As the first light of dawn spilled over the manicured hedges and polished iron gates of the Osborn Estate, it was like golden syrup drizzling over ivory silk.
A gentle breeze stirred the dew-kissed roses blooming along the stone paths, while birds chirped a melodic chorus from the towering sycamores that framed the courtyard.
Perched on a gentle rise overlooking Neo-Luminara's lush residential highland, the estate radiated quiet majesty.
Tall windows shimmered with reflected sunlight, and the scent of freshly cut grass mingled with blooming jasmine and the distant aroma of brewing coffee.
Inside this grand mansion, life was already in full swing.
Servants bustled quietly through marble-floored corridors, their footfalls muffled beneath plush scarlet runners.
Alfred, the long-serving chief steward, stood near the grand staircase with clipboard in hand, overseeing morning operations like a general commanding a peaceful battalion.
