In Count Henry's stay, he would often spend time with his grandchildren as much as he could muster the necessary energy to do so, telling them stories of his youth and tales told throughout the known kingdoms. "Have you ever heard, of King Baskilias Ver Horion, of Riseland?"
"No, grandfather." Oliver answered.
"Neither have I." said Noesse, the three children all sitting before the old man with expecting eyes and raised noses.
"Well, let me tell you. King Baskilias Ver Horion. He was a man of great many deeds, a master of weapons, a man of great intelligence, perhaps greater wisdom, and a heart as brave as the bravest knight. He was a man who dedicated his life to the pursuit of strength, and had managed to slay a dragon by his lonesome."
Oliver's eyes lit up with excitement. "A dragon? Are dragons real?" he asked with stifled breath.
"Hmm..." Henry stroked the edges of his prickled beard. "I can not say that I have ever seen one, though, I have seen a wyvern. They are creatures that are very similar, but lack the size, limbs, and broadness of wingspan, to my knowledge."
"How much do you know about dragons?" Noesse asked, most curiously.
"Well, my knowledge of such beasts is rather refined, if I say so myself. I have seen a great many of creatures in this world, though there are more than many that I have only ever read of, and not seen; like giants. I hear they are massive creatures that tower over buildings and could easily take a fort by their lonesome, but anyway! I am getting off track, young ones. Now where was I...? Ah, yes. You see, King Baskilias was one of the first kings of man, back when the first calendar was created, in fact, he was much of an astronomer, and helped organize the creation and understanding of our world. Even way back then, we had known the world was round! Though, they had only suspected it, and we had only managed to confirm that theory in the year six-hundred. You see, when King Baskilias was already in his forties, and had united the clans of old, marking the creation of Riseland, and with it came the first year of the world calendar."
"Grandfather, what about the calendar before that?" asked Oliver.
"We don't know." Henry waved his waved as though the disregard the question. "King Baskilias was a great man, who even today, his story is told through a plethora of parchment. His greatest feat was uniting the clans of man in a vast land, where it was far more dangerous than today. You see, back then, our kind, the kind of man, struggled to survive against the other races. We had not wielded magic like the mages and wizards of today, we had not the clerical practices we utilize to aid the wounded, nor the practice of great knights who have mastered the use of their aura. No, they were little more than barbarians, fighting endless wars against the monsters that swarmed the land. It is because of their actions, that today, we dominate this continent, and only had we achieved that through our greatest gift." he tapped on the side of his temple.
"Our mind?" Noesse imposed.
"Indeed. Our intelligence is what set us apart from the monsters who only acted on instinct. Using our gift of the mind, our ancestors were able to conquer these lands and drive away most monsters."
Their grandfather would tell them tales like this regularly over the winter, but upon his last night, he told of something that truly opened Erik's eyes, even as young as he was.
"King Baskilias had suffered losses and wounds, but never defeat. What King Baskilias was most known for, were indeed his accomplishments, however! While his actions were great, and have altered the course of history to this day, it is his teachings that continue to change the course of our future. The philosophy of true king. King Baskilias once said that a man who can not control himself, is no more than a beast. He is a prisoner in his own body, a slave to his own instincts. In fact, King Baskilias' last words were a philosophical quote as well: to be a man, means to be strong. To be a warrior, means to have drive. To be a king, means to have ambition. In the end, we are all merely what we have accomplished, for death takes us all."
Those words had an impact of all three of them, but for Erik, it was more than a realization. It was as though he were opening his eyes for the first time. He understood only so much, but he understood more than he was aware of. When Count Henry moved for their story time to be over, and the children to head to bed, Erik waited for a moment to ask his grandfather.
"Grandfather..."
"Hm? Yes, Erik? What is it my boy?" he asked as he threw Erik up into his arms with a groan. "Oh, there we go."
"Grandfather, what is death?"
Indeed, Henry was caught off guard momentarily, but he knew it was simply the curiosity of a child not knowing the meaning of some words. He chuckled in syllable, grinning softly as he pondered to answer. "Well... Death is... The time where we come to rest."
"Sleep?"
"No, my boy. To rest, at the end of one's life. Some day, we all will rest, but you shan't worry about that. You are young. You have the whole of your life ahead of you."
"What is ambition?"
"Ambition? Ambition is to want something, and to act to achieve that. To be better. Tell me, my boy, do you know what kind of man you wish to be when you grow up?"
"No."
"Oh? Do you not want to be strong? To be respected?"
"I do!"
"You do, do you? Then, to be ambitious is to become strong and respected, like King Baskilias. He was one of history's most ambitious men, achieving valor and honor, before those words had been invented. In fact, some say, he was ambitious enough to challenge the gods."
"The gods? What is that?"
"Gods are divine beings, revered and worshipped by those who follow their teachings. Now then, little one. It is time for you to go to bed. I, myself, am rather tired. Ho, ho, ho!" He laughed as he slowly gave Erik to Nomay to take with her. "Good night, Erik. I shall see you in the morning."
Upon the morning's return, marked the end of the winter season, Erik's grandparents would leave to return home, with the whole family and estate seeing them off in farewell.
The servants and workers bustled across the estate as the last of the snow gave way to damp earth and pale shoots of green. Stablehands led the horses from their stalls into the pastures, where the animals shook themselves free of the long confinement. Gardeners bent low in the thawing soil, breaking it with spades and planting the first rows of spring herbs and vegetables. Along the manor walls, men balanced on ladders to patch loose shingles and mend shutters warped by frost, while others swept the courtyards clear of fallen branches and winter debris. The air carried a different sound now, not the muffled hush of snow, but the steady rhythm of work: hammers striking wood, buckets sloshing with water, voices calling instructions back and forth.
The workers inspected the entire estate for damages undertaken from the cold, and quickly, they moved to fix leaks, replace lumber in fences, and repair cracks in stone. Inside the manor, the maids replaced all winter clothing with lighter wear for the warmer seasons, taking down heavy fur curtains, and opening shutters for rooms full of stale air to breathe.
From the main road, which led to the capital, came the weekly postage, and with the postage came a requested document. "My lord, your weekly postage has arrived." the butler told as he came into the room with a handful of letters.
"Perfect timing," Vindor said.
"Oh? Is that the guest list?" Celia asked, setting down her cup of tea.
"It is," Vindor replied. "Now we can begin writing the invitations for Erik's birthday. Have two of the maids assist us and bring the necessary materials."
"At once, my lord," the butler answered with a small nod.
Celia took the letter, tearing it open to read the list within. "Oh, first on the list, the second daughter of house Rose, third, second son of house Jonrai."
"Yes, I believe I do recall them having children a bit before Erik was born."
Celia had quickly gone over the entirety of the list, marking off names as she did. She placed the list on the table, just as the butler returned with two maids, and a basket full of envelopes. "I am happy with this list."
As the butler set the table, Vindor lifted up the list and asked in noticing, "You wish not to invite the Herish's young child?"
"No, of course not. That woman once insulted my embroidery."
"Very well."
Every letter was designated to a recipient and sealed with red wax; the imprint left by the stamp bore the crest of House Chamber — a knight's helm above a gauntleted hand, sword raised in honor.
On the day of Erik's birthday, royal carriages rolled through the gates of the Chamber estate, their wheels crunching over gravel as liveried drivers reined the horses to a halt. Banners of the Chamber line fluttered in the crisp breeze, and the manor bustled with life as servants hurried to receive the esteemed guests. Footmen in polished attire helped noble families down from their carriages, while maids guided children, clad in their finest dress, toward the grand hall. Inside, the air glowed with candlelight and carried the scent of early spring blossoms arranged throughout the room. Laughter, greetings, and the rustle of fine silks filled the air, a festival of voices gathering to honor the young heir of House Chamber.
To Erik, it all felt strange, overwhelming. The tide of people, the gleam of jewels and polished boots, the echo of so many voices — the hall seemed like a different world, one that moved too quickly for him to follow.
While the mothers mingled with Celia and the noblemen exchanged pleasantries with Vindor, the children were sent outside under the care of nannies. There were eleven in all, more than half Erik's age, though some trailed older brothers or sisters. The eldest was Ember Rose, standing tall at twelve, with hair the color of flame and eyes bright as a summer sky. She was the prettiest of them by far, and the older boys vied for her notice, circling like moths to a candle. Even Oliver tried to stay near her, his britches scuffed from play yet his chest puffed with effort.
But it was not Ember who had been invited by name. The letter had been written for her younger sister, Emily Quinn von Rose. Emily bore her sister's features, but her curls were heavier and her cheeks round with youth. She wore a crimson dress that pinched a little too tight, yet she held her head high with all the pride her four years could muster.
"I am Emily Quinn von Rose!" she declared loudly, hands on her hips. "Remember my name, because everyone does."
"Erik," he answered simply.
Emily's lips pressed shut in a pout, cheeks puffing as though she had been slighted. She turned away with a dramatic sniff, cracking one eye open to glare back at him — only to find herself staring directly into the wide, glistening eyes of a toad.
Her shriek split the air. Nannies and maids hurried over as the girls scattered, squealing and clutching at their skirts. In the confusion, Erik only blinked and held the toad more firmly in his hands.
One boy, however, didn't run. "How did you catch that?" he asked, blue eyes wide with wonder.
"A trap," Erik replied.
The boy's name was Devone Jonrai, a fair-haired lad with a perpetual smudge on his nose and a habit of picking at it when he thought no one was looking. He leaned closer as Erik pulled back the grass beneath the tree to reveal a shallow pit. Inside, two more toads squatted miserably in the shadows.
"Whoa!" Devone exclaimed. He snatched one up without hesitation, shaking it with giddy delight. "Ribbit! Ribbit!"
"That is a toad," Erik corrected flatly. "Not a frog. Frogs live by water. Toads live in damp soil, in the woods."
Devone blinked. "Really? …Wow. You're smart."
"I am?"
"Yeah! And… why's your hair so dark?"
Erik only stared at him, unsure how to answer.
The nannies clucked their tongues and ushered the children back inside, servants quietly clearing away any trace of the disruption. Soon, the hall swallowed the chaos, and the party resumed with feasting. Over a dozen gifts, wrapped in gilded papers and silks, piled high for the young heir. Platters of roasted meats, sugared fruits, and honey cakes crowded the long tables, filling the air with warmth and sweet spice.
While the children ate with their hands and chatter, the ladies of the court gathered near Celia, voices weaving together in low conversation.
"I hear the Archmage is seeking an apprentice," one said, lifting her brows knowingly.
"Truly? I thought that only rumor," another replied, fanning herself lightly. "At his age, I expected he would die with his secrets."
A third scoffed. "He is too proud to take the unworthy. Only the exceptional will do."
"So it is true," murmured Celia, leaning in with polite curiosity. "Tell me, Lady Rose, does your husband take interest in such matters?"
Elizabeth Rose, Duchess of Ferchess, lifted her chin, pride glimmering in her smile. "Indeed. He has entrusted me to speak for our house in this. Our daughter, Ember, is already capable of casting spells."
A ripple passed through the ladies — some impressed, some doubtful. Celia only nodded graciously, though her eyes flicked briefly toward the children's table.
There, Erik sat in silence, nibbling at a slice of apple, his sapphire eyes sliding toward Ember each time her name was spoken, not understanding the weight of their words.
The conversation among the ladies shifted, cups of tea tinkling against saucers as talk of magic wove through the air. At last, Elizabeth Rose straightened in her seat, her lips curling into a smile that held more than politeness. She turned to her younger daughter, who sat sulking over a half-eaten tart.
Elizabeth Rose's voice rang clear above the hum of conversation. "Ember, darling, show the ladies what you've been practicing."
The girl brightened at once, her pout dissolving into a smug little smile. She rose, the crimson of her dress shimmering under the glow of chandeliers. The chatter of children hushed as even the maids leaned in, curiosity piqued.
Ember extended her small hands before her, fingers poised with deliberate care. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, lines of pale light traced themselves into the air, weaving into a perfect circle the breadth of a dinner plate. Runes, delicate as calligraphy, bloomed along its edge.
The guests gasped softly.
Ember's lips curved, her cheeks flushed with pride. With a short, practiced motion, she pressed her hand through the circle, and fire blossomed in her palm. A thin flame, but true flame nonetheless, leapt and danced as though eager to escape her grasp.
"By the saints, at her age!" one lady exclaimed.
"Exquisite precision," another murmured. "The circle held without trembling."
Elizabeth inclined her head as though the compliments were no more than her due. "House Rose has ever held affinity for the arcane. My daughter follows that tradition."
Ember closed her fingers, and the circle shattered like glass into sparks of light, the fire snuffed out in an instant. She looked about proudly, cheeks puffed, eyes shining with triumph.
The other children clapped and chattered in excitement. Yet Erik did not move. He sat still at the edge of the table, his eyes wide, fixed not on Ember but on the fading shimmer of the runes in the air.
The moment slipped unnoticed by all save him. To the mothers, it was a parlor trick for admiration, to Elizabeth, it was a chance to gloat, but to Erik, it was the first spark of an obsession.
"Nomay," he called out to her, who was standing just behind his seat. "How might I learn magic?"
That was a question she did not know how to answer. "Well... I am not so certain, young master."
"Well of course, you learn it from reading books on magic!" Emily, who was sitting across the table, had told him. "If you want, I can teach you, by my grace!"
"I decline."
Furious at his response, Emily began making a fuss, though quickly it was dealt with as her own nanny pulled her from the chair and carried her off.
"My goodness," her mother sighed, much to the laughter of the other mothers.
The dinner ended, just before evening came. The guests began to leave forthright, hoping to return to the city before sunset. They exchanged farewells and gratitude to the estate lord and his wife as they returned to their carriages and left for Novergracia. All the while, Erik, who was being held down by his father's hand on his shoulder, stood with his family in valediction, though he wanted nothing more than to rush off to the library.
The ladies of the Rose family were the last to leave, and while Vindor and Celia chatted with Elizabeth, and Oliver and Noesse chatted with Ember, Emily stared sternly at Erik. She shot a nasty look as she furrowed her eyebrows, sticking out her tongue at him. "Fatty."
"You are fat, too." Erik responded, much to her face turning red.