Mahogany bookcases stood tall around the quiet library, their spaces were filled with tomes and books with spines bearing titles written with symbol-like letters. The soft redolent scent of aged papers mixed with the beewax’s aroma added a layer of serenity to the room. Dust motes danced in the shaft of sunlight that peaked through the tall windows.

Silas and Ruelle settled in the center of the room, where a massive oak table stood as the focal front with few books laying on its polished surface. As Silas flipped through a page from the Witch’s Codex, Ruelle glanced up at him from her own seat, opposite of where he sat. “Your—I mean, Silas’ dad is coming home today, right? What are you going to do?”

He didn’t look away from the book’s pages. “I’m thinking whether I should tell him the truth,” a short sigh escaped his lips as he leaned into his chair, hands still placed by the tome’s side. “I’ve been faking my foot injury for these past two days because I’m still not sure about the correct option…What would the marquess think about his son becoming a mage?”

He even scared the estate doctor into lying about the severity of his foot trauma.

Hearing his words, Ruelle only narrowed her eyes, frowning slightly as she responded. “…What does that have to do with you roleplaying as an old man?”

Silas did not find that funny. “Just because I’m using a walking cane doesn’t mean I’m old—Anyway! You’re distracting me!” With a shake of his head, he continued. “Marquess Salvador would definitely ask me about what happened in the dungeon. I’m sure he expects me to suddenly awaken as a master swordsman or something. You’ve read the lore too, so you should know how persistent that old man is.”

Marquess Creston Salvador, a stern warrior who lives by nothing but a knight’s honor, has raven black hair that made his electrifying blue eyes shimmer like flashes of lightning. After an arranged marriage with Esmeralda Goldwyn, Silas’ mother and the current marchioness, he promised her to grant all the riches and comfort he could in exchange for bearing his heirs.

Creston and Esmeralda’s first son, Lysander Salvador, turned out to be a near carbon-copy of his father. With identical dark hair and cold, deep eyes, Lysander grew up under direct supervision from the marquess, becoming a strong swordsman that gladly followed his own father to the battlefield.

Even their third child, Rowena Salvador, showed great sword talent at a young age of ten years old. The son and daughter received all the love and affection from their father, but not Silas Salvador, the middle child who showed no skill in swordsmanship.

Creston had hoped to mold the young Silas into a great swordsman just like his first son, though because of the hellish training that he forced the child to go through, Silas ended up disliking swordsmanship entirely. Growing up under the pressure of his father and his brother’s scorn, the child eventually became the ‘Young Mad Dog Marquess’.

”…” Ruelle pursed her lips, eyes landing somewhere by her side. She responded with a hint of uncertainty in her voice. “I get your point…But don’t you reckon he would…you know…accept that you have more potential as a mage, and that you’re not entirely useless anymore?”

Silas squinted in suspicion, feeling that she’d used the moment to sneak in an insult just now, but he decided to let it pass. “…Maybe you’re right. But Crow, if we pick the wrong option, there’s no going back. What if Silas was meant to be a swordsman? What if it was difficult before because it was coded that way?”

“But what if Silas was never a reformation-type character in the first place?” Ruelle argued, leaning forward to rest her arms on the table. “We don’t even know what your plot is because a certain someone refused to read the description.”

He couldn’t even refute her words, only giving her a sheepish look. “…Alright, fine, you got me.” Putting his hands up in defeat, he continued. “But let’s think about it this way: What benefit would we get if we choose to reveal our skills?”

Now it was Ruelle’s turn to go quiet. Her brows slightly arched into a frown as she gave his question a deep thought. “Apart from obviously getting rid of your trash good-for-nothing status, Ruelle would also get to show her potential as a swordswoman. That’s my plot, by the way, I know this because I actually read.”

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Silas suddenly found it harder and harder to ignore her plain insult, yet he pretended to be oblivious anyway despite the deep frown on his face. “Okay, and?”

“And,” Stressing out the word the same way he did, Ruelle prepared to make her counterspeech…except it never came, instead she let out a sigh in defeat. “Alright, I’ve got nothing. Fine! We’ll keep lying to the marquess through our teeth.”

A smirk crept to Silas’ lips as he shifted his focus back to the pages of the Witch’s Codex. Flipping a page, he spoke in a sing-song voice. “Appear weak when you’re strong, and strong when you’re weak.”

“Cringe.” That completely shut him down, wiping the smile clean off his face. “Well, since no one’s coming to get you yet, can you answer my question?”

Silas glanced up from the book. “Shoot.”

“…Why ‘RetiZn’?” She sounded genuine as her eyes glimmered in anticipation.

“You really don’t watch my interviews, huh?” Silas smiled, watching as Ruelle rolled her eyes at his sarcasm. “I swapped the letters from the words ‘Rest In’, like ‘Rest in Peace’, so that’s where I got ‘Retin’, and the Z is from my real name.”

”Why not just use something like ‘Ripper’?”

He shrugged. “I wanted to be original,” then he asked. “…You’re not curious about my real name?”

Ruelle went quiet for a moment, but eventually she responded, her head tilting slightly to the side. “Well, of course I want to ask, but I’m not sure if it would be rude or not.”

Not expecting that to be her answer, Silas scoffed in amusement. “So you’re fine with insulting me straight to my face but not with asking my name?”

“Yes?” She answered without missing a beat, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. The look on her face showed clear confusion, but by this point, Silas knew she was messing with him.

”…It’s Zeke.” He replied, sighing to himself.

”Zeke, like, short for Ezekiel?”

“Yep,” he gave up on trying to read the book, showing more interest in their conversation now. Leaning back into his chair, he continued. “Now can I ask the same thing?”

“Of course, I’m going to tell you anyway even if you didn’t ask,” She gave him a smile. “My username is short for ‘Crow Festival’. No hidden meanings, I just really like crows…and cats too, of course.”

Her answer made him smile. “Sounds like a Crowfest response, alright.”

”As for my real name,” Ruelle suddenly extended her hand to him. “It’s Circe, nice to officially meet you, Zeke.”

While the unexpected greeting did confuse him, Silas’ shock remained brief. He gladly took her hand for a firm shake. “Yes, nice to meet you too, Circe.”

.

.

.

After only a few minutes, a maid entered the library and informed them that Marquess Salvador had returned.

“The Marquess is asking for the both of you, my lord and lady.”

”I wonder why he’s calling me too.” Ruelle pondered quietly to herself, though with Silas walking by her side, her words didn’t seem very secretive.

Since no one was around, Silas held the wooden cane like the sheath of a sword. “You were in the dungeon with me, he probably wanted to confirm my words through you,” a cunning smile formed on his lips. “Of course, it’s because he doesn’t know that you’re in on this with me.”

Ruelle responded with a sarcastic roll of her eyes as they turned a corner. But without warning, she suddenly pulled Silas back along with her.

“The fuck? That almost gave me a heart attack.” Silas could still feel his heart thumping against his chest.

”Lysander was there,” Ruelle explained calmly, peeking her head over to see Salvador's eldest son standing like a stern statue in front of his own father’s office. Luckily, he had his eyes glued elsewhere out the window. “Guess he’s the first boss…Quick, put down your cane.”

When they’d readied themselves, the two of them resumed their walk, turning the corner to directly meet with Lysander’s cold gaze. As one pair of azure blue met with another, Ruelle put on a polite smile as she curtsy, grabbing onto her cream-colored dress. “Good afternoon, Lord Lysander.”

While Lysander may appear aloof, he still possesses manners worthy of a noble household’s heir. He swiftly returned her courtesy with a bow of his own. “Good afternoon to you as well, Lady Ruelle.”

Casting a brief glance towards Silas, Ruelle silently nudged him to greet the young man. Having received the message, Silas gave Lysander a short, unreadable stare, before smiling and bowing to him as well. “Hello brother, I hope you didn’t get hurt during your expedition.”

It seemed that Lysander did not expect Silas to bow back, though he swiftly controlled his expression, returning it to neutral. He may have tried, but Ruelle noticed that he snuck a look at her as he replied. “…No I did not. But what about you? I heard you and Lady Ruelle fell into a dungeon.”

”As you can see,” Silas tapped his cane on the ground once, maintaining his cool smile while he spoke. “I protected my fiancee with my body and twisted my ankle.”

“…” Lysander looked down at Silas’ foot. When he found nothing out of the ordinary, the young knight pushed the door behind him open for the two of them. “I have delayed your meeting for far too long, my apologies.”

With Lysander voiding his suspicion, they have one last hurdle to overcome: Marquess Creston Salvador.