The first rays of winter sun landed on Victor's face, illuminating him with a faint light. It was as if the sun itself took a moment of hesitation before revealing the features of his face, framed by the biting cold and the quiet of that morning. His gray eyes scanned the path that wound through the moor, surrounded by a row of birch trees with their candid trunks. Claremont Castle was a few miles away from the Yorster Abbey, yet Victor had decided to cover the distance without the help of his trusted steed.

The moor, with its intense scent of damp earth, evoked precious memories in him, indissolubly linked to his past. The intertwined threads of memories melted in him, bringing to light the sweet innocence of the past days, marked by the rhythmic pace of nature. And in those moments, while the wind ruffled his dark hair, Victor felt free, master of his own destiny. A destiny that seemed to have already been written for him.

Suddenly, the silence of that idyll was shattered by the thunder of numerous hooves echoing among the trees. Victor turned abruptly, trying to identify the source of that sudden clamor. Among the tree trunks, he caught sight of a group of knights moving nimbly in a whirlwind of shouts. Intrigued, Victor stopped and carefully observed the scene unfolding before him.

He saw a tall, imposing man wrapped in a burgundy velvet cloak, galloping on a white steed as fast as it was agile. It was clear that the group of knights were chasing him, but the fugitive seemed to have the upper hand.

It was difficult to capture his features accurately given his speed, but his figure was so imposing that it caught the attention of anyone who saw him. Despite their determination, the horsemen seemed to be losing ground, and in the end, the fugitive disappeared into the twists and turns of the forest.

The horsemen stopped abruptly and seemed to regroup to reflect on what to do next. Victor stood still, silently watching that surreal and mysterious scene from his place. It was then that the group of horsemen, without hesitation, decided to split up and enter the forest from different points to try and track down the fugitive who had disappeared.

Confused and intrigued by what had just happened, Victor resumed walking and headed home, leaving behind that mysterious escape.

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At the end of the main road, the castle of Claremont stood imposingly on the northern hills of Illyria, a symbol of grandeur and magnificence. Like an impregnable stronghold, it rose on the rocks that surrounded it. Its walls, of a candid white color, shone in the sun like a precious gem, reflecting its light and illuminating the valley below. The slender and tapered towers soared into the sky like lances ready for defense, while the battlements and walkways surrounding them created a sense of inaccessibility and defense.

Victor finally reached the entrance of the castle through the imposing massive wooden gate, adorned with sculptures and intricate decorations that seemed to depict ancient myths and legends. Once he crossed the entrance gate, he found himself in a vast inner courtyard, surrounded by high walls and imposing towers. The stone floor, smoothed by the wear and tear of time, reflected the light of the morning sun, which filtered through the windows of the surrounding towers.

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He then headed towards the great library: the room was magnificent, the walls were lined with dark wooden shelves, filled with ancient volumes that concerned knowledge and ancient family traditions. The high vaulted ceiling was decorated with frescoes depicting scenes of battles, while a row of candelabra hung from the center, illuminating the room with a warm and enveloping light.

Keith and Robert had already arrived and were bent over their books. Rufus, his tutor, was sitting at the massive wooden desk when, looking up, he gestured to the newcomer to sit down.

"Good morning young Lord, what would be the reason for such a delay? Did the lark not peck at your window this morning?" he asked with a slightly irritated tone.

Keith and Robert turned to him and exchanged a mocking smile. Despite being born on the same day, his two older brothers were each other's opposite. Not only was there a considerable age difference between Victor and the twins, but also in terms of personality and interests. However, despite these differences, the three brothers were incredibly close and had shared many experiences together.

Rufus invited Victor with a hand gesture to take a seat, pointing with a finger at the pile of cards and documents he was supposed to examine. It was a daily routine, but that morning his mind was elsewhere, occupied by the scene he had just experienced. He could not help but think of that imposing figure he had seen darting through the trees, and of the group of riders who seemed to have lost their prey.

The tutor looked at him with a stern look, probably noticing his distracted state. With a calm but firm voice, he reminded him of the importance of the task at hand and asked him to focus. At that moment, Victor realized that he could not escape his responsibilities and decided to put aside those thoughts to complete the assigned task.

He immersed himself in the documents, applying himself with commitment and precision. With every new piece of information that emerged from his research, his mind gradually emptied of morning's extraneous thoughts, focusing solely on the task at hand.

Suddenly, Robert caught his attention. "Victor, our father was summoned by the King this morning. He left with a small delegation towards the capital. Matters of utmost importance. I don't know anything else." Victor nodded and returned to his numbers. Administrative matters did not particularly interest him.

After a few moments, his brother Keith whispered something in his direction. "Have your stupid mule saddled: this afternoon we'll pay our dearest respects to the Brontë sisters." His face suddenly lit up. He was well aware of the mutual sympathy between Charlotte and Keith, as well as the new understanding between Emily and Robert.

The Brontë family was not far from Castle Claremont, and although the idea of spending an entire afternoon exchanging awkward glances disguised as fake courtesies didn't particularly pique Victor's interest, the prospect of riding Neptune, his steed, put him in a positive disposition. He loved riding for long hours across the moors and enjoying the panoramic view that only Neptune could offer.