After my encounter with Frasier, I resumed my walk toward my room.
The manor's cold stone halls stretched endlessly before me, reminiscent of the veins of a slumbering ancient beast.
The high, arched windows let in pale winter light, casting ethereal patterns over the dusty, timeworn carpets that had seen countless footsteps before mine.
The stern portraits of long-dead Constellos adorned the walls, their painted eyes glaring down at me, brimming with disapproval and judgment.
I felt their scorn weighing heavily on my shoulders.
Let them watch.
As I turned a corner, I stopped in my tracks.
It was Lucian, my elder brother.
He was leaning casually against the wall, his arms crossed in contemplation.
He exuded an aura of strength, tall and imposing, with a sword held confidently at his side.
Lucien's sword skills were honed to perfection through endless hours of meticulous training.
