The echo of boots on marble filled the Baron's manor like a drumbeat of returning thunder.Whispers swelled across the foyer as servants and mages alike leaned into one another.
"Is it him?""He's back?""That crest— the Light Imperial Crest!"
He didn't glance their way. His cloak still carried the scent of ozone from the lightning raven that had brought him here. The sigil on his shoulder glimmered faintly as he strode straight toward the grand staircase, each step measured and absolute.
Halfway up the stairs, a harsh voice ripped through the air.
"Get out of here! You don't belong in this house, you peasant!"
The man didn't slow.
"You think because you've become the Empire's dog you can order us around?!"
The shouter's words were smothered when two soldiers—his own men—shifted position at the base of the stairs, hands on hilts, their silence more threatening than any reply.
He reached the landing, turning down the dim hallway lined with relics from wars long past. The walls were heavy with oil portraits of ancestors staring down in judgment.
At the far end, a door stood slightly ajar. A maid stepped out, her arms full of folded linen. She froze when she saw him.
He stopped before her.
"Is the old lady in?"
The maid lowered her gaze and nodded quickly.
"She's expecting you."
He exhaled once, steadying himself, then pushed the door open.
The Old Lady
"Come in," a frail voice said from within. "Is that you, Levan?"
The room was dim and thick with incense. A massive serpent coiled across the marble floor, its scales dark green and faintly luminous, like living jade. Its golden eyes snapped open the moment he entered, head rising to full height with a hiss that shook the curtains.
The man raised his hand slightly.
"Easy, Sarah," he murmured.
The serpent froze, as if it recognized the name, and lowered its head obediently.
On the bed sat a blind old woman, her hair pure silver, her eyes clouded white but turned faintly toward his voice. Her thin fingers stroked the serpent's scales in slow, affectionate circles.
"It's been a long time," she said. "You finally came home."
He knelt beside the bed, lowering his head.
"Grandmother."
"What brings you here, child?"
He hesitated, then drew something from his cloak — not an object, but a fragment of light. Lightning flickered between his fingers, just enough to illuminate the air.
"I came to ask about something."
"Speak."
He looked directly toward her though he knew she couldn't see.
"He said it."
Her brow creased slightly.
"Who?"
"My son."
At that, the serpent's head lifted again. The old woman's fingers froze mid-stroke.
"You have a son?"
He nodded, voice quiet.
"Four years old."
A thin smile touched her lips, brittle and knowing.
"So you went and built your own empire after all."
He didn't respond.
"What did the boy say?" she asked.
His voice was low, the word heavy with memory.
"He said… 'Mind's Eye.' Exactly like that."
Silence. Then— a faint crackle in the air. The serpent shifted uneasily.
The old woman slowly turned her blind gaze toward him, but in that moment, it felt as though she could see.
"Say it again," she whispered.
"Mind's Eye."
The room pulsed — every candle flickered, the serpent's eyes dilated.
She exhaled sharply, a sound between awe and dread.
"So it woke again."
Her hand tightened around the serpent's scales.
"Levan, you didn't tell him?"
"No. He said it on his own."
Her voice dropped to a rasp.
"Then it's not yours to teach anymore. It's hers to find."
He frowned.
"Grandmother?"
She turned her head toward the window where pale light spilled through the curtains.
"I've served this household long enough. If the Mind's Eye has returned, I will see it for myself."
Her serpent uncoiled, sliding toward the open balcony like a shadow of living silk.
"Sarah," she said softly, "prepare the path."
The beast hissed in acknowledgment, its scales sparking faint blue Ether as it slithered away.
Levan stayed kneeling, uncertain whether to speak again.
"You're leaving Cydonia?"
The old lady smiled faintly, her blind eyes still facing the dawn.
"No, child. We're returning home."
And with that, the serpent's body glimmered in the morning sun, a storm of scales and silence — the herald of something old stirring again.
Far above the Baron's estate, thunder rolled once more — not from the sky, but from destiny itself, echoing across the continents of Arian.