Adrian stood silently in his massive room. His eyes faced the french windows that exposed the fort in its entirety. Sterkhander keep was at the very top of the mountain. A plateau that held up the last defensive fortification of the fortress. Gray stones, unmarked, made up the walls that surrounded it. More gray stones made the keep itself.
A maid wrapped a sash around his shoulders. Silver.
His eyes drifted to the crystal scones that caught light from the veining in magical stones. Glowing threads of more silver and something deeper coated the room and its residents. His massive bed, the drawers, mirror that reflected light into his eyes, and a rack of heavy weaponry.
His armor was on its rack waiting for further battle. It had been cleaned by his servant, returning its polish, though not completing the majority of damage it had sustained. That took much long to accomplish.
[LOCATION: STERKHANDER KEEP]
[HISTORICAL RESONANCE: MAXIMUM]
[ANCESTRAL POWER: ACTIVE]
[BLOODLINE CONNECTIONS: ANALYZING]
Adrian was getting sick of the unnecessary and redundant system notification in his feed. Even smaller and out of the way, it was insistent.
More maids danced around him. They made sure he would be presentable. For all the gruffness and neanderthal like tendencies the previous had, he was unusually vain during meetings of any kind. Especially when their father was present.
“Lord,” A younger maid said. Talaitha was her name if he remembered correctly. “You look stunning.”
Adrian smiled. The maids were as tall as he was, but unlike his bulky nature, they carried an otherworldly grace. Unmarked and untrained in the way of battle. Their beauty almost seemed intentionally crafted. If only they could wield their family legacy. Strengthen their strikes and fulfil their roles as—
He blinked.
“Talaitha,” he waved her forward.
Talaitha walked up to him with a bright smile. Adrian studied her movements. She floated over the ground. What would she look like in a suit of armor and hidden in darkness? They didn’t need to be mark’ed to contribute. On the other hand, how much strength did they need to break through knight armor. Or escape quickly enough from the center of an enemy camp.
Adrian frowned. He would need to think this through. Maybe pass the idea by his elder sister, Beatrix. If anyone had a clue what this would look like, it would be her.
He grabbed a dagger. The maids paled. He turned back towards Talaitha.
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“L-lord…?”
“Hold this,” Adrian said. “Give it back to me as soon as the meeting is over. Before I leave them.”
Color returned to her skin. She let out a stiff chuckle. “Of course, Lord Adrian.” She took the dagger with both hands and curtsied.
“Let’s go. Brother and sister are probably waiting for me.”
The maids formed up behind him. As a single unit. Trained to follow him like knights into combat. The only thing missing, again, was the mark ability to make a difference. Too many variables to consider. Things his mind were churning as he walked out of his room.
Their dark green robes and his own with a silver sash stood in stark contrast to everyone he passed by. Every single person, whether maid or knight wore the Sterkhander colors. Everyone except the servants of the Ravn. It should have been an honor, but it wasn’t.
Their march echoed in perfect synchronization; their dainty shoes had metal on the bottom to give them that click. A coordinated pattern. The stone made it echo in the halls.
Every turn revealed more of the massive keep. Halls wide enough for five knights to wall abreast in full armor. Paintings hung up. Vases with living flowers of different colors every couple dozen steps. Doors and more doors, scaled to their proportions. Windows that amplified any light that passed through it.
He wondered what it would look like for an average person. The vases alone were over five feet in height. The same ones that had not changed slightly since he could remember. Here everything moved slower, changed slower.
Adrian was twenty-nine years old. A literal baby to the rest.
His father was nearing a millennium. Lived through ages of conflict and war. Sister, Beatrix, had seen six centuries. Even his brother had passed his second century recently.
And that was the crux of the issue. His father was ailing. Dying. Not because of old age. But rather due to an insidious poison or curse. Something the best healers and most knowledgeable knights could not figure out. Two decades ago, an orc shaman of substantial power had been able to strike his father.
Something entire armies of orcs could not accomplish. A tiny dagger that should have snapped at first contact with his armor sunk deep into his skin, the poison entering his bloodstream. It was the first time anyone had seen the lord of House Sterkhander bleed.
Adrian had read reports that claimed Magnus Sterkhander should have died within two years of the poison due to its nature and how well it was crafted to suit him perfectly. They guessed and made theories about how he was still alive so long after, but none had figured it out.
But he had asked his father a few years back. That answer had been simple. The curse, or poison, was designed to power itself using his Mark Energy. If Magnus did not activate their family legacy, he would live on to manage their land and armies.
Yet even the most blind person could see the way their lord aged. From a vibrant man with deep black hair, quite similar to Adrian’s, to now the pepper and salt style he carried. It was obvious whatever was happening was occurring slowly.
Adrian stopped before the final turn. He waited, listening. Both his brother and sister were speaking quietly. Arguing about something or another. He could already see it. Alaric in silver robes, long golden hair and perfect posture. The very image of a powerful Sterkhander.
Beatrix in similar colors, her black hair braided down to the small of her back. Sharp features and piercing eyes. A formidable person in all aspects.
He let out a sigh and stepped out of the bend. Their eyes turned to see him. It was exactly as he imagined. To the very type of braids Beatrix tied her hair in. That included the suspected reaction his brother would have. He was dreading this very moment for a while.
Alaric’s face darkened as he approached. As if every step made it worse. His lips curled upward.
“Not now, Al,” Beatrix said. Her cold eyes turned to look at Adrian. As if it was beneath her to look at him. “Father would not be pleased to see you two fight again.”