As I stepped into the grand main hall of the castle, I couldn’t help but let out a low whistle—internally, of course. Outwardly, I maintained the stoic, composed demeanor expected of a noble, but inside? Well, let’s just say I was a tourist in a museum of forgotten wealth.

The hall was magnificent, with polished marble floors that could double as mirrors and tapestries so detailed they might as well be paintings. The kind of room that screamed, *We used to be somebody.* If the rest of the castle looked half as good as this place, we might actually have a shot at clawing our way back up the social ladder.

But no, all the wealth and grandeur seemed to be concentrated here, in this one room. 'Wouldn’t it be nice,' I thought with a bitter smirk, 'if they spared a little of that upkeep for the training area? Maybe then I wouldn’t feel like I’m swinging my sword in a haunted ruin.'

The old butler, ever the model of dignity, approached the massive oak doors that led to my grandmother’s inner sanctum. He knocked softly—so softly, in fact, that I wondered if he was hoping she wouldn’t hear it and we could just turn around and leave.

But no such luck. A sharp, commanding voice from within rang out, “Enter.”

The butler stepped aside, holding the door open for me but remaining outside, as was customary. After all, unless invited, no servant, no matter how loyal, was allowed to step foot into the inner sanctum of Lady Blackwood’s domain. And so, I entered alone.

The room was as I expected: cold, austere, and utterly intimidating. At the far end, seated in the grand chair that could have easily passed for a throne, was my grandmother. Her posture was as rigid as the wood beneath her, her gaze as piercing as the sword at my side.

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“Thou hast been called, Nathaniel,” she began, wasting no time on pleasantries. “I require thee to retrieve a new noble sign from the treasury.”

Ah, the noble sign. That little trinket that signifies your noble birthright, painstakingly crafted from the rarest crystal in Albion, the Blood Rutile. It’s not like you can just mine the stuff, either. No, it’s created by the royals themselves and then handed out to the noble houses so they can proudly display their symbols. Each noble gets one at birth, a little reminder of where they come from and the blood that flows through their veins. And, surprise, surprise, I have one too.

But here’s the kicker—I’m pretty sure she’s asking me to get a new one because mine is old. What’s funnier, though, is that she’s only now decided it needs replacing because I’m going to be representing the Blackwoods at the royal party. Heaven forbid I show up with an out-of-date noble sign and embarrass the family.

Outwardly, I bowed deeply. “I thank thee, Grandmother, for thy guidance. I shall see to it immediately.”

“Thou wilt depart for the capital in two days,” she added, her tone making it clear that the conversation was over.

I bowed again, then turned to leave, my mind already racing with sarcastic thoughts about how this new sign was supposed to magically turn me into the pride of the Blackwood family.

As I followed the old butler down the narrow, winding corridors to the treasury, I couldn’t help but think about how little trust they had in me. Not that I’m complaining—'It’s nice to know they think I’m such a klutz that I can’t even be trusted to pick up my own noble sign without supervision.'

The butler entered the treasury first, leaving me to wait outside. I leaned against the wall, my mind wandering as I wondered what this new sign would look like. I’d seen a few others—some white, some blue, all bearing the unique mark of their houses. But ours? Ours was always black, like the name itself.

A few moments later, the butler returned, cradling the new sign in his hands like it was the crown jewels. he was Wearing a gloves- no,a double layer of gloves and his hands where shaking,well i cant blame him even he the house main butler how served my house since birth will get his fingers cutted off if he dared to touch the noble sign.

The sign itself was a deep, blood-red crystal, shaped into a circle, with the Blackwood emblem—a two-headed snake resting on a tree—etched into its surface. As I took it from him, the crystal’s color shifted, turning to a dark, inky black.

Typical. Just like our name, our sign is as black as the night. Way to go, ancestors. Real original. I couldn’t help but laugh, a small, bitter chuckle at the sheer predictability of it all.

With the new sign safely tucked away, I headed back to my room. The weight of it felt heavier than I expected, like it wasn’t just a piece of crystal but a symbol of all the expectations and failures that came with being a Blackwood...specialy the last one

With that uncomforting thought, I closed my eyes, letting the darkness of the room envelop me.