Inside a quiet estate bearing fading prestige, Elias stood before a polished wooden desk, examining his overall looks in the mirror imbedded in the wall.
He wore a slightly long black buttoned coat with a black shirt inside, black pants and a warm grey scarf around his neck and tucked under the shirt, it acted both as repellent to Backlund's called air, and slightly informal necktie.
His revolver rested in his palm. He turned it once, twice, testing the weight. The metal was cool against his skin. Practical, but still very much unsuited to his taste.
But it was necessary.
He contemplated taking it with him in his journey today, but decides against it. After all, he was attending a tea party.
Then, while still holding the gun, he flicked his wrist in dismissal, casual manner, almost habitual rather than deliberate; he let it slip from his hand.
The revolver fell and struck the wooden floor with a sharp metallic crack.
The sound echoed in the otherwise silent room.
Elias froze.
For a full minute, he stared at the gun lying there.
Then he chuckled softly.
A tired sigh followed as he shook his head.
He bent down, picked it up carefully, examining it as though it were a foreign object.
"Human, Elias," he murmured to himself. "No powers yet."
The words felt like reminder intended for a stupid child.
He opened a drawer and placed the revolver inside, closing it with a final sound.
After adjusting his cuffs and straightening his coat, he gave his reflection one last measured glance. Clean lines. Restrained colors. Noble without extravagance.
He picked up a modest wooden box from the desk on his way out, it was plain, polished, unmarked, and exited the mansion.
Several turns down the street, he hailed a carriage.
The ride was steady, wheels rattling across stone as Backlund's architecture shifted from restrained wealth to overt aristocratic display. Wide avenues. Manicured hedges. Guards posted discreetly at estate entrances.
When the carriage halted before Viscount Glaint's residence, Elias stepped down smoothly.
He presented the invitation letter at the gate.
The servant examined the seal, then bowed slightly and allowed him entry.
He was guided through the estate toward a tastefully arranged outdoor setting in the garden. White tablecloths. Polished tea sets. Subtle decorative flowers. Everything arranged with the careful enthusiasm of someone attempting to merge nobility with mysticism.
Viscount Glaint approached with a welcoming smile.
"Mr. Nova. A pleasure."
"The pleasure is all mine, Viscount" Elias returned the greeting with a polite smile and a short hand shake. "thank you for the invitation, also please accept this humble gift" as he said those words, he hand the viscount the wooden box.
"You really didn't have to Mr. Nova, your attendance ismore than enough, but thank you nonetheless"
Glaint refrained form opening it too soon as he led Elias toward the garden seating area, the murmur of conversation gradually became clearer. The arrangement was carefully planned: a circular placement of chairs beneath white parasols, polished porcelain tea sets reflecting the muted light, and several small tables bearing neatly arranged desserts that suggested refinement without ostentation.
Viscount Glaint walked beside him with visible enthusiasm. Unlike many aristocrats, who maintained distance behind carefully constructed masks, Glaint's interest in mysticism was sincere, almost scholarly in nature. His gaze occasionally drifted toward Elias with unconcealed curiosity, as if attempting to reconcile the man before him with the rumors that had preceded his arrival.
Elias was introduced to the guests who had already arrived.
Elias observed reactions carefully as he was introduced.
They varied between intrigue and disinterest.
The reason a fallen noble like himself had been invited was not generosity, it was reputation. Whispers surrounding his family's supposed connection to mysticism. Tales exaggerated over decades. Vague records. Convenient ambiguities.
For mysticism enthusiasts, even the possibility of inherited occult knowledge was worth entertaining.
He inclined his head politely when addressed, offering nothing excessive. Just enough to confirm presence without satisfying curiosity.
"I am honored to make your acquaintance," he said evenly. "Though I fear the legends attached to my surname have grown far more elaborate than the truth would justify." It was enough to encourage imagination without committing to substance.
He initiated conversation here and there, sometimes referencing a recently circulated manuscript or a minor mystical anecdote that caught their interest.
But overall chose to remain observant.
The conversation gradually resumed, flowing toward familiar territory: references to obscure texts, fragmented folklore regarding hidden organizations, speculation about the nature of spiritual bodies. Glaint guided the topic carefully, ensuring that it retained an air of intellectual curiosity rather than overt heresy.
It was during one such exchange that the sound of carriage wheels upon gravel announced another arrival.
Backlund's Most Dazzling Gem arrived.
Audrey Hall entered the garden with graceful composure befitting her lineage. Her expression carried warmth that did not appear rehearsed, and her greeting of the viscount was both respectful and familiar.
At her side walked a golden retriever whose fur gleamed under the filtered sunlight.
Susie.
Audrey's presence subtly altered the atmosphere. Conversations grew marginally livelier; posture straightened almost imperceptibly. The Hall family's influence was not minor after all.
After exchanging greetings with the host, Audrey's gaze moved naturally across the assembled guests.
Audrey greeted the guests warmly, her natural charm brightening the atmosphere almost instantly. Polished, kind, effortlessly noble.
But when her eyes reached Elias, they lingered.
Only for a second longer than propriety required.
As a Spectator newly advanced along her pathway, her perception was sharpened, though still in its formative stage. She observed breathing cadence, muscular tension beneath tailored fabric, the alignment between facial expression and ocular movement.
Elias' demeanor was appropriate in every measurable way.
His smile corresponded to social cues.
His posture matched noble upbringing.
His voice maintained consistent modulation.
Yet there existed a faint incongruity. There was something around him she couldn't put her hand on.
It was enough to register, but not enough to dwell on.
She offered him a polite smile. "Mr. Nova, I presume? I have heard mention of your family's distinguished history."
Her tone was gentle, curious without intrusion.
Elias inclined his head slightly. "Distinguished might be an overstatement, Miss Hall. But history has a way of embellishing itself when left unattended."
Audrey smiled politely and continued her greetings.
But at her side, Susie's tail wagged in a friendly rhythm as she moved closer to the seating area.
The dog's dark eyes flicked toward Elias and lingered.
That second Audrey took was the only sign she needed.
Instinct often noticed what training could not.
She made no sound.
But somewhere behind those gentle canine eyes, a quiet note was taken.
A secret eye would remain on Elias Nova.
Unlike her owner, she had the leverage of openly spying on other people, she was a dog after all.
The tea gathering continued, pleasant and civilized.