Manne Manor sat on the southern edge of the Gold Coast, behind jagged cliffs that blocked it from view until you were already too close to turn back. The wind off the ocean hit the cliffs hard and carried on toward the stone walls of the building. It struck without pause, day and night, but the manor stood firm. Its structure blended into the cliffside, as if it had always been there.
The building was made from large, dark gray stones with narrow streaks of silver running through them. The stones looked solid and heavy. The towers extended upward in uneven directions, not designed for beauty but still imposing in their shape. Time had not softened any part of the manor. If anything, the stone looked harder now than it likely did when first placed.
There were signs that plants had once tried to climb the walls, but they never lasted. Most of the exterior remained exposed. No growth clung to it.
An iron fence ran around the entire property, tall and pointed. The metal at the top twisted into sharp forms that served more as warning than decoration. The front gate stayed shut unless someone inside decided otherwise. On the roof, metal spikes jutted out, some of them lined with copper that had turned green. During storms, lightning often struck them. It happened more often than sunlight touched the upper levels of the building.
Gargoyles sat along the corners of the structure. They faced outward toward the ocean. Their eyes were wide open, mouths closed, bodies tense. There was no attempt to make them welcoming.
The manor gave nothing of itself to passersby. There were no flowers, no lanterns, no signs of life around the entrance. A narrow stone path led from the cliff road to the main door, often covered in low fog that didn't lift until midday. It stayed quiet. It stayed cold like it had no interest in being approached.
And there, in the shadow of that dark and massive home, a boy was practicing with a katana.
He looked about fifteen years old. His face was still young, but his body was different. He wasn't wearing a shirt, and his muscles were clearly visible. His chest and arms were covered in sweat, and every time he swung his sword, his muscles tightened and showed just how much effort he had put into training.
Sweat ran down his face, soaking into his black hair. Some of it covered his eyes, but not enough to hide the bright green underneath. His features were sharp and well-formed. He was, without a doubt, very handsome.
"Again," Lucius said, breathing a little heavier.
Then louder.
"Again!" he shouted, his voice echoing off the stone walls.
He started moving once more, his katana cutting through the air with steady, strong movements. Each step and swing copied old sword forms, ones he had studied over and over again. He was focused, his arms burning, but he didn't stop.
Not until he heard someone laughing off to the side.
He paused and looked toward the sound. When he saw who it was, he sighed.
Leaning casually against the manor wall was another boy. He looked similar to Lucius but wasn't as good-looking. His face had the same family shape, but his features were more average, and he was a bit shorter. Only a little, but still shorter.
"You know swinging that scrap metal a hundred times isn't going to change anything," the boy said with a grin. His tone was smug.
This was Emery, Lucius's older cousin.
"You're still a powerless little shit, and that's all you'll ever be," Emery added as he began walking toward him.
Lucius looked down at the sword in his hands. It was old and rusty. The blade had chips in it, and the handle was wrapped in worn leather. It was the only thing he owned. Just a katana that most people would throw away.
But to Lucius, it was important.
As Emery walked closer, something began to happen. His right hand started glowing with a strange light. The glow got brighter as he raised it, and it was clear what he was about to do.
Lucius did not move. He didn't step back or flinch. But right before Emery could raise his glowing hand, someone grabbed it and held it down.
Lucius turned his head and saw someone slightly older standing next to them. The one who had stopped Emery's attack.
"Brother, I-" Emery started to speak.
But he didn't get to finish.
"You were about to bully him," the older boy said calmly, raising his eyebrows. His voice wasn't angry, just disappointed.
This boy had white hair, neat and smooth, brushed back without a single strand out of place. His skin was pale, almost glowing, and his blue eyes stood out clearly. His face was sharp and perfect, like it had been sculpted. If Lucius was handsome, then this boy was something else entirely.
Lux. The oldest of the three boys.
"Well, I just—" Emery tried again.
Lux cut him off.
"You just wanted to show him his place, right?"
Lux didn't stop smiling, but there was something cold about the way he looked at Emery.
"How many times do I have to tell you that this piece of shit isn't worth your time? That's why you're so weak. You waste your energy on people who don't matter."
Lux let out a quiet sigh. Then, without warning, he moved.
His hand swung out and slapped Emery across the face with the back of his hand. It was fast and powerful, and Emery flew back, landing hard on the stone with a painful grunt.
"Next time you do this, I won't be so lenient," Lux said while walking away.
He took a few steps, then stopped. He turned his head slightly and looked at Lucius.
"And you, go clean yourself up. Today is the Academy entrance ceremony. You might have gotten an invitation, but getting the letter is the easy part. There's still the entrance test."
Lux's lips twitched slightly, like he was trying not to smile.
Lucius stood there for a moment, watching Lux walk away. Then he glanced over at Emery, who was picking himself off the ground and running away without looking back.
Lucius laughed a little under his breath.
"Well, today's certainly been entertaining," he said quietly to himself.
Then, still holding the rusty katana, he walked toward the manor and disappeared inside.