They came at night.
Seven of them — wolves with silver claws, witches with poison tongues, and a vampire mercenary promised riches enough to drown a coven. They crept through Elise's wards with stolen charms, muttering prayers under their breath.
"The boy's a monster," one whispered. "We're doing the world a favor."
Another hissed, "If we fail, Elise will bury us herself."
They found Justin in the courtyard, sitting on the marble edge of the fountain with a book in his lap. Fourteen years old, tall for his age, white suit immaculate, glasses glinting faintly in the torchlight. He closed the book slowly, as though he had been expecting them.
"You shouldn't have come."
The wolves snarled. The vampire spat. "You're just a boy."
Justin stood, brushing invisible dust from his sleeve. His abyssal eyes flickered with faint white fire behind the glass. "And you've made a mistake."
The first wolf lunged. Justin didn't even blink. His hand lifted — and the assassin froze mid-leap, claws inches from his face, suspended and thrashing uselessly.
The others faltered.
"Kill him!" one witch shrieked, hurling a curse. Justin raised his other hand. The spell fizzled into sparks midair, its caster locking in place like a marionette tangled in invisible strings.
One by one, they all stilled. Wolves mid-snarl, witches mid-curse, the vampire mid-step — every body bound by his will.
Justin let the silence stretch. Their breaths came shallow, eyes wide with terror. Slowly, deliberately, he raised his right hand, index finger and thumb poised.
The vampire's voice cracked. "What are you—"
Justin snapped.
The sound was small, sharp, final. A ripple of golden light burst outward, expanding in a perfect circle across the courtyard. It rolled over the assassins like a tide.
Where it touched flesh, gold bloomed. The first wolf glittered claw to fur, his snarl immortalized in metal. The vampire stiffened mid-scream, fangs catching moonlight before hardening forever. The witches turned in an instant, their terror etched into flawless effigies.
Bodies hit stone with heavy thuds that rang like dropped coins.
When the light faded, the courtyard glittered with statues. Beautiful. Perfect. Horrifying.
Only one remained alive — a boy no older than eighteen, dagger trembling in his grip, held just outside the ripple by Justin's telekinesis.
Justin lowered his hand, glasses sliding slightly down the bridge of his nose so his fire-ringed eyes met the boy's. His voice was calm, almost gentle. "Run."
The boy's knees buckled. Hesitant, he turned, voice breaking. "Wh-what will I tell the others?"
Justin stepped closer, the faint fire burning brighter. "Tell them I don't want to kill. But if they keep coming…" He swept a hand toward the courtyard, where the golden effigies gleamed in torchlight. "…they'll all end up like this."
The boy fled into the dark, dagger clattering to the stones.
—
By dawn, five statues stood unmoving in Elise's courtyard.
"They're corpses, Justin," Elise said later, her voice quiet but sharp. "Beautiful corpses. You should destroy them."
Justin shook his head. "No. They're mine."
He had them moved into a chamber beneath the estate, sealed with wards. At first, he told himself it was a warning — a reminder of what happened when people tried to claim him. But even then, he knew it was more. He couldn't let them go.
One became two. Two became five. The chamber grew. The Collection was born.
And with it, a curse.
The first thief was a vampire who tried to pry a golden sword from a statue's hand. His scream ended in silence as his skin hardened, his body locking in terror as he became the newest effigy.
The second, a witch, dared to pocket a golden ring. She made it three steps before freezing mid-stride, her body turning flawless and cold.
After that, no one tried.
But the whispers spread.
Never touch his Collection… or you'll become one of them.
Some swore the statues whispered at night. Others claimed they heard a faint snap echo through the chamber when it was empty.
Elise feared it, knowing greed had sunk its claws into her son.
Mammon, of course, was delighted.
You see, boy? Even when you resist me, greed sings in your blood. The Collection is proof. What is mine will always be mine.
Justin never answered aloud. But sometimes, standing among his golden effigies, watching the flicker of fire reflected back at him, he wondered if his father was right.
Was this a warning?
Or was this the first step toward his crown?