As Rayan stepped through the grand entrance of the Sunreign mansion, memories came flooding back, both warm and bitter.
His boots clicked softly against the polished marble floor, and the faint scent of old wood and rose incense lingered in the air—nothing had changed.
His eyes were drawn to the large framed portrait hanging in the main hall.
It was his mother, Ishari Sunreign,
painted in her youth—her silver-blonde hair cascading down like moonlight, eyes soft and filled with quiet strength.
Rayan stopped and stared, his chest tightening.
"Mother…"
She passed away when I was just ten years old. Neither priest nor mage, not even the most intricate healing circles in the Kingdom of Solara, could do anything to save her.
It was a cruel illness known as DuskwitherFever—a quiet, cruel illness that slowly drained its victim's strength until the heart simply gave up. A disease that crept in silence and stole life without fanfare.
I remembered her final days—her smile never fading even as her body weakened. She used to stroke my hair and whisper lullabies even when she could barely lift her hand.
Before he could linger in grief, a voice broke the silence.
"Oh my, look who decided to return. The forgotten Sunreign."
Rayan turned to see Selvara Nyxveil,
his stepmother, standing atop the staircase with her usual smirk. her sharp features and cold eyes cut as deep as ever.
"Your grandfather has not been well these last ten days," she said with mock concern.
"He wanted to see you. So try not to be your usual disappointment."
Without waiting for a reply, she turned and vanished into the hallway. Rayan clenched his jaw but said nothing.
He made his way to his grandfather's chamber AelricSunreign—a dim room filled with the scent of medicinal herbs and old books. The old man lay in bed, wrapped in blankets, his once-proud frame now frail but his eyes still bright with fire.
"Rayan," the old man whispered, smiling weakly. "You came."
"Of course, Grandfather."
"I wanted to see your wedding… but I don't think I'll make it that far."
"Don't say that. You'll be there. You have to be," Rayan said softly, sitting beside him and taking his hand.
His grandfather chuckled.
"You've grown… even if the others don't see it."
They spoke a while longer—of the past, of memories, of simpler times. Rayan left the room with a heavy heart.
As evening fell, the family dinner began.
The dining hall was lavishly decorated, with golden candelabras and a long, polished oak table. Sitting at the far end was KaelenSunreign, Rayan's father,
looking as regal and unreadable as ever.
At his side sat Selvara, her sons Tavion and Lucen, and Tavion's elegant young wife. Serenya Valehart,
Rayan took the last seat, ignored by most but not by his father.
"Rayan," Kaelen said, raising a glass.
"It's been a long time."
Rayan nodded stiffly.
"Lucen received an engagement proposal recently," Kaelen continued. "But your grandfather insists on seeing you married first. Sentimental old man."
Lucen, sitting across the table, flashed a grin—not cruel, but not warm either.
Rayan gave a tight smile, more for courtesy than sincerity.
Just then, a soft knock at the door. A maid stepped in, bowing politely.
"Apologies for the interruption. The new maid has arrived."
Selvara gestured lazily.
"Bring her in. Might as well introduce her to the black sheep."
The doors opened, and in stepped a girl no older than eighteen or nineteen. Her eyes were bright but wary, her hands neatly folded in front of her worn yet clean apron.
She bowed low.
"My name is Lina. I joined two days ago."
There was a hush for a moment before someone at the table spoke.
"She's fallen from grace," Selvara commented. "Her family used to run a well-known restaurant. But they lost everything. Now she serves here. How poetic."
Rayan looked at the girl. Her posture was humble, but there was a quiet pride in her eyes, a strength unbroken.
And somehow, in that brief glance, he felt something stir.
Something familiar.
Something human.