CHAPTER FIVE: FULL MANSION

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Chronifer had been enjoying the month, a slow grind toward what he believed was a brighter future. For a five-year-old, he felt sharper, stronger, more capable than he had any right to be. His understanding of the System had grown by leaps and bounds, and every small victory hinted at bigger triumphs ahead. But that fragile sense of progress shattered on the last day.

“My words can never explain how sorry I am,” said the soothing voice of the man kneeling before Chronifer’s mother.

He was the same shadowy figure who had terrified Chronifer earlier, a figure shrouded in an unsettling mask. Black wood, tipped with two sharp horns framing a dull golden halo suspended between them. its eyes were deep, dull crimson, with faint golden pupils at their centers, and its mouth twisted into a cruel smile, revealing unnervingly white teeth. The mask’s eerie design had sent chills through Chronifer’s small frame, cooling his heart with dread.

But then, his mother had appeared – silent, her presence cold and commanding, like a wraith. She had uttered only one word:

“Cipher.”

Then Cipher had taken off the mask. He was a slight man clad in dull black robes, etched with golden patterns at the edges. His hair, a pale gold, matched his eyes, his skin flawless and pale. Chronifer saw where he'd inherited his looks. His father’s features were unmistakable, but something told Chronifer he would be even better looking.

Hours later, they gathered in the mansion’s private living room. Chronifer stood at the far corner with the strange boy and the other man, both new arrivals accompanying his father. The man, a middle-aged figure, had pale, almost colourless skin. His dull white hair and patchy, uneven beard framed lips that seemed drained of vitality. His mocking smirk extended to his pale eyes, making him appear both calculating and arrogant.

But it was the boy who captured Chronifer’s attention. He looked starved to the point of emaciation, his ashen skin stretched tight over protruding bones. Dark bruises marred his sickly complexion, and his skeletal frame seemed barely able to support the tight skin that clung to it. He stood silently, his hollow eyes scanning the room with a mix of apathy and fear.

“You told me before you went off that you'd be back in two years,” Slora said, her voice calm but measured. Her hands rested neatly in her lap.

“I have no excuses,” the man said, his eyes flicking past the velvet chairs arranged in a circle to Chronifer. “I thought there would be no problem…”

He was cut off by Slora’s voice, tight with frustration. “You didn’t even send me letters. You just left me, I was all alone in this system-forsaken mansion!” Her calm cracked for an instant, her voice rising. “Why? I was so lonely.”

Slora lowered her head, hiding whatever expression she wore from view. The man’s eyes darted once more to Chronifer, a flicker of something passing through them. Chronifer felt his stomach twist in confusion. Why does he keep looking at me?

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there. I missed you just as much,” Cipher said, his gaze briefly flicking to Chronifer. The boy beside him seemed more intent on blending into the room’s emerald walls, though his ashen skin made it hard to disappear. Still, he had one ear turned toward the conversation, listening intently.

The man, on the other hand, just seemed tired – like a spectator to a show he was too weary to care about.

What is even happening right now? Chronifer thought, his confusion deepening. Why are they talking like this, right in front of us? He glanced from one to the other, feeling more out of place than ever. This isn’t how I imagined this conversation would go…

“Although… I hope…” The man hesitated, glancing at Chronifer before continuing. “At least you had our son, Chronifer?”

Wait, was my name given by my father? Was mother not calling it rebelling against him? Isn't that kind of petty? He wondered, amused.

Slora’s eyes flickered his way, a brief moment of tension before she answered, her voice soft but firm. “He hadn’t always been here.”

Cipher's eyes narrowed, his thoughts turning inward. “Was that why the birth moon came only two months ago?”

Birth moon? Chronifer frowned, piecing the puzzle together. What’s that? Two months ago….

Slora gave a single nod. “Yes.”

“I’ve been a fool, Slora. In all my time away, I’ve realized how much I need you, more than anything. You’ve always been the one to keep me going.” Slora met Cipher’s gaze, a smile slowly forming on her face, loving, yet tempered by the practicality that had always defined her. She slid off her chair and wrapped her arms around him tightly.

“I love you too,” she murmured, her voice soft but grounded.

Chronifer stood frozen, completely taken aback when the man beside him whispered the same words. His lips moved in quiet sync with Slora’s. Chronifer’s eyes flickered between the two of them, still grappling with the surreal shift. What the hell is happening? he thought, his mind racing. How is this so simple? I thought these two “parents” of mine would be at each other’s throats. Why does this feel so... easy? His confusion intensified, leaving him rooted in place, utterly baffled.

The two slowly pulled away from their embrace, as if the action itself caused them pain. They stared at each other for a long moment, eyes drawn to one another’s lips, moving closer. Chronifer instinctively squeezed his eyes shut, Oh, no way, he thought. I can’t watch this. He thought embarrassed for both of them.

But before anything more could happen, a gravelly voice sliced through the tension.

“Alright, lovebirds,” the voice drawled, a playful edge to the words. “I get it, you two haven’t seen each other in a while. But I’d much rather see your usual cold sides than this... mushy nonsense.” His gaze flicked between them with a pointed glance. “And I’m pretty sure the little turds over here feel the same.”

Chronifer let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, a wave of relief washing over him. Thank goodness.

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Not long after that conversation, Chronifer found himself at the center of attention.

"Your mother has told you about me, hasn't she?" Cipher asked, his voice low and deliberate, crouching in front of Chronifer. There was something in his expression now, something new, that caught Chronifer's attention.

Chronifer nodded, his posture casual despite the pressure of Cipher's gaze. "Yes. She told me you're my father, your position, and your name. Nothing else, though."

Cipher studied him, his expression unreadable, as if weighing each word. For a moment, his eyes softened ever so slightly – a subtle shift, but noticeable to Chronifer.

"You carry her confidence well," Cipher remarked, his tone colder, but with an unmistakable edge of pride. He straightened slightly, the faintest glimmer of excitement flickering across his unchanging expression. "You are sharper than I had expected."

I'm going to be so damned handsome, I won't even need the surgeries. He was delighted.

Cipher studied him for a long moment, his gaze sharp and contemplative. "You speak with confidence. I can see your mother’s insight has left its mark on you," he said, his words clipped and deliberate.

"I can’t say for sure," Chronifer answered, his eyes briefly darting around the room before settling back on Cipher.

Had I spoken too well? He wondered. Chronifer had stopped taking much precautions with his mother and had not thought about hiding it from his father.

"Chronifer is far more than that," Slora interjected smoothly, her tone warm and husky yet commanding. "Our son is a genius," she said, her voice carrying a quiet pride that filled the space.

She leaned into the chair’s backrest, crossing her legs with a poised elegance that radiated pride.

His eyebrows rose slightly. Huh?

Slora continued, her posture elegant as she spoke. "I gave him the sword styles of the Mal’al’atis Region, meant to challenge even an advanced student – and he didn’t just finish it.” She explained gesturing soothingly with her hands, looking at each figure in the room, even the boy who still stood at the corner of the room and the man who stood leaning against the piano at a small podium.

“He understood it.” Her voice was gushing with both pride and a hidden awe. “I intended it as a way to gauge his limits, to see how far he could be pushed, but I underestimated him. He exceeded all expectations."

Chronifer’s stomach tightened, his hands growing clammy as his heart beat hollowly in his chest. Had I... dug my own grave? The relentless days of reading flashed through his mind, each one more gruelling than the last. He swallowed hard. All this suffering... It was my fault.

A month ago, he might have screamed at the unfairness of it all. But now, a flicker of satisfaction replaced the bitterness. Instead of a sorrowful smile, a faintly pleased one grew on his face.

"The brat’s head is swelling already," a gravelly voice cut through the moment, full of mocking humour. "Someone ought to stomp on that pride of his before it leads him into the jaws of a nobody’s death."

Chronifer’s jaw tightened, his eye twitching, but he refused to rise to the bait. His father, Cipher, on the other hand, turned to the man and nodded.

What was that?

"What—" Chronifer began, but Cipher cut him off with a subtle gesture.

"Yes," Slora answered smoothly, her words like an echo of something long understood.

Chronifer watched the silent exchange, his eye twitching again in growing irritation. Wow, they are so connected, but what does it even mean?

"Mother," he said at last, his tone direct but respectful. "Could you explain what you’re talking about?"

Slora turned to him, her gaze softening, though her posture remained upright and regal. "I believe I’ve told you before," she began, her voice deliberate, each word chosen with care. She paused, her fingers toying with the ring on her necklace. The family insignia gleamed faintly under the light, as though sharing in some unspoken burden.

"You were born with an affliction that kept you in a deep sleep for a very long time," she said at last, the weight of her words softening the room’s atmosphere. "Then, a few months ago, you woke up. But even then..." She exhaled quietly, her gaze momentarily distant, as if wrestling with a memory she couldn’t quite banish. "I was afraid for you."

"Why?" Chronifer leaned forward slightly, his curiosity sharpening.

Slora studied him for a moment before continuing. "Your father’s great-grandfather bound this domain with a ritual," she said, her voice steady but carrying an undercurrent of something deeper – pride, perhaps, or the faintest trace of caution.

As she spoke, the gravelly-voiced man began playing the piano, the notes weaving a bittersweet melody through her explanation. The sound grounded the moment, turning the room into a strange mixture of comfort and tension.

"When a child of the Montcroix-Wythe family is born," she continued, "the moon is supposed to lose its colour. A symbol, a sign of the bond and its strength. But when you were born, that didn’t happen." Her words carried no blame, only a quiet, factual tone that somehow made them heavier. "Even when you woke, the ritual didn’t activate – at least, not until ten days later."

Chronifer blinked, his mind catching on her words. So that was why.

Slora sighed softly, her hands folding in her lap as though bracing herself. "That delay," she said, her tone gentler now, "has created... complications. Political ones. But I’ll explain those in detail later."

Chronifer sank back into the velvet chair, his thoughts racing. I knew it. That’s why she started pushing me so hard. And no doubt, those ‘complications’ are tied to me reaching six.

What changed that made the ritual activate, though? It only took him a second to realise. It was the moment I accepted my role as Chronifer, wasn’t it? Definitely.

"Mother," he said after a moment, his voice quieter but no less direct, "is that why you’re so worried about me reaching six?"

"Yes, my soul," Slora said softly, her voice brushing against his frustration like a balm. For a moment, her gaze seemed to carry everything she hadn’t said – her worry, her expectations, and something he could only describe as hope.

"Well, looks like you’ve got some competition, Cipher," the gravelly voice interjected again, his amusement undercutting the weight of the moment. The notes of the piano seemed to twist with his tone, playful yet intrusive.

Slora turned a sharp, disapproving look toward him, though she said nothing.

"Enough," Cipher said abruptly, rising from his chair. His tone was flat but carried a quiet command that left no room for argument. "I’m about to die of hunger."

The way he said it made the statement seem casual, but there was a weight behind it – one Chronifer couldn’t quite grasp, though he felt it settle in the room.

"We’ll have dinner now. We’ll discuss this further tonight." Without waiting for acknowledgement, he rose and strode toward the dining hall.

The weight of his parents’ words settling over him like a cloak. His mother’s explanations had filled in some blanks, but there were still far too many questions unanswered. Like the secret of his blood? The Movat’ha trials? What was the Spiral and more about the Montcroix-Wythe? And Chroifer was going to get them all.

Later that evening they hadn't discussed anything because Cipher and the man who Chronifer didn’t know his name had fallen asleep almost immediately after they had eaten.

Instead Chronifer found himself talking with the boys who had lurked in the other man's shadow and only few minutes into their conversation Chronifer was left with only one thought:

Just what kind of family had I gotten born into!?