Chapter 6 – The Duke's Estate
The journey from the slums to the noble district felt like crossing into another world.
Through the carriage window, I watched the streets change. The stench of rot faded, replaced by the crisp scent of burning lamps and polished stone. Crumbling shacks gave way to wide avenues lined with clean brick houses. The further we went, the brighter the mana circles that floated above the people—shimmering blues, golds, silvers. The nobles wore their gifts like ornaments, their laughter cutting the night like glass.
I sat silent, my bag of scraps forgotten at my feet. My cloak was too fine for my skin, and every time the steward glanced at me, I caught the faint green haze of suspicion circling his shoulders.
"Noctis," I murmured, keeping my lips barely parted. "How many margicules are here compared to the slums?"
"Exactly 45,200 in the surrounding district," Noctis replied, his voice steady in my mind. "Almost four times what you're used to. It's cleaner here. Richer. Mana flows where it is drawn."
I nodded faintly. Of course. The nobles took everything, even the air itself.
The carriage slowed, and then the estate came into view.
It was vast. Gates of black iron, carved with white hawks in flight, rose taller than any building I had ever seen. Beyond them, the mansion sprawled like a city of its own—walls of pale stone, windows tall as towers, banners draped in pristine white. Manicured gardens stretched on either side, glowing faintly with enchanted lanterns.
I froze. My heart hammered.
It felt wrong to even breathe here.
The gates opened, and the carriage rolled forward across smooth gravel. Servants waited in lines, bowing as the duke stepped down first. His presence, sharp and heavy, pressed on the air like a blade. Then the steward gestured for me to follow.
I climbed out slowly, my boots crunching against the gravel. For a moment, silence fell across the servants. Their eyes fixed on me.
Whispers rippled through the line.
"His eyes…"
"Look at his hair—"
"He looks like—"
I caught flashes of their emotions: violet awe, yellow confusion, streaks of nervous blue. My stomach knotted. They were comparing me to someone.
The duke's gaze cut through the murmurs. "Enough." His voice silenced them instantly.
He turned to me, his expression unreadable. "Follow me."
Inside, the mansion was brighter than day. Chandeliers dripped with crystals that glowed softly with embedded spells. Every wall was lined with portraits of hawks in flight, of white-haired figures in regal clothing. Their painted eyes seemed to follow me, watching, measuring.
I couldn't stop staring at them. The resemblance was undeniable.
Their hair—white, pure. Their eyes—shades of silver and pale grey. My own reflection, caught in a polished bronze mirror, stared back at me: white hair streaked with faint purple at the tips, grey-white eyes flickering faintly with light.
I looked like them.
Noctis's voice broke the silence in my head. "Your features are not random. This is no coincidence."
I whispered back, lips barely moving, "You think I'm…?"
"Related. Somehow. The probability is high."
My hands curled into fists at my sides. Bloodline. The word tasted strange. If it were true, then why had I been left to rot in the slums?
The duke stopped at the base of a staircase, his gaze sharp. "You will remain here for now. A room will be prepared." His eyes flicked once to my face, and for the briefest moment, his mask cracked. Not much—but enough for me to see it. Recognition.
Then it was gone.
The steward bowed. "Yes, my lord." He gestured for me to follow again, leading me down a corridor lined with more portraits.
As we walked, servants continued to glance at me. Their emotions swirled in colors I had never seen directed at me before—cautious respect, quiet fear, hints of curiosity. I wasn't invisible here. I wasn't worthless.
And yet, I wasn't free either.
The steward opened a door to a room larger than the entire orphanage hall. A bed draped in silks. Shelves stacked with books I couldn't name. A basin of clear water that didn't stink of rust.
"This will be yours," he said curtly.
I stepped inside, the floor soft beneath my boots. My chest felt tight. All my life I had known filth, hunger, contempt. And now I stood in luxury. But it didn't feel like a gift. It felt like a chain, polished and gleaming.
When the door closed behind me, I sank onto the bed, burying my face in my hands.
"Noctis," I whispered.
"I'm here."
"Why? Why do I look like them? Why would they abandon me, only to take me back like this?"
Noctis's voice was calm, but softer than usual. "Because names and bloodlines carry power. Whether you are theirs or not, your resemblance means something. And now, they will want to claim you… or control you."
I let out a bitter laugh. "So I'm still nothing more than property."
"No," Noctis said firmly. "You are more than they realize. More than even you realize. Remember what you carry. Healing that rivals gods. Shadows that obey your will. And me. You are not theirs. You are still yours."
I lifted my head, staring into the flickering glow of the lanterns. My reflection in the basin of water stared back—eyes glowing faintly, hair shimmering with white and purple.
The nuns had sold me. The duke had claimed me. But something deep in my bones whispered that this was only the beginning.
And I swore to myself, then and there, that I would not remain their pawn forever.
End of Chapter 6