An Heir Awakened V

The days since Vhal's awakening had melded into a blur of restless exploration and relentless study. He had reclaimed his place within the Ashfell Manor, though as a shadowy presence lurking in the periphery, unseen and unknown to most. It was essential that his return remained a secret, at least for now.

In the dimly lit chamber, Vhal--clad in black and gray silken clothes, befitting an heir to a noble household, tailored to his size, and provided by Salazar--sat at a large oak desk, a stack of dusty tomes before him. The room was filled with the musty scent of old parchment, and the occasional crackling of the hearth provided the only sound.

He had spent hours poring over scrolls and texts, absorbing the knowledge of a world that had continued to turn without him. And to say he was shocked was the least... 

The Malakar Empire, the sprawling behemoth of power to which their Kingdom—Avenir—was a vassal, like many others, was once again plunged into the throes of war. Vhal's eyes scanned the documents that detailed the political landscape, as some familiar names and alliances appeared in ink. Times of war was a prime opportunity for ambitious nobles to rise amidst the chaos, and Vhal needed to be prepared.

However, the information in front of him was of no concern for the time being. The world beyond the Ashfell Manor was not his main concern. Vhal was more so directed on a local stage, for The Ashen Valley, the ancestral land of House Ashfell, was in turmoil. The local lords of the various towns had openly refused to pay taxes, their disputes erupting into petty conflicts. There was no semblance of control, and the once harmonious region was now divided and bitter.

Vhal closed the tome with a thud, and leaned back in his chair, his thoughts drifting to the delicate balance he needed to strike. He had to remain hidden while taking the first steps towards reclaiming control. It was a treacherous path, one that required "allies" and information. In his mind the latter being far more useful, for information could force "allies" to his side. 

Vhal considered his next move, and as his mind swirled in thoughts, there came a soft knock at his chamber door. Rose, the servant who was his main agent in the outside world now, entered with a tray bearing a pot of tea and a plate of pastries. She had become his silent informant, gathering rumors and gossip from the household personnel, but so too, has she been giving him company, which he may have previously rejected... but found pleasant, as he had enough loneliness for lifetimes. 

"Rose, what news have you brought today?" Vhal inquired, his voice low and measured. 

Rose--still clumsy and awkward--curtsied before setting the tray down. "My lord, there have been some whispers that you may still be alive. Some of the staff have noticed the changes, the subtle shifts in the household with the requests of books and me bringing in food more often. Some have even asked me, and I told them what Salazar instructed me to. But they are becoming suspicious."

Vhal would acknowledge her information with a grateful nod, as he spun to look towards the toe-tapping maid--a habit of hers when she was nervous--as he fought to look at how the cloth clung to her body. Needing a break from both his studies and Rose's curves, he asked, "And what of you Rose, have you been painting recently?" 

Rose in the middle of pouring a cup of tea jumped with a startle, as she looked at him in confusion until her face changed into one of realization. "It's weird that you know all this," she mumbled. 

Vhal chuckled, looking towards her with amusement. "Yes, Rose, it is weird for me as well, to know about how you like the smell of chalk or the colors you prefer to use in your paintings. But knowledge is a powerful tool, and in this world, information is currency. Where as Magic is power. It allows me to better understand those around me."

Rose blushed slightly at the mention of her artistic inclinations. "Well, my lord, I did manage to finish a small painting recently. It's nothing special, just a landscape of the Ashen Valley, but I hope you'll find it pleasing."

Vhal nodded appreciatively. "I would love to see it, Rose. Art has a way of capturing the essence of a place, and the Ashen Valley holds a special significance for House Ashfell."

With that, Rose reached into her apron pocket and produced a small, carefully wrapped thin paper that had a smear of colors and blends. She unfolded it with care and presented it to Vhal. The painting depicted a serene view of the Ashen Valley, with rolling hills and a clear, and the five winding rivers stemming from the great ashen river, as it is called. The colors were soft and muted, reflecting the tranquility of the landscape.

"It's lovely, Rose," Vhal remarked genuinely. "You truly do have a talent in such an art form." 

Rose blushed, her earlier nervousness fading away. "Thank you, my lord. I'm glad you like it. Now, you know Mr. Salazar told me to feed you three times a day, at least. If you want to learn Magic he says, then you first need to improve the vitality of you health. After all, I would know better than most, you see my sister and I use to always eat an egg a day because mother told us we would otherwise turn into--" 

Rose's words bled into the distance as Vhal focused in on her beaming smile and big brown eyes. For all his pesisim, he hadn't felt isolation when the chatterbox of a girl was around, and he couldn't help but feel a sense of connection with Rose. She was more than just an informant; she was a link to the outside world, a reminder of the human connections he had missed during his long slumber, and in both lives of his. 

In the lonely embrace of his chamber in Ashfell Manor, her presence brought a touch of warmth. Their conversation then drifted to lighter topics, with Rose sharing stories of the household and its quirks. Vhal found himself drawn into the tales of the staff and their daily lives, as if he were a silent observer in the midst of it all. 

The conversation eventually dwindled, and Vhal returned to his studies, immersing himself in the wealth of knowledge he had acquired. Two days had passed since his awakening, and before he knew it, another four slipped by in a blur.

In the days that followed, this routine became a comforting anchor in Vhal's otherwise solitary existence. Rose's visits offered a respite from the weight of his responsibilities and the complexities of the world beyond. Her knowledge and companionship provided solace in the midst of his relentless pursuit of information.

Salazar would come and go as his duties allowed, but in the quiet moments, Vhal was left to study and contemplate. As the days melded into the sixth, he found himself feeling more comfortable in his own skin, the flush of his cheeks returning, and the slight emaciation of his body slowly abating.

The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows in the chamber. Vhal bid Rose farewell for the evening, knowing that his time of inaction was drawing to a close. He had absorbed all he could from his seclusion, and he understood that the moment for action had arrived.

With the door gently closing behind her, Vhal was left alone with his thoughts once more. The days spent in seclusion had served their purpose. He had reacquainted himself with the world's history, the intricacies of empires, and the tumultuous state of his barony. He had also discovered an unexpected but pleasant connection with Rose through their interactions.

Vhal moved to the window, gazing out at the moonlit courtyard below. The night held its own secrets, and he couldn't help but feel a sense of anticipation for what lay ahead. Tomorrow would mark the beginning of his active involvement in this world. History, politics, and the study of warfare had filled his days, preparing him for the challenges to come.

As he settled into his bed, Vhal's mind buzzed with plans and possibilities. Sleep found him, and he welcomed its embrace, knowing that the dawn would herald a new chapter in his journey to reclaim House Ashfell and his rightful place in the world.

~ ~ ~

As the sun rose on the seventh day since his awakening, its golden rays spilled into Vhal's chamber, casting a warm glow over the room. He awoke with a sense of urgency stirring within his gut, a call to action that had grown insistent during his days of quiet preparation. It was time to take the first steps in this new world, as a reborn person.

With determined strides, Vhal crossed the chamber to a spacious marbled en-suite bathroom. There, a large, ornate tub awaited him, filled with cool water scented with fragrant herbs. He undressed and stepped into the invigorating embrace of the bath, feeling not only the residual dirt but also the remnants of his long slumber washing away.

Emerging from the tub a mere few minutes later, droplets of water glistening on his ash-tinted white skin, Vhal wrapped a towel around his waist and approached a full-length mirror. His reflection revealed a man who had emerged from the depths of a long slumber, reborn into a new life, from two previous ones. 

Vhal's jet-black hair, still damp from his bath and—thanks to Rose—neatly trimmed, cascaded nearly down to his shoulders. His eyes, a shade of ashen gray, were lined with stark silver rings, clearly showing his distinct familial lineage. His face was chiseled, with sharp cheekbones and a jawline that spoke of his noble lineage. Three pale, jagged scars marred his neck, remnants of the assassination attempt that had nearly claimed his life. Despite these blemishes, his skin once pale as snow, now bore a healthier complexion, back to its ash-colored and snowy white mix, a testament to the vitality he had regained.

Turning his attention to his recently tailored attire, compliments of Salazar, Vhal dressed in attire befitting his station. He donned a black silken shirt adorned with an intricate patch of silver embroidery, depicting the symbol of House Ashfell—the ominous eye positioned in the forefront of the ashen mountains, with a twisted thorn crown atop a flame, housing an enigmatic demon's visage. Over it, he fastened a black leather belt with a platinum silver-lined buckle—an antique piece of his family, rumored to be crafted from the hide of a Stygianclaw, a mythical creature of Primal Wolf descent. Vhal looped it through his dark trousers, appreciating the air of power it exuded. Completing the ensemble with a well-crafted pair of ashen leather boots.

To further emphasize his status, Vhal adorned himself with lightweight battle armor. His cuirass was made of black shards of quality metal, jagged and lethal in appearance, with shades of gray and ash painted to match House Ashfell's colors. 

On his left hand, he wore a signet ring bearing the same Ashfell crest, a formidable piece crafted from an obsidian gem, etched with silver; an ominous eye, perched in front of ashen mountains, with a twisted thorn crown and a sinister demon's face within the eye. When Salazar had gifted him this ring yesterday, a memento passed down through generations of his forebears, he couldn't help but feel a surge of childlike excitement, a stirring reminiscent of his earthly upbringing.

Taking his eyes off the gleaming ring and inhaling deeply, Vhal centered himself one last time before pushing open the grand doors of his chamber; revealing a long and weathered yet opulent corridor filled with anticipation. 

The knights stationed outside snapped to attention instantly upon his emergence. The distinct metallic rasp of swords being drawn from their sheaths filled the corridor, echoing off the walls  in an eerie cling. Each gleaming steel sword rested on top of their shields, ready to be used at moment's notice.  The five-man group that had been stationed here rotated swiftly, arranging themselves into a perfect half-arc formation, with Vhal at its center. All in all, Vhal was impressed. 

And as the knights reacted to his presence, taking note of the figure, their eyes started to flash with recognition. Vhal, standing around 6'1, towered over some of them, his stature imposing and commanding. He had matured during his slumber, but his facial features remained irrevocably his own—the unmistakable countenance of the young master of House Ashfell.

The revelation of his return rippled through the ranks of the knights, and for a moment, a hushed sense of disbelief hung in the air like a heavy fog. Vhal could see it in their eyes—the mixture of shock, awe, and realization that their lord had indeed come back to them. Behind their gray metal helmets, their mouths twitched with unspoken words, their emotions running deep.

With resolve and authority, Vhal addressed them, his voice cutting through the silence. "Stand down," he began, watching as they slowly backed up, hesitatingly lowering their swords.

"You know who I am. Yes, it is me, Vhal Ashfell, heir to House Ashfell, and your Lord. Present in face, and returned from slumber, your loyalty is to my house. Now, lower your swords and put aside your worries." Vhal stepped forward. 

"Lead me to your commander... for there is much to discuss and even more to be done."

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Author's Note: And... were off! Let the story unfold! Happy reading!