Sunday Evening – Markov Estate, East District Border
The gate was taller than I remembered.
Black steel twisted like vines, carved with the family crest—two ravens circling a blade.
The guards didn't speak.
They just opened it in silence, heads bowed, as the car rolled slowly past.
I stared out the window, hands clenched on my lap, trying to remember how to breathe.
I'd left this place years ago.
And yet, it hadn't changed at all.
Still cold. Still quiet.
Still watching me.
The Arrival
The car pulled into the circular stone driveway.
The main house towered ahead—marble columns, glowing lights, not a single speck of dirt in sight.
A butler opened my door. "Welcome home, Master Jay."
I stepped out slowly.
There was no warmth in the greeting. Just protocol.
Another staff member approached. Marin.
Her smile cracked through the stiffness like sunlight.
"You've grown taller," she said, hugging me tightly. "But still no meat on your bones."
I laughed, surprised at myself.
"Missed you too, Marin."
She patted my cheek. "The others are waiting."
Of course they were.
The Hall of Silence
They called it "The Circle."
Hidden deep in the west wing of the estate.
Few even knew it existed.
A round chamber carved in ancient stone, lined with velvet chairs and shadowed murals of past generations.
At the far end stood a raised dais.
A long obsidian table.
And at its head—
My father.
Reginald Markov.
Dressed in black, seated like a judge at the final trial.
On either side sat men and women you'd recognize from television.
The President.
The Prime Minister.
Three Cabinet heads.
And across from them—noble families in tailored suits and expressionless masks. Silent rivals. Hungry ones.
My father didn't speak.
He didn't need to.
The room shifted as soon as I stepped in—some looked at me, some didn't.
But all of them noticed.
Reginald's voice finally cut the air:
"The prodigal returns."
Polite laughter.
The kind that's sharper than applause.
A Crown of Expectations
I stood behind my father.
No seat. Not yet.
Vincent Rahl stood at his side, as always—tall, grey-eyed, unreadable.
"Status?" Reginald asked, not looking at anyone in particular.
One of the ministers stood.
"We've contained the school situation. His growing popularity will be redirected."
Another voice from the noble side: "Perhaps he should have remained hidden. You've shown your cards too early, Reginald."
My father sipped his wine.
"I don't show cards. I choose the deck."
Laughter again. A little more forced.
The Rivalry Beneath
Across the table, I spotted her.
Clara.
My cousin.
Wearing a green velvet dress and a look that said she already had plans for my downfall.
Elias, my older brother, wasn't present. Not tonight.
Probably a test.
Reginald never shows all his pieces at once.
The council continued—talks of economics, media, information control.
I stood quietly, listening.
Learning.
Remembering how easy it was to disappear here… and how hard it was to be seen.
Midnight, Guest Quarters
My room was exactly as I'd left it.
Same old desk. Same bookshelf. Same window overlooking the forest beyond the estate wall.
I sat on the bed, exhaled.
My phone buzzed.
Emma: "You missed the results announcement. You got top 3. Congrats."
Amaya: "Made extra muffins today. Wish you were here."
Sofia: "Bet you're shirtless somewhere again."
I stared at the screen for a long while.
Typed nothing.
Set it face down.
I wasn't here to reconnect.
I was here to survive.
To see if I still had a place in this world of masks and blades.
And deep down…
To find out if I could walk away again without losing who I'd become.