The first rays of sunlight reached my room, but I was no longer there. The marquis had sent for directly to his bedroom.
I didn’t exchange glances with anyone in the hallway and walked forward with steady steps, ignoring everything around .
I didn’t care about last night’s disaster in the slightest, but it was clear that the servants didn’t feel the sa way.
From the mont I left my bedroom, the mansion was enveloped in a different atmosphere: the corridors, normally silent, were filled with muffled murmurs and footsteps moving from one side to the other.
As I turned into one of the main corridors, I heard the sound of distant voices, whispers that died down every ti soone noticed my presence.
You didn’t need perfect pitch to guess what they were talking about.
After all, rumours in this house always spread faster than candlelight.
—Haah... —I exhaled softly, letting my breath vanish into the cold air of the corridors.
In the end, I decided not to give it any more thought.
It wasn’t the first ti they’d done this, and it wouldn’t be the last.
Let them talk. Let them invent whatever they wanted. In the end, everything would resolve one way or another.
I focused on my own pace, listening to the echo of my boots against the polished floor.
With each step, my mind replayed the scene from last night:
Shattered glasses.
Blood dripping on the white tablecloth.
The pale faces of my uncles.
"It was... refreshing," I muttered to myself.
A fleeting smile threatened to appear on my lips, but I erased it imdiately.
Now wasn’t the ti.
Soon, I reached the large door that led to the marquis’s chambers.
My reflection wavered across the polished tal of the handles.
I took a breath and prepared to enter.
I wasn’t nervous; I had a fairly clear idea of why he had summoned .
Knock, knock.
—"Co in." —His deep voice resonated from inside, firm, without a trace of emotion.
I turned the handle and slowly pushed the door open, letting the low creak of the hinges announce my arrival.
The air inside was always different from the rest of the mansion.
Heavier.
More suffocating.
Perhaps it was because of his presence, but the atmosphere always felt weighed down, saturated with authority.
The scent of aged wood and dry ink lingered in the air, blending with the faint spring fragrance drifting in from the garden.
The morning light filtered diagonally through the curtains, making the dust hang motionless, as if even ti itself didn’t dare move too close to him.
The marquis was seated behind a massive desk, surrounded by docunts and open books.
His fingers turned a page with calm precision, as if the outside world didn’t exist for him.
The only sounds were the soft rustle of paper and the faint flap of the curtains.
Only when the door closed behind did the silence beco absolute... and then he looked up.
His cold eyes t mine, and I felt nothing.
It had been a long ti since I expected even the faintest warmth from that empty gaze.
—"Marquis... you called for ," I said, keeping my voice low, but not reverent.
He set a docunt aside with a precise, almost calculated motion.
His fingers tapped the desk lightly, the hollow sound echoing in the room.
—"You know the admission date for the Academy is in two weeks," he said at last.
His tone was deep, slow, as if each word were a verdict.
—"When do you plan to leave?"
The question hung in the air.
It wasn’t a suggestion.
It wasn’t concern.
It was an order, thinly veiled as interest—though clearly, he had sothing else in mind.
I t his gaze directly, and for a mont, the silence between us felt endless.
Finally, I gave my answer.
—"Today," I replied with indifference, letting my voice carry the sa coldness with which he always treated .
The marquis held my eyes for a few seconds, as if to confirm I wouldn’t retract my decision.
Then, without a word, he stood with elegant, asured movents and went to a dark wooden cabinet, its doors secured by an iron lock.
He opened it slowly.
The tallic creak filled the room, and for an instant, the air felt colder.
From within, he took out a long case and placed it carefully on the desk.
The dry sound of wood against the surface resounded sharply in the silent room.
When he opened it, the filtered light from the windows reflected on a sheathed sword.
The tal’s gleam seed to drink in the light, its blade perfectly polished.
—"This sword belonged to your mother," the marquis said at last, his voice devoid of emotion, as if speaking of any other object.
"If you’re leaving today, take it with you."
I extended my hand slowly, my fingers gliding over the hilt.
The leather was firm yet soft, fitting into my palm as if it had been made for .
A strange pulse ran through my fingers—a tingling that had nothing to do with mana, but with my own desire for the weapon.
I stepped back from the desk, my boots marking a steady rhythm on the marble floor.
With a slow motion, I drew the sword.
«Shhhk.
The tallic sound spread through the room, filling every corner with a crisp, almost solemn note.
The blade erged like a shard of pure light, briefly reflecting my face.
It was light in my hand, yet its weight spoke of the strength and care it had endured over ti.
I drew in a slow breath.
Then, I slashed downward.
«Fshhh.
The air split without resistance, whistling along the edge.
My arms barely vibrated from the impact against nothing, and for a mont, I felt a satisfaction I hadn’t known in a long ti.
It was a warm, almost welcoming sensation... and dangerous if left unchecked.
—"What a fine sword..." I murmured, barely audible, my gaze fixed on the blade.
The marquis watched in silence from his desk, his cold eyes analyzing each of my movents.
He said nothing, but I could feel it in his gaze.
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