the house was slowly waking from a long slumber.
At the top of the stairs, I found Mara waiting for me. She stood near my door, tall and slender, her brown hair pulled back neatly, a few strands escaping the smooth bun she kept it in. She was two heads taller than me, always seeming to hover just out of reach in terms of stature, but her presence was warm and familiar.
"Good day, young lord," she said in a formal tone, giving me a polite nod. "Lord Hale has ordered me to get you ready for the auction event." Her voice was soft and respectful.
"Auction event?" I asked, unable to hide the curiosity that tinged my voice.
Mara's smile grew a little, the corners of her mouth turning upward as she dropped the formal tone. She had always been the closest thing to a friend I had, and there was a certain ease between us now. "Yes," she answered, her voice more relaxed. "Your father has decided to take you with him." She paused, looking me over for a moment, a faint glint of mischief in her eyes. "I suppose he thought you might learn something. Something more than just books and lessons."
My mind raced, processing the idea of an auction. "What's an auction event?" I asked, wanting to clarify further, not fully understanding.
Mara let out a small, amused chuckle, trying to hide it behind her hand but not quite succeeding. "Pft, this is why Lord Hale has decided to take you out of here, perhaps," she said, the teasing tone of her voice impossible to miss. She gave me a smile that was both knowing and a little playful. "An auction is where people gather to sell valuable items—things that are rare, precious, or highly sought after. Instead of simply agreeing on a price beforehand, those who want to buy these items must bid on them."
I raised an eyebrow, my interest piqued. "Bid?"
"Yes," she continued, her smile widening. "A bid is an offer to buy something. The more someone is willing to pay, the higher their bid. It's not just about money, though. Sometimes, people offer land, goods, or even favors in exchange for something they want. The item goes to whoever offers the highest bid."
I nodded slowly, trying to absorb everything she was saying. "I see," I said thoughtfully. "I wonder why I'm going with him, though. Does he want me to buy something?"
Mara's expression softened a little, and she let out a quiet sigh as she pulled open the closet and began sorting through some of my clothes. "Perhaps. But I think he's taking you to introduce you to the world, Julian," she said, her voice carrying a quiet understanding. She paused, her fingers running over the fabric of my clothing as she picked out a set of dark clothes. "The world you'll need to understand, one day."
We didn't speak further as Mara prepared my clothes for the day. She laid out a dark navy suit, its fabric rich and smooth, a perfect fit for what I imagined would be an event of importance. It was something my father would wear.
Once I was dressed, I followed Mara downstairs. The house felt almost too still, as if it was holding its breath. We reached the front door, and there my father was, standing tall and composed. His presence was commanding, but not oppressive, and as always, there was an air of calm authority about him.
The navy suit he wore fit him perfectly, the fine fabric emphasizing the strength in his frame. It also highlighted his smooth skin and dark black hair, a striking contrast against the deep blue of the suit. He stood there, arms at his sides, his expression thoughtful but not unapproachable. The lines of his face were sharp, his gaze steady, as if he were already preparing for what lay ahead.
He turned toward me as I approached, his lips curling into a small, knowing smile, one that was calm and reassuring, as though everything had already been decided.
"Ready, Julian?" he asked, his voice smooth and steady, not a hint of urgency in his words.
I nodded, still curious, but more certain that whatever was about to happen
I stepped into the carriage, the door closing behind me with a soft thud. The moment I sat down, I glanced out of the window, my curiosity already piqued. As the carriage began to roll forward, the world outside seemed to come alive in a rush of motion. We were heading down the valley, the dirt roads winding through the landscape, and with each passing moment, the scenery became more vibrant and filled with life.
Through the window, I saw people scattered along the streets, each caught up in their own routines, moving with purpose or leisure. To the left, a man was standing beneath a large tree, playing a violin. The soft, melodic notes floated through the air, weaving in and out of the sounds of bustling activity. His fingers danced across the strings, creating music that seemed to match the rhythm of the world around him. As the melody drifted, people who passed by paused for a moment, some digging into their pockets, others pulling coins from their purses and dropping them into his upside-down hat, which lay before him on the cobblestones.
A little further down the street, I spotted a painter perched on a small wooden stool, his brush moving steadily across the canvas that stood before him. His focus was intense, every stroke of his brush adding to the image of the lively market scene in front of him. The artist was completely absorbed in his work, oblivious to the world around him, yet everyone who passed seemed to steal a quick glance at the picture he was creating—a beautiful snapshot of life unfolding in real time.
Further along, the sound of loud chatter and the scent of various goods caught my attention. Merchants, with their wooden carts brimming with colorful textiles, fresh produce, and crafted goods, stood surrounded by people, some bargaining for better prices, others admiring the quality of the wares. There were a few large carts overflowing with fruits and vegetables, their bright colors contrasting against the duller tones of the cobbled streets. The vendors raised their voices, calling out their offerings, each one eager to catch the attention of any passing potential customer.
I could see children darting between the carts, laughing and playing, their faces lit up with the thrill of running freely in the busy marketplace. Some were weaving through the legs of the adults, while others stood with wide eyes, entranced by the vivid displays of items around them. One child tugged at his mother's sleeve, excitedly pointing toward a cart that was selling brightly painted wooden toys.
As we continued to roll down the road, I noticed a small group of performers gathered in a corner, juggling brightly colored balls and spinning them in the air with practiced ease. The crowd around them was larger now, clapping and cheering as the performers executed daring stunts. There was an infectious energy in the air, and I could feel the joy of the crowd seeping into my own mood, even as I remained in the carriage, watching it all unfold from a distance.
The sound of the wheels turning, the clip-clop of the horses' hooves, and the murmur of the people outside mixed together, creating a unique symphony of life. I leaned slightly closer to the window, my face pressed against the cool glass as I continued to take it all in—the sights, the sounds, the movement, and the bustle of the world beyond.
I figured we'd reached our destination when the carriage stopped. The door opened and I got out of the car to see the auction house, an imposing structure of black stone and gilded edges, its presence a statement of wealth and exclusivity. Tall, arched windows lined its facade, their glass tinted just enough to obscure the figures within while still letting the golden glow of chandeliers spill onto the streets. At the entrance, a grand set of double doors—polished mahogany reinforced with iron—stood guarded by two men clad in dark uniforms, their expressions carved from stone.
As I stepped closer, the faint hum of conversation and laughter from within could be heard, mingling with the distant sound of clinking glasses.
The inside of the auction house was enormous, the kind of place that made you feel small. The floors were so polished they seemed to shimmer, so shiny that I could almost see my reflection as I walked. The ceiling stretched far above, so high that I wondered if clouds might form up there if it rained. It felt like there was no end to how tall it was, like the space just went on forever.
Golden lights hung from the giant chandeliers that loomed overhead, their crystals sparkling as they caught the light. The whole room seemed to glow, like it had been dipped in sunlight, even though the sky outside was still bright with the afternoon sun. There was something magical about the way the light bounced off everything—the polished floors, the marble columns, the rich velvet curtains hanging along the walls.
People were scattered everywhere, each of them dressed in fancy clothes that rustled softly as they moved. The men wore sharp suits, their ties and bowties perfectly aligned, and the women were dressed in gowns that glittered and swished as they walked. Some of them laughed loudly, their voices ringing through the space, while others spoke in quiet whispers, their words barely audible against the murmur of the crowd. A few people stood off to the side, their expressions serious, eyes darting around as if they were making important decisions, though none of them looked at ease.
Servants, dressed in neat uniforms, weaved through the crowd, carrying trays loaded with little bite-sized foods. The scent of pastries, fruit, and something savory wafted through the air, making my stomach rumble. I saw a man take a single bite of a small pastry, then set the rest aside, as though he had no interest in it at all. It was strange to see someone leave food untouched.
Amidst all the sounds, I could catch bits and pieces of conversations, fragments of gossip floating through the air like the clinking of glasses. It was hard to tell who was talking to whom, and the voices seemed to blur together, muffling the meaning. But I could pick out a few words here and there.
"Look, it's the—"
"—must be a big disappointment—"
"That little boy?"
"—is it true—"
"_is Julian, I think—"
The chatter seemed to grow louder as people noticed us, and before I could process it all, I felt all eyes turn toward us. The hum of conversation quieted just for a moment, like the whole room paused. I looked at my dad in concern, wondering why everyone was suddenly paying attention. His face, which had been set in its usual serious expression, turned toward me. When he caught my gaze, his expression softened, and he gave me a smile—small but reassuring.
I opened my mouth to ask about the attention, but before I could get a word out, a man stepped forward, his movements smooth and deliberate. He was tall—much taller than me—and dressed in a fancy dark suit that made him look important. His bowtie was so perfect, it looked like it had been specially made for him, the ends sharp and precise. His hair was combed back, neat and smooth, just like my mom always wanted mine to be. But I knew it would never look as sleek as his.
The man gave my dad a little nod, his face lighting up with a smile that made him seem genuinely happy to see him. "Good day, Lord Hale and young Lord Hale," he said, his voice soft but warm, like he was pleased to have us there. "What a pleasure to have you both here tonight." His words felt like they were meant just for us, the way he spoke made it clear he wasn't just saying it out of politeness. His smile was sincere, and when his eyes met mine, they were kind and friendly, though I still wasn't sure why everyone was so focused on us.
He turned back to my dad, his smile slipping just slightly into something more reserved but still polite. "It's not often we have the honor of your presence at these events," he added, his tone casual, though I could tell it wasn't just a passing remark. The way he said it, with a small, knowing smile, made it clear he valued the opportunity for us to be there, even if he didn't seem overly excited.
And then, just like that, the conversation seemed to flow into something else. The man spoke to my dad with the ease of someone who knew him well, as if they were already in the midst of some long-standing discussion. I stood there, caught in the quiet space between them, unnoticed for the moment, as they continued their exchange. I wanted to say something, ask about the strange way everyone had reacted to us, but the words felt stuck in my throat. It seemed like now wasn't the time.