Two Years Later
The soft rustle of parchment filled the air, a steady rhythm against the silence of the duchess's private study. The room was dimly lit by the afternoon sun filtering through tall arched windows, its golden rays falling in stripes across the oak floor. At the center of it all sat Aurora — regal, beautiful.
Piles of paperwork consumed her desk. Scrolls, ledgers, reports — the endless responsibilities of nobility.
"Sylvie," she called, her voice quiet but firm — like a blade drawn in silence.
At once, the air in the corner shimmered, bending like heat rising from stone. From the stillness emerged a figure — tall, graceful, dressed in a crisp black and white maid uniform. Her hair was sleek as obsidian, her eyes a piercing, unnatural blue. She stood with a quiet elegance that could only come from someone trained in the art of silence.
"Yes, Duchess?" Sylvie replied, bowing slightly, her voice calm and unwavering.
"Where is Austin?" Aurora asked, never lifting her gaze from the sea of documents before her.
"Young Master is in the library, Duchess," Sylvie answered without hesitation.
Aurora's pen stopped.
Her fingers curled slightly around it. "How long has he been there?"
Sylvie hesitated — not long, but just enough for the truth to sting.
"Since last night, Duchess," she said softly, a bead of sweat gliding down the side of her face.
At that, Aurora slowly lifted her gaze. Her golden eyes — so like her son's — met Sylvie's with cool authority.
A long breath escaped her lips, soft but heavy.
'How much does he love reading…?' she thought, exasperated. Her five-year-old son — five — spent more time buried in books than most scholars did in a lifetime. He emerged only to eat, and sometimes not even that.
"Tell him to come here," she said, setting her pen down with finality. Her eyes narrowed. "If he refuses… you are permitted to use force."
Sylvie blinked, and then a sly smile curled at her lips. "As you wish, Duchess."
She bowed again — and vanished, her figure dissolving into the air as if she had never been there at all.
---
Elsewhere in the Mansion – The Library
The library was a world of its own — vast, cavernous, ancient. Four towering walls stretched upward into darkness, each lined with bookshelves stacked to an impossible fifty meters high. Ladders hung from enchanted rails. Floating orbs of light illuminated forgotten tomes and magical manuscripts. The scent of parchment and dust, old ink and time itself, clung to the air like incense.
And at the very heart of it, nestled among mountains of books, sat a child.
Black-haired, golden-eyed, and round-cheeked, Austin looked like any other boy — until you looked too closely. Until you noticed how his eyes moved. How fast he read. How still he sat.
One hand turned pages without pause. The other reached lazily toward a bowl of glittering, pastel-colored sweets. Ten bowls surrounded him. Twenty more lay empty in the background. His mouth was half-full, his expression utterly indifferent.
Sylvie appeared silently at the door and knocked once, gently.
"Young Master," she called through the wood, her voice careful and polite. "May I enter?"
"Come in," came the soft, distant reply.
She stepped inside. Her heels clicked against the polished stone floor before muffling into the plush carpet. Her eyes swept the scene — and she sighed.
Austin was buried beneath an avalanche of books, some as large as his torso. He didn't even glance at her. His fingers moved on instinct, turning a page with mechanical precision while slipping another candy into his mouth.
He's truly addicted, Sylvie thought, a crease forming on her brow.
"Young Master," she said, folding her hands in front of her. "Madam wishes to see you in her office. Please come with me."
"Not going. Get lost," Austin replied lazily, not even lifting his eyes from the page. His tone was dismissive — not rude, but terribly bored.
Sylvie twitched. "Young Master, it is an order from the Duchess. You cannot refuse."
"Still not going," he said again, this time popping another candy into his mouth with exaggerated slowness.
A vein pulsed on Sylvie's temple.
"Young Master…" she warned, her voice colder now. "Madam has ordered me to use force if—"
"Oh, Sylvie," he interrupted, a glint of amusement in his golden eyes. "I'm just kidding! Of course I'll go with you. How could I say no to you? Honestly, you don't even understand a joke."
He stood up in a blur of motion, tilting the final bowl of sweets and pouring the contents into his mouth without shame.
Sylvie's jaw clenched. "Young Master, you'll make yourself sick if you eat that many sweets."
She moved forward quickly, dabbing at his sticky mouth with a white silk handkerchief.
"So what?" he said with a grin. "The doctor can just heal me with magic."
Sylvie glared. Just what an addict would say.
She thought of the past two years — the chaos, the mischief, the secrets. She was one of the only people who knew the truth about what happened five years ago. The Duchess had told her everything. That he was a genius. That he was different. Sylvie had long since accepted that fact — and her place as his personal maid.
"Young Master," she said sternly, adjusting the creases in his cloak, "just because you can be healed doesn't mean you should get sick. Please show some restraint."
"You know I can't do that, Sylvie," Austin said sweetly. "Ask anything else."
She stared at him. A complete addict, she thought grimly. Phew. What will become of this boy's future?
"Let's go now, Young Master. We shouldn't keep Madam waiting," she said, her voice returning to its calm, composed rhythm.
He gave a dramatic sigh and trudged after her — a tiny emperor being led to court.
They walked in silence through the halls of the mansion, their footsteps echoing beneath grand chandeliers and ancestral paintings. The air grew colder as they approached the Duchess's study.
Sylvie opened the door.
They stepped inside.