The Manor slept in the enveloping darkness. Everyone is locked in the embrace of slumber. Only Merlin moved, his feet barely making a sound on the old wooden floors as he tiptoed into the kitchen. He was a man on a mission—simple yet deeply personal. He filled the kettle, put it on the stove, and watched as steam began to dance from its spout. He turned off the heat and steeped a pot of strong black tea, its aroma filling the quiet kitchen.
Swaddled in a heavy blanket to ward off the evening chill, Merlin carefully balanced the still-warm teapot on a stool alongside an oversized mug. With practised ease, he navigated through the hushed hallways to the entry gate of the Manor. He had prepared himself for the cold and the lack of sleep, donning layers and mentally bracing himself for the night ahead.
This was something he couldn't, wouldn't miss. He had to bear witness to it.
He set the stool down just outside the entrance, providing a makeshift table for his teapot and mug. The night air was colder than he had anticipated, but the blanket and the steaming tea offered their modest comforts. With a kind of reverent care, he poured himself a mug of the dark brew.
Sitting there, clutching the warm mug between his hands, he allowed his gaze to wander into the ink-black night. Stars twinkled like celestial embers, but what he awaited was a different kind of spectacle. The surrounding darkness seemed to thicken, as if aware that it would soon play stage to a moment both singular and poignant.
Time crept on languidly, much like Mulan, the slowest mule that ever lived. Merlin sipped his tea, his senses honed, his spirit attuned to the pregnant silence. For tonight, he was not just a man; he was a sentinel, vigilant and committed.
And so he waited, eyes peering into the obsidian landscape, ready to bear witness to whatever mysteries the night chose to unveil.
"Merlin?"
Startled awake by the gentle shaking of his shoulder, the old wizard blinked his eyes open. His mouth felt parched, drool crusted at the corners of his lips. Baal's face loomed over him, etched with concern.
"What? Why... What time is it?" Merlin managed to sputter, still disoriented.
"Did you sleep outside?"
"Why? Can I not?" Merlin's eyes narrowed, defensive.
Baal frowned, his eyebrows knitting together. "Are you trying to die early? I mean, come on, we recently lost one. I don't think Nord can handle another..." Worry coloured his voice, and Merlin could see the dark circles under Baal's eyes—a silent testament to a sleepless night, likely Nord's as well.
"I'm old enough to know where to sleep. And I decided I would sleep here!" Merlin cut him off, effectively dodging further prying.
"Come on, you old lunatic, let me help you get into your room," Baal reached down to hoist Merlin up, but the old man bristled, pushing Baal's hands away and anchoring himself further into the stool.
"No! Leave me! I'm not moving from here!"
"What's wrong with you? Are you wooing death? You must be freezing! Come inside!" Baal's voice escalated, annoyance dripping from each word.
"If you want to help, bring me more tea! I will not leave; I refuse to miss it! Go!" Merlin snapped, his voice ringing with finality.
"Miss what?" Baal sighed, clearly exasperated. "Come on, let's go inside, at least eat something!"
"I told you to leave me alone! I will stay here; I refuse to leave my spot! If you're not here to help, then begone!" Merlin's voice wavered between a growl and a shout.
Baal studied Merlin's determined face, finally recognizing the stubborn glint in the old man's eyes. It was a look that signalled no compromise, a look that said he'd made his choice and would live—or perhaps die—by it.
With a resigned sigh, Baal turned on his heels and headed back toward the Manor. Just as he did, he crossed paths with Nord. His heart sank at the sight of her puffy, red eyes—a tangible sign of her ongoing grief.
"What's wrong?" Her voice was husky, strained from lack of sleep and too many tears.
"Merlin's lost it. He spent the night outdoors waiting for...whatever."
"He can't be outside. He'll get sick."
"I couldn't reason with him."
"For fuck's sake," Nord muttered under her breath. She took a deep, steadying breath, then stormed outside to where Merlin sat.
"Are you staying here?" She didn't even bother with a greeting.
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
"Yes!" Merlin responded, eyes still shining with that same stubborn resolve.
"I need my stool back."
"What? Why? You have so many inside!" Merlin looked genuinely shocked.
Nord's voice was icy. "That stool is my property, Merlin. I'm Nord Morningstar, not you. You are a guest in my house, living here rent-free. The stool is mine. The blanket is mine. The teapot and the mug—all of it is mine." She picked up the pot and the mug from the ground and handed them to Baal, who had followed her outside. She then reached for the blanket, her fingers gripping the fabric as if ready to yank it away. "Do you understand?"
Merlin stared up at her, disbelief etched across his face. "I think you're being unreasonable!"
"Do you understand?" She repeated, her eyes blazed.
"I think you're being unreasonable!" Merlin shot back again, his voice rising with indignation.
"Am I? Go to your room. Go rest and be warm!" she commanded, her voice unwavering.
"But I don't want to miss it," Merlin's tone softened, the defiance replaced by a pleading note, making him sound almost childlike.
Nord paused, her hand hovering over the blanket. She looked at Merlin, really looked at him, and saw not just the stubborn old wizard but a man clinging to something, something she might not understand but could respect.
She slowly loosened her grip on the blanket, letting it fall back onto Merlin's lap. "Fine. But I'm bringing you more tea. And another blanket." She turned away, her voice softer now, tinged with resignation rather than anger.
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From the counter of the Morningstar, Baal couldn't help but spy on Merlin, who seemed intent on doing nothing more than sitting on the stool, drinking tea. He'd tried to get more information about what the old man was so determined not to miss, but Merlin had been frustratingly vague. Baal leaned against the counter, his eyes still trained on the elderly wizard.
"He's still there?" Nord's voice broke his concentration. She appeared from the back room, holding a clipboard.
"Yeah, hasn't moved an inch. Just drinking tea and staring into space." Baal finally turned his gaze away from Merlin to look at her. "Do you think he's lost it?" he asked, twirling his finger near his temple.
Nord craned her neck, trying to get a better view of Merlin. "You think? I mean, I always thought he was quirky but not insane. You think it's because he's old?"
"I hope not."
"You're worried," Nord noted, leaning against the counter beside him.
Baal sighed. "The old man has a way of getting under your skin." His eyes moved from Merlin to the clipboard Nord was holding. "What's that?"
Nord's eyes lowered to the clipboard. "Trying to come up with an epitaph for Adamastor's tombstone. So far, I've got 'Friend, loyal, and...' butler?" Her voice trailed off, suddenly aware of how inadequate the words sounded.
Baal bit his lower lip, considering for a moment. "How about 'Friend and Free Man'?"
"That's it?" Nord looked at him incredulously.
"Yeah, why?"
She exhaled sharply. "I've spent hours trying to come up with something meaningful and authentic. I ask you, and you nail it in less than ten seconds? How do you do that?"
Baal shrugged, the corners of his mouth lifting into a faint smile. "It was the last thing the man said. It sums him up pretty well, don't you think?"
Nord looked at Baal, her eyes softening. "Yeah, I do think so.'
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As the young man trudged up the gravel path to the Morningstar Manor, he couldn't help but regret his choice of formal attire. Sweat trickled down his forehead, and he nervously considered the possibility of staining his suit. But finally, he arrived at the imposing front gate.
Bathed in sunlight that filtered through the sprawling canopy of ancient oaks. The light caught strands of his blond hair, which seemed almost halo-like in the radiance. He shielded his vivid blue eyes with one hand, squinting as if the brightness of the day could illuminate the strange complexities he'd stepped into.
His attire—a well-fitted beige suit—gave him an air of youthful formality. Yet, for all his city-boy polish, there was an undeniable earthiness about him, something intrinsically rustic that refused to be tamed by tailored lines and pressed fabrics. His broad shoulders and muscular build hinted at someone not unfamiliar with physical labour; they told the silent story of a man equally at home in urban jungles and sprawling farmlands.
Taking a moment to adjust his blazer and grab his suitcase again, he pushed the gate open and stepped onto the property.
An old man sat there, snoring softly, an empty mug nestled in his hands. It was a charming yet peculiar sight, and for a moment, the young man paused, contemplating the scene. Finally, taking a deep breath, he walked further into the courtyard. There, he saw a red-haired man with curious, dark eyes—the whites strangely absent, replaced by a radiant orange iris. "Hi, I'm sorry, I'm looking for Miss Morningstar," he ventured a bit awkwardly.
The redhead, Baal, looked up, his eyes widening almost unnaturally. "Uh, one second. I'll, uh... I'll go get her. You stay right there."
Baal scurried behind the counter and disappeared through a back door. Moments later, a woman emerged, dressed in black trousers and a blouse. Her skin was a canvas of tattoos, but it was her kind, dark eyes that captivated him the most.
"How..." Nord seemed rooted to the spot, clearly taken aback.
"You must be Rosemary Morningstar," he said, extending a hand, which Nord hesitantly took.
"I'm Adamastor Tagus."
"You are..."
"The new help you hired," Adamastor clarified, flashing a broad smile.
"Aren't you Miss Morningstar?"
"I'm Nord Morningstar," she corrected.
"Ah, the daughter?"
"Something like that," she decided, sidestepping a lengthy explanation.
"Wait, you can see me?" Baal suddenly interjected.
"Shouldn't I?" Adamastor looked genuinely confused. He glanced from Baal to Nord and back again, feeling a strange sense of tension in the air.
"If it's a bad time, I can come back later."
"No, no, no," both Baal and Nord spoke at once, almost stumbling over their words.
"You look uncannily like a friend we had," Nord explained, visibly trying to regain her composure. "He passed away just a few days ago. Actually, I think you'll be taking his place here."
"Oh, I see. Well, that sounds good to me."
Suddenly, a triumphant yell pierced the atmosphere. "It worked! It worked!" Merlin woke up with a jolt, the empty mug tumbling from his hands as he shouted. An echoing laughter resonated through the walls of the Morningstar Manor, filling the space with an unexplained aura of triumph.
Shaking her head as if snapping out of a daze, Nord turned back to Adamastor. "Anyway, welcome to the Morningstar."
“IT WORKED!”
END OF BOOK I