Ethan dabbed his mouth with the table napkin provided, signaling he had finished his meal.
The door creaked open behind him, and Lyra entered precisely twenty minutes later.
With practiced grace, she cleared the table, gathering the empty dishes and neatly placing them onto the cart.
Just as she prepared to wheel the cart back to the kitchen, Ethan’s voice halted her.
"Have another maid take care of that. You and I are going to the Family Library," he said, rising smoothly from his chair.
"As you command, Young Master," Lyra replied, releasing the cart. She moved to the door, opened it with quiet precision, and Ethan strode through without a moment’s pause.
Ethan’s eyes swept across the grand hall as he walked, attempting to maintain a composed expression, but he failed. A subtle glimmer danced in his gaze, his eyes shining like distant stars.
The walls radiated with brilliance and color, as though someone polished them every moment of the day. Elegant light fixtures clung to the walls, their golden sheen giving the illusion of being gilded in actual gold.
Some sections of the walls were made entirely of crystal-clear glass, while the floor was blanketed in a rich, red carpet that whispered of luxury with every step.
Though Ethan had known wealth in his past life, what he now witnessed transcended affluence, this was opulence in its purest form.
Lyra, walking a few steps behind, failed to notice the subtle shifts in Ethan’s expression. Had she seen his face in that moment, she might have mistaken him for a man intoxicated by the sheer scent of wealth.
In his early past life, Ethan had known only scarcity. Raised in an orphanage where even water was rationed, he had come to revere money, not merely as a luxury, but as a symbol of freedom and power. In his former world, wealth dictated influence; the richer one was, the stronger they stood.
’Although I’d love to explore every corner of this place, the library must take priority’ Ethan mused inwardly.
Ethan’s gaze briefly settled on a maid approaching from ahead. At once, his features shifted into a mask of indifference. All children of the Primarch were known for their stoic, unreadable expressions, a trait Ethan had quickly observed from Asher’s memory.
Though he had no intention of permanently adopting their cold demeanor, now was not the time to stand out. Until he fully understood his current situation and status, playing along was the safest path.
"Good morning, Tenth Sun," the maid greeted, bowing respectfully.
Ethan offered no reply. He walked past her without so much as a glance, perfectly imitating the aloofness expected of Asher.
This was how Asher carried himself, detached, distant. For now, Ethan had no choice but to follow suit, lest he reveal his true nature too soon.
’According to Asher’s memories, the male heirs are referred to as Suns, while the females bear the title of Moons. This world is fortunate feminism hasn’t taken root, if it had, the backlash online would’ve been explosive’ Ethan mused.
"Young Master, may I ask why we are heading to the library?" Lyra inquired, maintaining her respectful distance, two steps behind Ethan. Not too close to be intrusive, yet near enough to respond instantly if needed.
In the Wargrave household, it was considered taboo for maids or butlers to question a Young heir about anything outside their assigned duties. However, those personally appointed at the birth of a Sun or Moon, the Primarch’s children, were granted a rare exception.
These select few served not only as attendants but almost as a secondary parental figures in duties, their standing determined by the strength of their bond and the class of service they maintained with their charge.
Lyra was one such attendant.
"As you know, my final chance at awakening is only a few days away," Ethan said, his tone calm and measured. "I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors, should I fail again, I’ll be cast out from the family."
He neither turned nor slowed his pace as he continued down the corridor.
"I’m simply going to the library to find the most suitable place to live... should that outcome come to pass," he added, weaving the lie effortlessly into his words.
He couldn’t exactly tell Lyra the truth, that he was heading to the library to study the world’s lore and gather information. That would only raise questions. Besides, if the countless novels he had read were anything to go by, exile was never as simple as it sounded.
Ethan knew the moment he was declared banished, he wouldn’t live to see the following day. Maybe not even the next hour.
Even with Lyra by his side, he understood all too well, they would send at least two individuals stronger than her to stall or neutralize her, just in case she decided to intervene.
The other Suns and Moons wouldn’t hesitate. The moment he stepped beyond the family gates, an "accident" would be waiting.
Assassination was inevitable. Exile was simply a prettier word for execution.
Lyra’s heart quickened, a silent tremor pulsing through her chest. Words caught in her throat, unsaid, uncertain. She had clothed him, fed him, bathed him since the day he was born. He was more than just her charge; he was a part of her world, etched into her every routine and memory.
But now, she could only walk in silence.
There was nothing she could say that wouldn’t feel hollow, nothing that could ease the weight of his words. So she said nothing, and simply prayed. Prayed that, this time, he would awaken.
Unaware of Lyra’s inner turmoil, Ethan’s attention remained fixed on the grandeur surrounding him. He admired every intricate detail, his mind already drifting into fantasies of unimaginable wealth.
He paid no heed to the maids and butlers who crossed his path, their presence fading into the background as visions of the fortune he might inherit consumed him.
Within minutes, Ethan arrived at the grand entrance of the library. As he reached for the door, a voice cut through the silence.
"Hoo... if it isn’t the Tenth Sun," came the mocking tone, dripping with disdain, without so much as an attempt to conceal it.
Ethan turned to see the Ninth Sun, Thalric Wargrave, standing there, a smug smile curling his lips.
Asher’s memories flooded Ethan’s mind. He recalled how Thalric had tormented Asher relentlessly, not with fists or swords, but with words sharper than any blade.
Physical violence had never been used against Asher, not because Thalric lacked the will, but because of the Primarch’s strict decree: Suns and Moons were forbidden from touching one another outside the bounds of an official duel.
"It seems you’ve finally emerged from your hiding place, feeling confident this time that you’ll pass the awakening?" Thalric sneered, his mocking smile never fading.
Normally, Asher would have shrunk back, or slipped away to avoid such encounters with his siblings. But Ethan was not and was never Asher.
That said, he had no intention of wasting time trading barbs with a fool, especially one barely a year older than him.
Ethan’s hand slipped into his chest pocket and withdrew a handkerchief. Without a word, he raised it to cover his nose and mouth, then strode past Thalric, entering the library with calm indifference.
Though silent, the gesture was sharper than any insult, an unspoken rebuke that cut deeper than words ever could.
Thalric stood frozen, stunned into silence, unable to believe what he had just witnessed.
Behind Ethan, Lyra followed with a faint, knowing smile. After all, this was the first time Asher had ever dared to stand his ground.
No words were exchanged, but the damage was unmistakably done.