CHAPTER 52: CHAPTER 52

The two moons had long claimed the night sky, its glows casting soft silver and blue across the gleaming rooftops of the Velebrandt estate. The birthday celebration of Lucien Caelum Velebrandt—though a belated one—had come to a graceful end. The great hall, once filled with music, laughter, clinking glasses, and swirling dresses, now stood still and echoing with the quiet hum of the late hours.

Outside, the estate grounds echoed with the faint rumbling of departing carriages. Luxurious vehicles adorned with the crests of various noble houses rolled down the gravel paths in dignified procession, guided by knights of House Velebrandt clad in midnight-blue cloaks. Their armor gleamed faintly under the moonlight, polished and resolute even at this late hour.

Inside, the maids moved like wraiths of elegance and efficiency. Dressed in their deep navy uniforms trimmed in silver, they worked in near silence, gathering fallen goblets, folding decorative linens, and brushing stray crumbs from the velvet carpets. The once brilliant feast tables had been cleared, and only the lingering scent of magical spices and rich wines hung faintly in the air.

Lucien stood quietly near one of the tall arched windows, his hands behind his back, eyes half-lidded in fatigue. He could still hear the distant popping of fireworks echoing across the valley, emanating from the townsfolk’s continued celebrations. Their joy extended the night, painting flickers of red, blue, and gold into the night sky far beyond the estate walls.

His gaze was drawn away from the window by the soft approach of two figures. Turning, Lucien recognized them immediately—his father, the Grand Duke, and his mother, the Archduchess. The two carried their usual air of silent authority, but their eyes held warmth as they approached.

Lucien straightened instinctively, though exhaustion tugged at his limbs.

"Father. Mother," he greeted with a respectful nod.

The Grand Duke, regal as ever in a deep navy tunic adorned with sapphire accents, returned the gesture with a firm but gentle tone. "Lucien. We won’t keep you long. Your performance tonight was commendable. You upheld the name of House Velebrandt with grace."

Lucien dipped his head, his silver hair falling slightly across his brow. "Thank you. I did my best."

The Grand Duke exchanged a glance with the Archduchess, then continued. "About your awakening... we’ll be reaching out to several specialists—old allies and scholars of the arcane—to discern the nature of your power. Whether it is aura, mana, or holy light, we must understand it before your next stage of training."

The Archduchess, serene in her flowing gown of starlight gold, placed a soft hand on Lucien’s shoulder. "It may take weeks before we receive answers. In the meantime, I want you to rest. You’ve done more than enough for today."

Lucien gave a small, sincere smile. "Yes, Mother. Thank you. Both of you."

The Grand Duke gave a short nod. "Go on. Rest now. We’ll speak more tomorrow."

With their blessing, Lucien gave one final bow and turned, the soft click of his shoes echoing faintly down the corridor as he left the hall.

The corridor was lit by hovering crystal sconces embedded into the marble walls, their bluish hue painting the hallway with a dreamlike ambiance. The golden carpets stretched ahead like a path from one dream to the next. Lucien’s steps slowed as the hush of solitude embraced him. The air was cooler here, away from the warmth and chatter of the ballroom.

Finally reaching his chamber door, Lucien gently pushed it open and stepped into the familiar embrace of his private sanctuary. He let out a quiet breath—one he hadn’t even noticed holding.

He walked to his closet and opened the polished oaken doors, revealing a neat row of garments. Shedding the weight of his formal noble attire, he carefully slipped into soft grey pajama robes stitched with faint silver thread, the fabric cool and smooth against his skin.

He padded across the room barefoot and paused by the window. Down in the distance, fireworks still bloomed across the sky, their reflections glittering against the glass panes.

"I didn’t expect them to still be celebrating," he murmured.

With a small chuckle, Lucien turned from the view and walked toward the center of the room, where his grand canopy bed awaited. Crafted from silverwood and veiled in gossamer sheets, the bed looked almost like a cloud in the night. He climbed in, the plush mattress sinking gently beneath him.

Dozens of pillows awaited his touch—soft, perfumed with calming floral scents from the estate’s own gardens, and arranged neatly by the maids. He buried himself among them, pulling a thick, cool blanket over his shoulders. The silk lining caressed his skin, and the subtle weight of the fabric was comforting.

Lucien curled into the luxurious warmth with a satisfied sigh.

The day had been long, strange, and full of more attention than he’d ever experienced. And yet, somehow... it hadn’t been as terrible as he feared.

His final thoughts drifted lazily as his body relaxed. The scent of lavender, the taste of mana-berry juice still faint on his tongue, and the distant echo of laughter and fireworks cradled him as he closed his eyes. Sleep came easily.

____________________________________________

A week passed like the last gusts of spring—gentle, quiet, and laden with the scent of blooming roses.

Lucien’s days after the grand celebration melted into a rhythm of idle leisure and quiet reflection. Without looming expectations or intense lessons, the estate took on a dreamy, almost languid atmosphere for him. The immense marble halls of the Velebrandt Mansion echoed with soft conversation, the occasional laughter of passing servants, and the quiet rustling of wind through open balcony windows.

Each morning, Lucien would wake up without the pressing weight of duties. Dressed in light silken garments, he would stroll to the solar where sunlight poured in through crystal-paned windows. There, his mother would often be seated with his little sister in her arms, gently rocking her as she hummed a lullaby passed down from the royal bloodline.

Lucien found himself spending more and more time with his infant sister. He would carefully hold her under his mother’s watchful gaze, brushing her soft golden curls with a finger, whispering nonsense that made the little one coo and giggle. "You’ll be a troublemaker," he often murmured with a fond smile. "Just like Emilien."

Emilien, for his part, had grown increasingly attached to Lucien after the party. The little boy followed him around the estate like a shadow, tugging on his sleeve and begging for swordplay, stories, or trips to the estate’s sprawling garden. On warm afternoons, Lucien would carry him on his back, showing him the carved statues of Velebrandt heroes or the koi ponds lined with magical lilies that shimmered faintly in moonlight.

Though Lucien’s awakening still lingered as an unanswered question, neither he nor his parents were rushing to find out. They had discussed it briefly at the end of the week.

"If needed," the Grand Duke had said over breakfast, dressed in his crisp navy military robes, "I may call upon House Solcrux. For their specialty had always been on discovery."

Archduchess Seraphina, delicately sipping her tea while swaying Alethea in a bassinet, had nodded. "But only if it becomes necessary. Let him rest, for now. There is no need to hurry fate."

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Lucien, nibbling on a sugared croissant, had agreed with a simple nod. In truth, he was content not to worry about the strange storm of energy slumbering in his veins.

When he wasn’t with his siblings, Lucien often walked through the gardens accompanied by Marie, his ever-patient and gentle maid. She had taken to bringing two cups of herbal tea whenever she found him lounging under the shade of the mana-touched peach trees.

"Still not curious what’s inside you, young master?" Marie would sometimes ask with a teasing smile as she poured tea into porcelain cups painted with the Velebrandt sigil.

Lucien would shrug lightly, sipping his tea. "Not yet. I think it will come to me when the time is right."

They walked together often—through marble pathways veiled in flowering vines, past glowing crystals embedded in the hedgerows that softly pulsed at night, and under high arches carved with draconic battle scenes from Velebrandt’s oldest campaigns.

Their conversations were rarely serious. Sometimes they spoke about the current market prices of abyssian silk, or Marie would recount amusing stories about the other maids or Emilien’s mischief. Lucien listened with quiet smiles, finding her presence calming.

Occasionally, he would stop mid-step, gazing up at the sky where magical birds fluttered, trailing sparks of soft light.

"I wonder if this peace will last," he once murmured.

Marie had looked at him, her eyes kind yet sharp. "You come from the West, young master. Peace is only a breath between storms. So enjoy it while you can."

Lucien nodded slowly at her words.

Despite all, the week was blissfully uneventful. No sudden guests, no monster incursions near the estate’s borders, and not a single knock from a knight bearing news of the Empire’s ongoing conflicts.

He spent more time napping under magical trees that sang lullabies through their rustling leaves. He read books in the hidden alcoves of the Velebrandt library—epics, records of past Grand Dukes, journals of beast-hunting expeditions, and even a few fictional romances Marie recommended.

The world outside might be uncertain, might churn with ancient dangers and rising shadows, but within the high marble walls and emerald gardens of House Velebrandt, Lucien’s life had, for one rare week, felt like the peaceful dreams of a child yet untouched by destiny.