The sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm amber glow over the estate's front grounds where Jolthar stood and the maid Ilyra was beside him. They were watching the crowd, excited by the dragon's head.
Then, a faint rustle caught his attention.
Jolthar turned slightly, his gaze narrowing as Elara stepped onto the grounds, her silken gown shimmering with each stride. Beside her was Orimus, his demeanor relaxed yet somehow guarded. Jolthar immediately noted the contrast between them—Elara's confident sway versus Orimus's subtle but perceptible unease.
Elara's sharp eyes flicked toward Jolthar's maid, who was standing nearby, dutifully observing her master. Her lips curled into a faint, almost imperceptible smirk.
"My, my, Jolthar," Elara said smoothly, her voice carrying the practiced warmth of someone who always had a motive. "I see you've already made an acquisition since your return. A maid, is it?"
Jolthar tilted his head slightly, his expression as unreadable as ever. "If that's what you'd like to call it," he replied evenly, his tone devoid of the playful sarcasm she might have expected.
The maid, sensing the tension, lowered her gaze respectfully but remained silent. Elara's eyes lingered on her for a moment longer before shifting back to Jolthar. "I must say, she seems… diligent," Elara remarked, her voice laced with a subtle condescension.
"Is she to your liking?"
Jolthar's gaze met hers, sharp and unwavering. "She does what she's asked," he replied simply, his tone making it clear he wasn't in the mood for games.
Orimus shifted slightly beside Elara, his hands clasped behind his back. He looked as though he wanted to speak but held back, perhaps sensing the charged atmosphere between the two.
"Ah, always so concise," Elara said with a light chuckle, attempting to mask her irritation. She turned her attention to the grounds, her gaze sweeping across the crowd before settling back on Jolthar. "I must admit, it's good to see you taking your place here seriously. Though I do wonder if you're enjoying yourself. This estate can be… dull, don't you think?"
"Dullness is subjective," Jolthar replied, his tone dismissive.
Before Elara could respond, a loud voice rang out across the grounds, commanding everyone's attention.
Lady Elowen's voice, it was.
Standing in the midst of crowd on the grounds, her regal presence casting an air of authority over the gathering. Her gown billowed slightly in the breeze, and her voice, though melodic, carried the weight of leadership.
"Attention, everyone," Lady Elowen began, her voice clear and steady. "I have an important announcement to make."
The knights paused their sparring, and all eyes turned toward her. Even Jolthar's sharp demeanor softened slightly as he listened.
"In two days' time," Lady Elowen continued, "we will celebrate the birthday of the second young master. It will be a grand occasion, one befitting our family's stature. Preparations are already underway, and I expect everyone to conduct themselves with the utmost decorum."
Murmurs rippled through the gathered crowd. The second young master's birthday was always a significant event, but Lady Elowen's tone suggested that this year's celebration would be particularly momentous.
"And," she added, her gaze sweeping across the crowd, "the patriarch himself will return for the occasion."
At this, the murmurs grew louder, laced with both excitement and trepidation. The patriarch's presence was rare, and his return often heralded significant changes.
Lady Elowen raised a hand, silencing the whispers. "The patriarch has an important announcement to make. I advise you all to be prepared for what is to come. That is all."
As she stopped talking and turned her attention back to her children.
Elara turned back to Jolthar, her expression now one of curiosity rather than mockery. "Well, isn't that interesting?" she mused, her voice softer now.
"The patriarch returning… I wonder what he has in store for us."
Jolthar said nothing, his gaze thoughtful as he considered the implications of Lady Elowen's announcement.
Orimus finally spoke, his tone cautious. "It must be something important if he's returning for it."
Jolthar's eyes flicked toward Orimus briefly before returning to Elara. "If you're done speculating, I have other matters to attend to," he said, his tone dismissive.
Elara smiled faintly, unfazed by his abruptness. "Of course, cousin. Do enjoy the rest of your evening."
As she and Orimus walked away, Jolthar turned back toward the grounds, his mind already racing with questions about the patriarch's impending announcement.
Whatever it was, he knew it would be significant—and potentially dangerous.
As the crowd dispersed and the estate quieted, Jolthar remained behind on the grounds. The faint echoes of conversation and footsteps faded into the distance, leaving him in the solitude he often preferred. The cool night air carried with it a whisper of tranquility, but his sharp mind was never truly at rest.
He noticed them before they even entered his line of sight—Isorabella and her brother Davis. Isorabella, the ever-distant and stoic one, strode purposefully across the grounds, her expression unreadable as usual.
Beside her, Davis moved with a more cautious gait, his eyes scanning the area, ever the protective sibling.
As they drew nearer, Jolthar offered a casual greeting, his voice calm but tinged with faint amusement. "Isorabella," he said, inclining his head slightly.
She didn't even glance in his direction. Her pace didn't falter, and she walked past him as though he didn't exist. Her aloofness was not unexpected, but Jolthar couldn't help the slight quirk of his lips as he watched her retreating figure.
Davis, however, stopped. His piercing gaze fixed on Jolthar, suspicion evident in his posture.
"What are you doing here?" he asked, his tone firm but not yet confrontational.
Jolthar tilted his head slightly, a faint smirk playing on his lips. "What does it look like? Just offering a greeting to your sister." ᴛhis chapter is ᴜpdated by novel·fiɾe·net
Davis narrowed his eyes, clearly not convinced. "You don't strike me as the type to make idle greetings."
Jolthar chuckled softly, leaning back slightly as though entirely at ease. "You wound me, brother Davis. Must I always have some grand scheme in mind? Perhaps I was just being polite."
Davis held his gaze for a long moment, his scrutiny unwavering. Jolthar met it without flinching, his clever mind already assessing the situation. Davis was protective, yes, but he was also prideful—someone who wouldn't press too hard unless provoked.
"Hmm," Davis finally muttered, his tone noncommittal. "Just know that I'm watching you."
"Duly noted," Jolthar replied with a faint smirk.
Davis turned and followed after his sister, his footsteps echoing softly in the night. Jolthar watched them until they disappeared from sight, his mind already analyzing the interaction. He dismissed the maid with a simple wave and headed inside, the faintest glimmer of amusement lingering in his expression.
The next morning, sunlight filtered through the shutters of Jolthar's modest room in the knights' quarters. The faint chirping of birds outside served as a gentle wake-up call. Jolthar stretched lazily, his mind already beginning to process the day ahead.
A soft knock on the door was followed almost immediately by the maid's entrance. She carried a tray with a jug of milk and a small plate of fruit, her movements precise and efficient.
"Good morning, young master," she said, bowing slightly as she placed the tray on a small table.
Jolthar chuckled softly, still seated on the edge of his bed. "You're quite the early bird, aren't you?"
She straightened, her expression as calm and professional as ever. "I simply strive to serve you to the best of my ability, young master."
He nodded, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Efficient. I'll give you that."
As he sipped the milk, she began to relay the day's updates. "All the workers are busy preparing for tomorrow's feast," she said. "Invitations are being sent out, and the estate is being cleaned and decorated. There's much to do."
"And the patriarch?" Jolthar asked, his tone casual but his interest piqued.
"He is said to arrive at dawn today," she replied.
Jolthar nodded thoughtfully, setting the empty cup back on the tray. "Busy day ahead, then."
He stood and dressed quickly, his movements fluid and practiced. The maid observed him quietly, her hands clasped in front of her. "You may go," he said, dismissing her with a wave of his hand.
She bowed and left the room, leaving Jolthar to his thoughts.
Jolthar made his way toward the workshop, the hum of activity from the estate fading as he moved into the quieter parts of the grounds.
The workshop was modest but functional, a place where weapons and armor were maintained to ensure their readiness.
Knashii, his trusted blade, rested in its sheath at his side. It was a weapon that demanded respect—its sharp edge and perfect balance a testament to its craftsmanship.
Jolthar entered the workshop and greeted the blacksmith with a brief nod before moving to a corner where he could work in peace.
He unsheathed Knashii, the blade catching the light and gleaming with a menacing beauty.
Carefully, he began to inspect it, running his fingers lightly along its edge. Satisfied that there were no imperfections, he set to work sharpening it, the rhythmic sound of metal against stone filling the space.
As he worked, his mind wandered back to the maid's words and the impending arrival of the patriarch. The announcement, the feast, the gathering of the clan—it all pointed to something significant.