In the late afternoon, darkness began enveloping the world. Twilight shone through the bay window of the manor which lay in the outskirts of Novaston.
Glasses and cutlery clung throughout as they clinked and divided the roasted duck which was placed atop a silver platter. An aromatic scent of various foreign herbs filled the room, inviting them to feast.
At the leftmost seat sat a middle-aged woman with long maroon hair cascading down her back. She wore a velvet evening gown and hanging from her neck was a pearl necklace.
Opposite of her sat a man with short copper hair garbed in an evening tailcoat. His mustache was well-kempt with a white cravat tied to his neck. They were Baron Johan and Baroness Frida of Lilius, an old-money family with ties to the Lorn Republic.
Despite the festive atmosphere, Johan held a stern expression.
He cleared his throat loudly, drawing the gazes of the diners, “My dear family, may I ask your attention?”
The clatter of cutlery and glasses halted, putting an end to the commotion. However, near the table’s rear, a boy was still nagging at his sister, “Hey, I don’t want any greens! You eat them instead!”
She threw him an angry glare and shifted towards her father’s scrutinizing gaze, gesturing for him to shut up. He was late to notice and assumed she had a seizure, repeating ‘What?’ until she forcefully adjusted his head. When he did, his lips shut tightly and he straightened his back in fear of scolds.
His father Johan, albeit mildly annoyed, had other plans. Four servants appeared from left and right, pouring from a red wine bottle reading, “The Four Season Wine, 1412.”
The Four Season Wine was a rare wine, aged for eighty-five years in the Lilius family’s secret cellars. It was said to exhibit healing properties relative to its age, but had to be seasonally nourished, strictly with grapes from its exact vines.
This proved especially challenging during the Sunless Year, during which winemakers had to rely on supernatural methods to grow its grapes.
Only the elders of the Lilius family were aware its speciality actually lay in the wine barrels which had slowly assimilated Firmament a century ago.
Lord Johan raised his glass, saying, “Today, we not only celebrate our ancestors who we owe our glorious legacy to, but the bright future ahead of us.”
He sensed his nose tingling, pulling out his handkerchief. When he coughed into it, the handkerchief was bloodied. His expression remained stern as he stuffed it into his pockets and continued, “Ever since the death of my father, darkness has gnawed at my heart.”
He turned towards his right where a young man sat. He was the only child whose hair had taken after his father, equally copper in its shade.
The man sat upright with his head held high, conveying a sense of confidence and reassurance. He was his most promising son, his calculated body language reflecting the rigorous training he’d been subjected to.
“With the emergence of heresy, the grasp on our subjects has wavered and we’ve lagged behind in the race of science and discovery. For it, heresy, is the poison of all good.”
He rested his hand upon his son’s shoulders.
“Today I can proudly declare that these worries are no more. My eldest, Anthony, has been admitted into the Royal Succession War.”
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His otherwise stern expression softened mildly.
“Anthony, I acknowledge you as the heir to the Lilius family.”
At this moment, he sensed a light tapping on his left shoulder. His head tilted slightly whilst his eyebrows furrowed, annoyed by the first steward’s interruption.
He continued regardless, unwilling to pause his toast, “As the heir to the Lilius family, the pressure of responsibility will always weigh upon you. However, you will be the first witness to the beauty which blooms from it.”
At this moment, he sensed the tapping repeating. Although he was fed up with it, as the family’s head, he was also a paragon to his children and servants.
He turned, asking calmly, “What is it?”
“My Lord, it’s important,” He gestured to the door leading to the manor’s conservatory, “I suggest we discuss this privately.”
“James, are you sure your ‘news’ takes priority? It’s your choice,” he said, implying there would be consequences if he lied wrongly. Albeit strict, his phrasing allowed for him to reconsider.
As the first steward of the Lilius family, serving it since childhood, he replied like clockwork, “Yes, sir.”
“Alright,” he said in slight annoyance, “Tell me here, right now.”
The steward’s gaze swiftly swept over the family, realizing the consequences of his interruption — public humiliation would tarnish his reputation severely. It was evident that although his master displayed a calm demeanor, he didn’t believe there was any reason to interrupt his toast.
However, he was confident in his judgment, “Yes, sir. Mary of Lilius has died.”
As Lord Johan’s pupils constricted, the room was plunged into deep silence.
When he processed the news, a frown formed. He asked, “How?”
“She’s been killed during a fire. The cause of death is ambiguous, but likely from suffocation whilst defending against an evil spirit.”
The man nodded. “This is a huge blow to our family, but also an opportunity to turn around public favor. If we act swiftly, we’ll be advantaged during the third phase.”
Baroness Frida table flung her tableware from it. When it collided with the marble floor, the delicate porcelain shattered into countless shards.
“Johan!” She jerked upwards abruptly, toppling her chair, “Your heart is cold as stone!”
A servant scrambled, kneeling on the ground to sweep up the shards and another to set the chair upright again. She gestured for them to stop.
Lord Johan’s expression remained indifferent, gesturing for them to continue, to which they complied.
A young man right to Lady Frida stood up, shouting, “Mother is right! Father, you should apologize!”
The young woman seated next to the boy followed, menacingly staring down the young man.
Finally, Anthony stood up and raised his voice, “Calm down, everyone. Amongst us all, who sacrificed the most? It’s father!”
He turned towards his father. “As the family’s head, he is most concerned with our future. Even if it may outwardly appear cold, his actions are filled with warmth.”
Frida silently muttered, “Like father, like son.”
The servant behind her had raised the chair, waiting for her to sit down. She sighed and sat down, inwardly lamenting this situation.
She was aware her husband cared for their family, but his methods were sly and cold — they didn’t comply with the morals he preached. Although she was equally fierce, she held loyalty and honesty in high regard.
However, they were tied by an arranged marriage, which was very common in nobility. Above societal ostracism, divorces were complex and favored towards men — she would essentially be bound to lose custody and all shared assets.
Her son who’d stood up to defend her, followed her and sat back down as well.
Johan raised his voice again, “I’ll make use of some connections to award her the medal of honor. Her ashes will be buried next to ours,” he turned to talk to his first steward James, “Tell Mr. Art to bring them along.”
“Should we punish him?”
“No, that’s not beneficial. We’ll have to control the narrative — our family has fallen victim to the wicked. However, we’re not powerless, but the embodiment of justice.”
He paused, pondering how to actualize this plan. “We’ll put a bounty on this evil spirit’s head — one million slades!”
Anthony gasped, “One million slades?!”
He sighed, “Son, you don’t realize the potential of this. If you become monarch, that amount will be but a grain of sand in the desert.”