The world resolved itself from a whirl of light into solid form. Thirteen figures stood upon the fading runes of a teleportation circle, their boots sinking into the immaculate lawn of a world reborn. A gentle, clean breeze washed over them, carrying the scent of pine and rain-washed stone. Before them, framed by ancient trees, stood not just a manor, but a legacy carved in stone and timber—the Ravenstel main estate. Its gates were not merely entrances but masterworks of iron and artistry, promising the secrets within.
Ashwel passed through those gates, and the manor did not just shine; it watched. Its windows were like knowing eyes. As he walked the path through the manicured woodland, the merchant in him automatically appraised it all: the value of the rare Ladendewood trees, the strategic layout of the land, the potential for expansion. To the outside world, he was a boy playing lord. But he was a wolf who had learned to hunt in the gutters, and now he was being offered a forest. His confidence, earned through brutal experience with every kind of villain and trader, radiated from him, causing the assembled household staff to stand a little straighter, their bows a degree deeper.
They were arranged with military precision—twenty-four servants in twin rows flanking the grand staircase. Stepping forward from this human tapestry were two figures.
A man, middle-aged and impeccably polished, gave a curt, efficient bow. "Lord Ashwel, on behalf of the household, I welcome you to the Ravenstel main estate. I am Albert, the head butler and estate manager."
A severe yet elegant woman beside him mirrored the gesture."I am Evanti, the head maid. The household is yours to command."
A younger maid then broke rank,offering a shy but confident smile. "Lord Ashwel, my name is Abby. If it pleases you, I can guide you and help you familiarize yourself with your home."
The tour was a revelation in opulence. Ashwel's mind, sharpened by years of experience, cataloged every detail. The walls were a gallery of forgotten masters, the floors a mosaic of magically-infused stone, sealed with protective enchantments that hummed beneath his feet. The carpets were so soft and intricately woven they felt like walking on captured cloud silk. It was a kingdom's ransom in art and craft.
They halted before a pair of immense, rune-carved doors of dark wood. "This is the heart of the estate's public quarter, my lord," Abby announced with reverence. "The library. Its security is absolute. Access is granted only by the blood of the reigning lord."
Ashwel nodded, pricked his thumb, and smeared a drop of blood onto a central rune. A deep, resonant hum vibrated through the marrow of his bones. Gears of unseen mechanism clicked into place, and the great doors swung inward without a sound, exhaling a breath of ancient paper, ozone, and wisdom.
The sight within stole the air from his lungs. It was not a room but a universe. Books flew between shelves like migratory birds. Towers of scrolls reached towards a ceiling lost in misty gloom. The knowledge of ages, from the most ancient crumbling texts to modern treatises, lay within.
A flicker of light resolved into a petite woman with crystalline wings, who zipped down to hover before him. "Greetings, Ashwel Ravenstel," she chimed, her voice like the ringing of a tiny bell. She was the library's guardian. Without preamble, she zipped away and returned, shoving a teetering stack of heavy tomes into his arms. "Your curriculum. Begin."
Before he could even form a question, the doors began to close, gently but firmly ejecting him. His education had begun.
The weeks that followed were a grueling blur of new routines. Mornings were spent in the frustrating arcane arts, afternoons in the satisfying clash of steel. He learned to wield a fork and a title with equal grace during etiquette lessons and devoured business ledgers in his scant free time.
But a stark weakness was ruthlessly exposed. During magical assessment, a glowing crystal measured his affinity. For others, it flared to twenty, thirty, or more. For Ashwel, it barely flickered. A single, pitiful digit. One. He was a magical void. Yet, on the training grounds, he was a natural. Sir Gideon's praise was hard-earned and therefore invaluable. He could discuss magical theory with brilliance but could not conjure the faintest spark. The duality was maddening.
Seeking solace, he often retreated to a quiet mountain path. It was during one such respite that he stumbled upon injustice. A carriage lay on its side, a team of horses gone. A lone knight, battered and bleeding, shielded a crying woman from six bandits.
Instinct, sharper than any sword, took over. Ashwel became a shadow. He moved with a predator's silence, disabling the first bandit with a precise blow from his sword's flat. An assessment: two on the knight, three looting, one down.
Using the terrain, he isolated two who broke off to search. He didn't just confront them; he unleashed the aura of a Ravenstel lord—a wave of terrifying authority that made them freeze. Their warning dies were cut short in their throats.
He emerged from the foliage to see the remaining bandits taunting their prey.
"Poor little girl,"one sneered. "Maybe I'll be your new daddy?"
The knight saw his moment of weakness and lunged,running one through. As the second bandit turned to retaliate, Ashwel's sword left his hand, a spinning blade of vengeance that took the man in the chest.
The final two looters returned, only to find death waiting for them. The knight made quick work of them.
Only then did Ashwel use the communication artifact Gideon had given him. Sir Liam and sir Zane arrived moments later, emerging from the forest shadows. They took in the scene of carnage and gave their lord identical looks of profound disappointment. The fight was already over.
With the bandits slain and the crisis past, Ashwel's knights formally escorted the shocked noblewoman and her guardian back to the safety of Ravenstel walls. The wolf had not gone soft in his new clothes; he had simply found a larger territory to defend.