Leclair Manor
The elder of the Leclair Family began his morning in the usual way—practicing a set of Tai Chi in the courtyard, followed by breakfast, asking about his son's career and his grandson's studies, then browsing through his beloved collection. His life adhered strictly to the rhythm of a typical retirement.
At dawn, a thick fog rolled in, accompanied by frost—marking the coldest time of the year. Still nestled in his blanket, the elder was rudely awakened by calls from a few fellow octogenarians, forcing him to don an overcoat, grab his walking stick, and head out.
In the side hall, Ignatius Leclair was brewing coffee. His sharp brows extended to his temples, and his deep-set phoenix eyes carried flecks of cold light, like an ink-black abyss. His expression was stern as he methodically prepared the fifth cup of coffee.
