VØⱠɄ₥Ɇ 4, ₱₳Ɽ₮ 3 - Respite: ''Solitude Dans Ses Bras''
The new and better, rebuilt Boreas Estate's main dining area and grand hall were transformed into a captivating realm of opulence, a visual symphony of splendor that heralded the joyous occasion of the engagement ceremony.
The very air seemed to shimmer with anticipation as the sprawling space underwent a metamorphosis, exuding an aura of an overwhelming magnificence that promised an unforgettable celebration.
Stepping into the hall was akin to crossing a threshold into a realm of timeless elegance. The vaulted ceiling soared high above, adorned with intricate wooden beams that bore the weight of history, a tapestry of time-worn stories etched in their grain.
From these beams, majestic banners hung, displaying heraldic emblems and motifs that resonated with long-lived lineage of the Boreas family.
The walls themselves were dressed in cascading curtains of rich brocade, a striking juxtaposition of deep burgundy and regal gold.
The fabric bore delicate patterns and motifs reminiscent of medieval craftsmanship, evoking an air of artistry and craftsmanship that defined the current era.
The opulent drapery flowed gracefully, lending an air of majesty to the hall, while also muffling sounds and infusing a sense of intimacy.
Elaborate candelabras adorned with glistening crystals graced the length of the room, their flickering candles casting a soft and enchanting glow that accentuated the architectural nuances.
The play of light and shadow danced upon the walls and polished floors, casting an atmosphere of ethereal enchantment upon the surroundings.
The tables were adorned with cloths of intricately woven fabric, each fold and crease a exemplification to the meticulous attention to detail.
Centerpieces of crystal vases held resplendent arrangements of wildflowers and ivy, their vibrant colors a captivating contrast against the more muted tones of the room.
The fragrance of fresh blooms intertwined with the earthy aroma of aged wood, creating an olfactory scent that added depth to the sensory experience.
As the few selected "guests" arrived, their gazes were inevitably drawn to the main dais that stood at the heart of the hall.
Beneath an elaborate canopy woven from silk, the focal point of the room was a testament to the love that was being celebrated. The embroidered patterns that adorned the canopy told a story of unity and devotion---a fitting tribute to the bond being forged.
Amidst this captivating tapestry of grandeur, a unique and charming presence made itself known with their diligent hard work.
The demihuman maids, their tails and ears bearing witness to their heritage, moved with grace and poise, serving as living embodiments of diversity.
Some wore the delicate ears and tails of felines, while others exhibited the alert features of canines. A few among them sported the allure of foxes, their tails swaying with an inherent playfulness.
Dressed in period-appropriate attire, their gowns were a reflection of the setting, their distinct features enhancing the enchantment of the gathering. After all, this is what Boreas Greyrats were known for.
These maids moved through the hall with a practices ease, attending to guests and ensuring that every detail of the celebration was executed flawlessly. Their presence added an element of whimsy to the proceedings, their playful demeanor and warm smiles resonating with the guests.
As the esteemed guests gradually settled into the grand hall, an air of familiarity enveloped them. With the clinking of goblets and the soft murmur of laughter, the guests made themselves comfortable, sipping on modest amounts of alcohol that kindled a gentle warmth within.
Small groups formed around tables adorned with an array of beverages, and the nobles engaged in leisurely conversations.
The head of the Boreas household----Sauros Boreas Greyrat, an affable figure despite his noble bearing, mingled with the guests, exchanging pleasantries and stories. His presence lent an air of hospitality, making each guest feel genuinely welcomed but intimidated at the same time.
Then, as if orchestrated by an invisible conductor, a synchronized gasp rippled through the gathering. All eyes turned towards the center of the hall, where a figure emerged, commanding attention with an aura of both poise and elegance.
The Boreas girl-----Eris Greyrat, with her distinctive red hair and eyes, stood before them, a living embodiment of the impending celebration.
Her attire was a perfect reflection of her unique beauty. A gown of deep burgundy flowed gracefully around her form, its lines exuding an understated charm.
The fabric, rich and velvety, caught the candlelight as she moved, casting an entrancing glow upon her. The gown's neckline was modest, yet it bore a delicate embroidery that hinted at the skilled handiwork of artisans.
Her red hair cascaded down her shoulders, framing her features with an ethereal quality. The subtle curve of her lips, painted in a shade that complemented her attire, hinted at the excitement she felt. Her eyes, a captivating shade of red, held a mix of emotions - anticipation, happiness, and a touch of nervousness.
She had a subtle blush on her face as well, which despite trying her best to hide it, didn't disappear.
As the guests' gazes lingered upon her, a collective admiration filled the air. The Boreas girl's presence was like a magnet, drawing their attention and holding it captivated.
After all, she was rumoured to be like a wild animal. Not the gentle, well-mannered girl they were seeing right now.
Indeed, it was Rudeus' effort from before to make her not act all wild.
Rudeus was already standing in front of main dais, looking at her with wide eyes.
"Well then, shall we begin?" Philip asked as Rudeus nodded and Eris did the same.
"Welcome everyone. Today we all have gathered to celebrate the engagement of my daughter, Eris Boreas Greyrat to Rudeus Greyrat from the Notos bloodline."
A series of hushed whispers rose in the crowd, given the animousity between Notos and Boreas.
"Rest assured, Rudeus is not a member of Notos anymore. His father has cut all ties with them years ago." Philip reassured and the whispers died down. "Well then, let's get started."
(***************)
JULIAN GREYRAT
A span of two weeks had flown by since I brought Zenith back into our fold. In the initial duo of days, even after enduring nearly three years of unbroken dormancy, she exhibited an inclination towards extended slumber.
While awake, her movements bore a distinct lethargy, prompting me to adopt a hands-off approach, allowing her to amass as much rest as she required.
Intermittently, she would rouse from her repose in a state of agitation, calling out my name. However, as I was permanently staying in her room all the time, I was perpetually at her side, facilitating her swift reassurance---her anxiety dissipating swiftly.
I took to preparing nourishing stews and other warming sustenance, which she consumed without resistance. Evidently, her appetite remained robust, an encouraging sign.
I cooked some stew and other warm foods for her which she ate without any problems. She doesn't have an appetite problem. Which is good. Very good. The crystal imprisonment didn't give her much of an issue.
The other day Nanahoshi tried making soup for her. I appreciate the effort but Zenith doesnt seem to like anything beside the things I make for her. Needless to say, she still drank the soup and even smiled at her.
Nanahoshi had a proud look on her face that day. So, I had to later check if Zenith had a bad stomach or any other abnormality. Thankfully, she was alright.
Now, addressing the central predicament-–Zenith's paucity of communicative faculties. Employing the term "absence of expressions" appears superfluous, given her capacity to display a range of emotions, including smiles, as well as indications of sorrow and astonishment.
However, this spectrum of expressions encapsulates the entirety of her emotional conveyance.
Curiously, the act of shedding tears seems a foreign concept now, or rather, she has yet to evince any earnest attempts at crying. One day, I observed her sniffling during her mid-day slumber, yet no trace of tears accompanied this.
When content, her face radiates with smiles, a response she also extends when met with jokes. However, her laughter, once so characteristic of her, appears to have become a vestige of the past.
She can't laugh out loud. The only difference between her smile and her laugh is the difference between how widely she's smiling. It almost feels like a grin.
Her physical recuperation is gradually approaching its former state of normalcy. Over a span of a week, I facilitated her mobility by offering support, looping her arm around my neck.
Presently, she has reclaimed the capability to walk unassisted, even at an accelerated pace.
Nevertheless, my apprehension lingered, prompting a relocation of her room to a more secure setting downstairs---just beside Nanahoshi's room. She had decided to not go back to Ranoa Magic Academy as well and to tend to Zenith when I am not around.
I should thank her once I am done with my missions.
Moving on.
Just like the partial modulation of her emotional expressions, her verbal communication remains encumbered.
She can muster the utterance of my name, albeit with intermittent gaps, a skill she acquired after prolonged practice.
Compounded by the challenge of her vocal cords grappling with elongated appellations, like my own, the proficiency to enunciate remains elusive.
Her attempts at pronouncing my name commence with the syllable "Ju," yet she is intermittently hindered, evoking a stifled sound, as if grappling to articulate. Ultimately, she manages to vocalize "lian."
On the contrary, the simplicity of "Paul," due to its brevity, gives rise to no pause in her utterance, and she managed to say it on her fourth turn.
It appears that concerted interaction and dedicated time spent together may facilitate her gradual reacquisition of fluent speech. I can make her talk like normal again. I just need to spend sufficient time with her.
Now, a pivotal question arises: should I divulge the discovery of Zenith's whereabouts to my entire family?
Intuitively, this path appears optimal, particularly given Zenith's palpable concern for Paul and their children, Lilia and Aisha too. While my curiosity about the well-being of my sisters lingers, their current proximity to Paul allays my immediate apprehensions.
Paul is strong and has talent to acheive more than what he has confined himself to be.
During our shared training, he neared the precipice of becoming a [Sword Saint].
Adversity often spurs human evolution, and by now, he may well have attained that rank. I trust him to safeguard my sisters and Lilia for the time being.
Presently, my foremost priority revolves around Zenith's recuperation, if not complete, then at least a partial restoration. I wish to unite her with the family, but only once she's on the path to healing.
To this end, I've devised a strategy.
Utilising the curative properties of healing magic, I want to target her brain, using earth's medical knowledge to forcefully intervene in her impaired neural impulses and reverse the adverse magical effects of the crystal's magic that debilitated her faculties.
However, there is a caveat: Zenith lacks the proficiency to wield healing magic for protection of her brain during the process.
My ability to shield her is mutually exclusive with my execution of the reversal spell. The stakes are high; a misstep could potentially lead to irreversible brain damage.
Because I cannot carry the protection and reversal of mana effects at the same time.
Even reversing the procedure seems like a faraway dream. But I can't just not try it. However, at the same time, the risks are untenable. Any misjudgment could exact an irreversible toll on her cognitive well-being.
Hence, I find myself compelled to engage in a series of experimental trials. These endeavors are crucial to ascertain the viability and safety of my proposed method.
At present, I am en route to a run-down tavern, nestled in isolation, far removed from any population center. This decrepit establishment has garnered a reputation as a haven for rogues, harboring a motley crew of criminals and miscreants.
Pushing the tavern's door open, its ominous creak filled the air. The entrance allowed a rush of frigid wind to sweep in, causing the oil lamps to momentarily flicker before steadying in their glow. The interior was veiled in dimness, casting elongated shadows that wove tales along the well-worn wooden floorboards.
A symphony of scents engulfed me—wafts of roasted meat intermingling with the sharp bite of alcohol. The tavern's timeworn decor, tattered decorations hanging askew, breathed an aura of age and concealed conversations.
Tables held enclaves of patrons, each cluster an insular realm of its own.
At one corner, burly figure exchanged stories amidst hearty laughter, concealed daggers glinting ominously from their belts.
Closer to the hearth, a group of gamblers gathered, their expressions guarded as they tapped out rhythms of anticipation on battered playing cards.
The bar stood as the hub of activity, a sanctuary for a motley assortment of dubious characters. The bartender, his knuckles marred by scars, moved with a practiced efficiency as he poured drinks.
Seating myself on a worn chair by the bar, I allowed my gaze to drift across the length of the tavern. Each corner seemed to harbor its own tale.
My attention settled on the bartender in front of me as he served the other customers seated beside me, his hands betraying more than just skill in pouring drinks.
The faint but distinctive contours of a scar marked his knuckles. The way he held the cups, the unpredictable fluidity of his movements—it all painted a silent narrative.
Hmmm.... North God style, huh?
The precision in his grip and the depth of the scar bespoke years of practice and perhaps, a final battle. The shape of the stitched wound seemed like the bite mark of a particular monster.
A Pax Coyote encounter, no doubt—a seasoned swordsman, retired after a hard-fought skirmish that left its indelible mark.
Shifting uncomfortably on the rickety barstool, I leaned against the worn counter, my gaze fixed on the assortment of bottles lining the shelves. The bartender with an Irish lilt in his speech, leaned over the counter, giving me a quizzical look.
"Good evenin', lad. What'll be your poison?" His question carried the cadence of someone who'd engaged in countless conversations with patrons over the years.
Well of course. He did.
I looked up, removing my mask and met his gaze. "Well, what kind of firewater do you have?" I asked, genuinely curious about the limited selection of spirits in this establishment.
The bartender scratched his stubbled chin, his eyes flicking toward the bottles behind him. "Not a wide selection, I'll admit. We got a decent red wine, white wine, some spiced vine - that's like vodka, mind ya - and a good ol' whiskey."
Arching an eyebrow at the modest selection, I found it to be a fitting reflection of the tavern's rustic allure. "I reckon I'll settle for water," I replied, my tone light, matching his accent. Using the real accent of mine would be a scream to every thug in the vicinity that I was a bag of gold, ready to be kidnapped and ransomed.
"Eh?"
"Hmm, seems I've got a predicament then. You see, I don't drink." I replied, shrugging.
A hearty laugh erupted from him, the sound filling the air like a jovial melody. "Don't drink, ya say? Well, that's a rarity in these parts, I'll tell ya that much."
I looked around before concentrating back at him. "Aye! It might be, but it's the truth. I'll have a glass of water, if you don't mind."
His laughter subsided, replaced by a friendly grin. With a knowing nod, he grabbed a glass and filled it from a wooden barrel behind the counter. "Water it is, then. Can't say I meet many blokes who come here for the aqua, but it's your choice, yeah. Ya better chug it down like ya mean it."
As he placed the glass before me, I offered a nod of gratitude. "Appreciate it."
"Anytime, lad. Enjoy your stay," he replied with a wink, and I raised my glass of water in response to his well-wishes.
After tending to the other patrons, the bartender leaned closer to me, his weathered face etched with curiosity as he whispered. "Pardon me for askin', but what's a noble like yerself doin' in a place like this, eh?"
I took a thoughtful sip of my water, appreciating the genuine interest in his query. "I am no noble, although I've come for a purpose, my friend. I've a particular interest in purchasing something from the owner."
The bartender's brows furrowed in mild surprise, but he recovered quickly, a wry smile playing on his lips. "Aye? And what might that somethin' be?"
I leaned in, my voice hushed in response to the tavern's atmosphere. "Best we discuss this privately, I reckon."
His expression turned grim as he straightened, his eyes probing mine. "Aye, I see. You'd be lookin' for somethin' that's not exactly the usual fare, am I right?"
Meeting his gaze without hesitation, I replied, "You catch on quick. Now, where might I find the tavern's owner?"
His lips tightened into a thin line, his demeanor stern as he spoke in a low tone. "Ye'll find him upstairs. But I'll warn ye, lad, tread carefully. There's more to him than meets the eye."
"Thanks for the advice." I replied and got up. He opened the door that led to the stairs that guided the way to the upper floor.
As we reached the door, the man from earlier rapped his knuckles against it. "Boss, there's someone waitin' tae see ye!" His voice carried through the wooden barrier. After a moment's pause, a response emanated from within.
"Aye, let 'im in." The command was curt, the voice gruff and laden with an air of authority. The hinges groaned as the door swung open, revealing the dimly lit interior of the room beyond.
As I entered the room, my gaze locked onto the figure before me. He sat with an air of quiet authority, his weathered features exuding the weight of experience.
The room bore telltale signs of its occupant—a strategic arrangement of furniture, designed to facilitate surprise attacks. The meticulous attention to detail indicated familiarity with the North God style, yet the unsheathed sword resting beside him hinted at a proficiency in Sword God Style.
An intriguing blend of skills.
Seated across from him, I inclined my head slightly. "Julian Greyrat," I introduced myself.
"Ah, a Greyrat, are ye?" His eyes bore into mine, assessing. "From which branch, then?"
"No branch. Me dad was banished, yeah," I responded candidly, the truth having no room for embellishments.
He nodded slowly, a hint of recognition flickering in his gaze. "Komrad Bluewolf," he offered, his voice steady.
Bluewolf? One of Ariel's caretakers had Bluewolf in her name. So, he is a former noble. That can make things easy. Focusing back on the current situation, I talked again. "I've come with an offer, one that may be of interest to you."
His gaze held a spark of curiosity. "Speak yer piece, lad."
"Komrad....." I inquired, seeking a glimpse into his motivations, "...what's of greatest value to you in this world?"
His response was succinct, a gesture denoting money—a universal language that required no translation.
"You care only for gold?" I ventured, intrigued by his forthright admission.
A chuckle rumbled in his throat. "Aye, sire. Gold's a commodity that's always honest. It's never let me down."
A thought began to take shape, and I met his gaze squarely. "If I were to offer you a sum substantial enough, would you be willing to sell me something?"
His brows rose in mild curiosity. "And what might that somethin' be?"
I took a measured breath, my words chosen carefully. "The lives of everyone currently in this tavern."
He regarded me with a mixture of surprise and intrigue, his features reflecting the weight of my proposition. "Ye've a peculiar request there, lad. Explain yerself."
With honesty in my voice, I revealed my intent. "I have no wish to be burdened by wanted posters in some distant city. That's why I'm here, seeking an arrangement that would ensure no complaints are lodged."
Komrad's lips quirked into a wry smile, his gaze assessing. "Ye've a pragmatic mind, Julian Greyrat. I'll give ye that."
"So? Name yer price."
"Well, ya see, there are 30 people in the tavern right now, yeah? Human life isn't all that cheap."
"Like I said, name yer price."
"1000 gold coins. Take it or leave it."
"Done." I replied immediately, tossing a bag of 1000 gold coins.
He looked at in surprise and smirked, "Happy slaughtering." He said with a grin over his face, before looking at me again, "Oh, don't worry about the cleanup. The barkeeper's me brother. He'd sweep the shit ya leave."
"Bold of yer to assume I won't end his life as well."
"I like peeps like you, ya know? People like you don't ditch a person until you've milked them of every last drop. I've got a lot of uses, ya know. And you won't be able to make use of me if you kill me brother."
I looked over my shoulder before nodding. "True."
But I have other methods.
(**********)
3rd Person Perspective
The tavern lay ensconced in an eerie hush, its doors bolted, and windows concealed by metallic shutters that barred even the faintest glimmer of external light.
The air was pregnant with the heavy scent of blood—a tang that mingled with the remnants of the roasted meat and alcohol that once permeated the atmosphere.
Inside this chamber of macabre secrets, the scene was one of visceral horror.
The patrons, who once reveled in their libations, now bore the gruesome marks of brutalisation.
Limbs severed, appendages left discarded; some sat with gaping wounds, others impaled upon the walls, their bodies transformed into grotesque decor---pinned like decoration against the wall.
Their cries, stifled by pain and shock, lingered in the air like an agonizing symphony.
In the heart of this gruesome tableau sat a boy, an unsettling visage in a blank mask that bore the semblance of a mockery. Red tears streamed from the gaps that concealed his eyes, tracing pathways along the porcelain surface.
His posture was one of insolence, his feet propped upon a table while his head rested on the chair's top edge.
A cascade of silky white hair, an ethereal contrast against the horror that surrounded him, flowed down like a moonlit river, casting an eerie glow in the chamber of nightmarish excess.
It was Julian Greyrat, currently in his Kiyotaka persona, wanted all over the Asura Kingdom for the crimes of killing the Prime Minister and threatening to force war against the Notos Greyrats. Someone, who was also rumoured to be on equal standings with the [Dragon God - Orsted] despite not being in the [Seven Great World Powers]
"You sure took your time." Komrade, his new business partner spoke out loud as he emerged in the room, looking around and taking in Julian's handiwork.
"They were quite strong..... for thugs and thieves. But it makes sense. Only through strength would they have managed to survive this long." He commented, his mask still on.
"Oh? You think so? I think not ONLY strength is needed." Komrade argued, ignoring the pained cries of the half-dead people around him.
"Well, can you do something about it if I want to sever your head right now?" Julian asked, an air of nonchalance in his tone but his eyes bore holes into Komrade's skull.
The response was candid, with a hint of resignation. "It'd be a bother, but I suppose you'd have the upper hand."
"Hmm. Probably. Can I have your tavern for tonight?" Julian asked.
"Eeeeeeeeh, rent costs separately, mate." He replied with a grin.
Julian sighed and placed 2 gold coins on the table.
"Come on, dear Julian, let's not be this cheap."
"The place is rather dilapidated. If you want more, then I won't be taking a guarantee for the security of this place. It might not be in one piece by the morning."
"Tch...Alright, alright." He accepted the two gold coins and went outside. His brother followed suit and closed the door behind themselves.
"Well then, let us start with you." Julian said and sheathed his blade, making his way to a fat man. Both of his arms and one leg was cut off; however, he was laying on a mediocre level healing circle, which kept him from dying. Grabbing him by his hair, Julian brought his face next to his. "Let's see what you have to offer."
Placing the palm of his hand over his head, he channeled mana as he gripped his skull with a bone-crushing grip.
An astute theory began to take shape, nurtured by his comprehensive understanding of both Earth's medical knowledge and the intricacies of the magical arts of this world. It was a notion that held the potential to unravel the perplexing tangle of mana's interference with the human brain.
The foundation of this theory rested upon a delicate balance between two domains—medicine and magic—each possessing their own arsenal of insights and capabilities.
Julian understood that the human brain, the epicenter of cognition and the seat of consciousness, was subject to a complex interplay of neural impulses and intricate networks of synapses.
However, the infusion of mana, a ubiquitous force that pervaded their world, introduced an additional layer of complexity. Mana, while bestowing individuals with extraordinary abilities, also cast a shadow upon the fragile harmony within the brain, often manifesting as debilitating disabilities or distortions.
Just like the case with his mother.
The key, Julian postulated, laid in the synergy between Earth's medical wisdom and the arcane art of Healing Magic.
The former provided him with a detailed blueprint of the brain's functionality, identifying neural pathways, synaptic junctions, and the subtleties of their interactions.
This knowledge, accumulated over centuries of Earth's scientific progress, offered a roadmap to a realm where the brain's secrets could be unveiled.
However, the crux of the matter lay in the application. Julian recognized that magic, while an incredible tool, was also an unpredictable force.
Channeling mana with precision required a level of expertise that few could master.
And even less for purposes like this. It was evident from the fact that Orsted said that his mother was incurable.
Yet, the union of Healing Magic and Earth's medical expertise held the potential to harness these twin forces for a greater purpose: the restoration of neural pathways damaged by mana's turbulent touch.
"Let's get started." He whispered to himself.
[Emperor Ranked Healing Magic]
On paper, it was [Healing Magic], but the magic was actually about altering and interfering with biology. It's just that people could not fathom other possibilities with this magic, because of how backward this place was. Another reason was over-dependance on magic and adhering to the crude foundations that stopped them from usiung it to it's full potential.
This was what Orsted talked about. Due to his advanced knowledge about "almost" everything from earth, Julian had grasped the true "essence" of magic.
"Cerebral Cortex.....huh?" He murmured to himself and closed his eyes. The next instant, the man's eyes rolled back as he too went into a trance. Julian was already in control of the man's brain.
With masterful precision, Julian's willful intent converged on the neural conduits that carried the delicate threads of reality to the core of one's consciousness. The initial task was to overwrite these conduits, subtly altering the very fabric of perception of reality for each individual.
The process was akin to forging new tributaries within a river—creating divergent channels for information to flow.
There were no incantations. However, he murmured the pathways of every organ and nerve in a human brain as he slowly recollected their location and their individual as well as functions on a broader spectrum of human biology.
As Julian guided his magic-infused touch, the boundaries between the magical and the medical became blurred.
It was as though he was playing the role of both conductor and composer, orchestrating a metamorphosis that defied the constraints of the known world.
Each step was marked by caution, his approach meticulous and systematic. He recalibrated the neural pathways with an artist's precision, curating the new reality that would be etched into the fabric of his subject's consciousness---a redefined perception.
The boundaries of reality wavered as the individual's perceptions were rewritten. The reality they had once known shifted, replaced by a meticulously constructed landscape—an altered existence where the threads of truth were woven anew.
After being done with him, he stumbled back, the drain of mana making him dizzy.
"Keek, ook, akakak."
"Hm?" Julian looked forward and saw the man scratching his belly, as he looked at Julian with wide eyes. He pouted..... no, rather he made a face like monkey and started hopping around despite his lack of limbs, flailing all over the place.
Everyone else watching had now morbid fear coursing through their veins.
"It works, but this one is a failure." Julian spoke, his voice composed. Green light shimmered for a split second and a blade of wind cleaved the man---now transformed into a monkey. "I designed him to act like a gorilla, not a baboon."
He spoke in a disappointing way and turned his head to the others. "Well, well, who's next."
(My guy got that feline energy)
(********)
The first rays of the sun, like molten gold breaking free from their celestial chamber, brushed against the edge of the horizon. With a tender embrace, they unfurled their brilliance across the expanse, casting aside the canvas of darkness and infusing every corner with their radiant touch.
The entire world seemed to be on the cusp of a new beginning.
Slowly, amidst the soft whispers of morning zephyr, the landscape emerged from the shadowed embrace of night. The sandy terrain of Begaritt continent seemed like grains of pure gold in the daybreak, granting it an enchanting appearance.
The manor that stood on the outskirts of Rapan stood tall, its huge lawn looking like an Oasis in the middle of the desert. It was impossible to consider that such greenery could exist in the middle of this desert like terrain.
Walking briskly, Julian arrived in front of the house. He looked up at the house and sighed. Reaching out for his face, he removed the mask and attached it to the belt inside his robe. With another sigh, he took in a deep breath and light heatedly walked in the manor.
Arriving inside, he immediately went towards his mother's room. Opening the door gently, he saw Zenith sleeping, her chest moving the covers up and down as she slept peacefully. Julian walked over to her and looked down. Seeing the utensils beside her, it seems like she was given something late at night.
'Nanahoshi perhaps?' He thought. Looking back at his mother, he removed the glove on his hand and placed it on her forehead. After making sure she wasn't sick, he let out a sigh of relief before wearing his glove back.
All of the experiments with the men resurfaced in his mind. He succeeded in the first of the three phases of the cure.
"Just a bit more," he murmured under his breath, a determined whisper that seemed to hang in the air. With a purposeful turn, his robe swished softly, creating a gentle flapping sound as he left the room.
Walking up the stairs and taking a sharp turn, he moved towards the balcony and placed both his hands on the balustrade that covered the perimeter of the spacious balcony.
"Where were you all night?" A voice whispered from behind him as Julian lowered, his chin just a few centimeteres away from his folded arms.
"Work. I think I told you before." He replied, looking at the source of the voice. Nanahoshi was draped in a long black shawl that covered her from shoulders to below her knees. Her eyes were droopy, almost bloodshot. She rubbed her eyes as she walked closer to him.
"What kind of work?" She asked, standing beside him.
"Something," Julian replied and looked at the rising sun. "Sun rise is nice. Do you know you can get vitamin D from it."
"I know all that. They taught us that." She replied, deadpanning at him before speaking again. "Were you out for your mom?"
"Hmmm. Something like that." He replied in a dubious tone.
"I trust you more than my own brother. If that helps." Julian remarked, the rising sun casting a golden hue in his pale blue eyes.
"That does help a lot. I can't beging to express how ecstatic I feel at your approval, your majesty." She mocked and looked away. However, underneath that mockery, she suppresed a smile by biting the corner of her lip, not letting the smile rise up to her face.
"As long as you understand." Julian replied in a lighthearted tone, and she felt the tension dissipate. She inched closer and suddenly stopped.
"Julian?"
"It's in the way..... your spell."
"Oh..." Realising he was still maintaining the barrier around him, he released it and immediately felt relief wash over him as his mana reserves got time to relax.
Making sure that it was no longer there, she got closer and placed her head on his shoulder.
"Hm?" Julian hummed, looking down at her.
"I'm sleepy." She replied, closing her eyes.
"Uhhh, so am I. Can you sleep somewh--" Before he could finish her sentence, he realised she was already asleep with her back against the balustrade and her body leaning against his. He looked at her face. She had dark circles underneath her eyes. He was about to wake her up but realised that most probably she was awake to look after Zenith. Once the thought crossed his mind, he let her lean on him.
Just for today, he thought. Slipping his hands underneath her knees and placing the other hand under head, he picked her up in a princess-carry, leading her to her room.
"I can't keep mom here forever." Julian thought to himself before he entered Nanahoshi's room, his eyes dark and heavy.