"Give me a call when you're done. We might have time for a quick lunch." Yvonne says as the lime green hatchback screeches to a stop in front of an inoffensive looking office block. The building's exterior had been recently whitewashed, making it surprisingly presentable despite the obvious age.

"I don't want to impose." I uneasily respond. Yvonne is already taking time out of her schedule to ferry me about the city. Asking her to delay her own lunch for my convenience just seems wrong.

"Paul wouldn't mind us coming back a little late." Yvonne winks mischievously at me, "After all, he's got his hands full today with Sara, doesn't he?"

"When you put it like that," I grin back, "how can I refuse?"

"Hooh. And here I thought my charm was fading away." Yvonne breathes out, "Well, see you later Robert. Good luck with Mr Vekselberg."

And with Yvonne's car roars off into the distance, off to do whatever she does in her free time. Come to think about it, trying to score a date with someone dealing with the death of his grandfather is in really bad taste. I can't decide whether Yvonne is just thirsty or I'm in actual fact so incredibly handsome and irresistible.

I'm going to go with the second option for the sake of my ego.

Entering the office building, I find that the interior is a series of dull corridors harshly illuminated by fluorescent lighting. The building's age is on full display here, with discolored paint tarring the walls and the floor tiles chipped in places. Following the signs, I find the office of Vekselberg and Partners easily enough. The door's made of heavy frosted glass, preventing anyone from peering inside. Underneath the firm's polished bronze nameplate is another smaller sign which states 'By Appointment Only'.

I press the buzzer and the adjacent intercom squawks to life.

"State your business." an unfriendly woman's voice drawls over the tiny speaker.

"I'm here to see, uh, Mr Vekselberg?" I'm slightly thrown off by how this law firm handles its business. Shouldn't Vekselberg at least try to be welcoming to prospective clients?

"Do you have an appointment?" the same disinterested drawl queries.

"No, but I received this handwritten letter from him?"

There's an immediate change in the voice over the intercom. Its more alert and infinitely more interested in what I have to say.

"Your name?" the woman asks.

"Robert." I answer and the door immediately unlocks with a harsh buzz.

Pushing the door open, I'm confronted by a matronly older woman regarding me with dull interest. Vekselberg's office doesn't have a proper reception area and all around us are desks of clerks pounding away at their keyboards. Stacks of files are piled high everywhere, turning the office into a makeshift fort. No cubicles, meaning the boss can keep a beady eye on everyone merely through casting a casual glance. I'm getting the impression that Vekselberg might not be the most pleasant man to work for.

"Mr Vekselberg has been awaiting you for the last few days." the older woman grunts as she leads me through the open floor plan office, "I will tell him that you have finally arrived."

The old battleax is obviously complaining that I'm late and I've been keeping her boss waiting. I'm about to quibble that Vekselberg's letter to me never stated a deadline for me to respond but think better of it. There's no point in picking a quarrel with Vekselberg's hired help. I'm just here for the reading of my grandfather's will or whatever. Antagonizing the lawyer would just make things more complicated.

"Please wait here." the battleax deposits me in the firm's library, chock full of old books and loaded with the musty smell of paper. I take a seat at the meeting table in the center of the room, admiring the wall to wall collection of leather bound tomes. I can't make sense of the books obviously, its all complicated law stuff. But Vekselberg must be seriously old school to set up a library like this. Almost everyone uses digital databases these days.

"Hello, Robert." an elderly man walks into the library, greeting me in a friendly tone. The battleax stalks behind him, carrying a large file and a wrapped package in her arms. Vekselberg takes his seat and the battleax lays out the file in front of him before leaving us by ourselves.

Vekselberg is not just old, he's absolutely parched. His entire body appears dehydrated and covered in wrinkles. This man has got to be a contemporary of my grandfather. Despite his physical state, Vekselberg obviously takes care of himself. His thinning hair is neatly combed and he wears a very presentable grey waistcoat over a white shirt and blue trousers. A wristwatch encrusted with gems tells me that the law business has probably been treating Vekselberg pretty well.

"You know why you're here. I wish we could have met under happier circumstances." Vekselberg begins, leafing through the file.

"My mom never told me about grandpa dying though?" I reply as Vekselberg's claw like hands pick up a pen and makes a note in the file.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

"I've already informed your parents about the departure of your grandfather." Vekselberg peers back at me, "By letter."

"So why aren't my parents here?" I shoot back, feeling something off about the whole situation.

"Because your grandfather left nothing to your parents in his will." Vekselberg snorts lightly to himself as he leafs through the file, "Your grandfather's wishes, and I quote, were to leave nothing behind for my useless son and his equally repulsive wife. End quote."

"Wow." I shake my head at the sheer enmity grandpa had for my parents.

"Yes, I was rather troubled by your late grandfather's attitude as well." Vekselberg clasps his hands together, "But at the end of the day, I'm his lawyer, not a relationship counselor. My job is to carry out his wishes to the letter."

"Your letter said grandpa left something for me?" I ask uncertainly. If this was how grandpa felt about my parents, I'm not sure about taking anything from that spiteful old man.

"Yes. A bequest. That's the reason why I called you here." Vekselberg nods slowly, "However, there are a number of conditions that need to be fulfilled first."

"Of course there are." I wave my arms in mock defeat.

Vekselberg hands me a sealed envelope, the edges brown with age.

"A private message from your grandfather. I was instructed to pass it to you before proceeding any further."

"Shouldn't you be giving me some private space right now?" I accept the envelope nervously, wondering what game the dead old man is playing.

"You don't need to tell me what the message is." Vekselberg shakes his head, "But the message must be read in my presence. That is one of your grandfather's conditions."

"Fine." I tear open the envelope and find a typewritten letter within. A chill passes through me as I peruse the text. A dead man's literally speaking from the grave right now.

Robert, we have never been close and I shoulder some of the blame for that. I should have never let the enmity between your father and myself poison the relationship between us. Yet when I find myself considering the future and what it may bring, there is only one option available to me.

I have to take you into my confidence.

Our family has a long proud history. And to my shame, I had a hand in leaving that history behind us. Your father's unexpected birth forced a sudden change in my plans. The accident I suffered a few years later subsequently made embracing that heritage completely impossible. I had once thought that your father would take up the mantle that I was forced to leave behind but he was of a different mind. He refused to do his duty and renounced whatever claim he might have over the legacy.

My friend, Vekselberg, would have told you that I have written your parents out of my will. Because of your father's decision, not a single copper bit will you receive from me. Yet a question remains. What am I to do with the legacy that has been abandoned by my own son?

That is why I am writing to you today. Robert, I want you to take up the legacy that your father gave up. Speak to Vekselberg. Tell him to show you what I have saved for you. If you are truly my grandson, I'm sure you'll understand what it is and how much it is worth.

Yet I must provide you with a warning. What I offer is not wealth or power. But responsibility. There is a reason why your father balked at taking up the legacy. To do so would have marked him for life. Just as it would mark you.

You will make your decision in front of Vekselberg. If you wish to accept my gift after seeing it, then tell him and Vekselberg will release it to you without any further question. If you take after your father and walk away, Vekselberg will destroy the package and that will be the end of it. There is no point in keeping a legacy that no one wants.

I will not lie that I ever loved you, Robert. Though I hope you will still consider a selfish old man's last wishes.

Best regards

XXXXXXXX

"Huh." I play with the photo of grandpa which had been attached with the letter, a hale and hearty one legged man seated by the beach. At the very least that old asshole had the decency to provide me with a keepsake, regardless of my upcoming decision.

"Well?" Vekselberg asks, his face carefully neutral but I can sense the curiosity bubbling beneath the surface.

"Let me see the legacy." I say solemnly.

Vekselberg nods and begins pulling open the wrapped package, revealing a nondescript box which he slides over to me.

"You must give me your answer before leaving this room." Vekselberg says, "Your grandfather's instructions were clear."

"Here goes." I swallow hard and open the box, nearly coughing from the cloud of dust spewed at my face.

There's silver. Plenty of silver. Badges of office. An elaborate coat of arms. Even a rolled up piece of parchment. I shake my head in confusion. All this is just trash. The real inheritance grandpa left for me is hidden somewhere deeper in the box. I can sense it. My heart is literally screaming in anticipation.

"Magical resonance?" Vekselberg murmurs in surprise, "May I have a look?"

I pass over one of the silver badges to the lawyer and Vekselberg squints at the faded heraldry. From what I can tell, the badge is completely mundane, the source of the resonance is coming from somewhere inside the box. Vekselberg doesn't notice though, believing that the silver is the source of the disturbance we're feeling. The resonance is palpable but faint, making the confusion understandable.

Or maybe I'm just sensitive to the resonance. Grandpa said it in the letter. If I'm truly his grandson, I would understand. Vekselberg might be the old man's friend but at the end of the day, he's an outsider. He isn't a member of our family.

"Hmm. I'm no expert. Still a fair guess can be made." Vekselberg squints at the badge, "A symbol of office once owned by a dead knightly house. Soul mages if my reading of the heraldry is correct."

My fingers anxiously close in on the source of the resonance, a small phial hidden in a dark corner of the box, behind all the tarnished trash. A miniature earthquake pulses through my hand, urging, demanding that I accept whatever is inside the phial. And even more worryingly, my own instincts are in agreement. I'm the rightful owner of that phial. Everything within it belongs to me.

"And here we have a deed of a long destroyed estate." Vekselberg unfurls the parchment with interest, "In surprisingly good condition. Never expected your grandfather to be a collector of antiquities."

"Yeah. Antiquities." I nod along, sweat rolling down my back. All the silver, the useless deed, distractions. Left behind by grandpa to fool Vekselberg. The real inheritance is the phial. I sneak a look at it while pretending to examine one of the silver pieces. A thick, dark liquid sloshes languidly in the phial, echoing with power. An animal hunger awakens within me as I recognize the liquid for what it truly is.

Blood.

The blood of grandpa's ancestors.

The blood of a soul mage.