The carriage rolled smoothly along the stone-paved road, its wheels striking a steady rhythm against the ancient slabs. Each turn carried Argus deeper into territory he had never truly claimed as his own. His hands rested on the edges of the cushioned seat, fingers curled tight enough for his knuckles to pale. He forced himself to loosen them. Appear calm. Appear composed. Even now, habit clawed at him.

  It was his family’s manor, his house and yet he had never felt like it was home. Brutal insults and backhanded comments assaulted him every time he stepped foot in there.

  His oldest brother who was the very image of perfection, a near flawless fire elemental user. His sister who outmatched those twice her weight and with twice the experience.

  One of the highest noble families of the Ordanian Kingdom, the family which was birthed when Cladius Thunderbloom struck down the Demon King.

  He tried to get the thoughts out of his head, the demon king was probably reading his mind this instant-

  Even if I wasn’t it would have been easy to predict what you were thinking. You aren’t even aware of the way you are holding yourself right now.

  Just as Lord Dravien said those words he noticed the signs himself. The tightness in the chest. The shallow breaths Argus barely noticed himself taking. The conflicted pull of familiarity and quiet dread.

  You behave as if you’re are walking into the territory of the fangeral Serpent itself.

  Argus did not reply.

  Beyond the carriage window, the estate emerged gradually from behind tall iron fencing and old growth trees. Ivory stone walls rose in layered terraces, polished but aged, bearing the subtle discoloration of centuries. Tall spires pierced the sky at careful angles, elegant rather than ostentatious. This was not the crude display of wealth Argus had seen in lesser noble estates.

  Humans build to impress one another, Dravien noted in his mind,. Demons built to endure siege.

  As the carriage slowed near the gates, Argus’s gaze lingered on familiar landmarks. The curve of the driveway. The old statues of family ancestors, each carved in heroic posture, names etched beneath them in flowing script. He remembered standing there as a child, craning his neck to read those names, wondering which of them would look at him and feel pride.

  None ever had.

  Do not drown in memory, Dravien warned gently. Observe instead.

  The gates opened without delay. Servants had been watching. They always were. The carriage passed through, wheels crunching softly, before coming to a smooth halt before the grand entrance.

  The doors opened almost immediately.

  Servants emerged in practiced formation. Bows followed. Quiet greetings murmured. Hands reached for luggage Argus had packed himself. Dravien made him catalogue every detail: the hesitation in a young servant’s step, the older maid who avoided eye contact, the footman whose gaze lingered a fraction too long before snapping away.

  Fear. Curiosity. Discomfort.

  Hierarchy trained into muscle memory.

  Argus stepped down from the carriage. His posture was straight, his expression neutral, his movements controlled. Dravien guided him minimally, correcting the angle of his shoulders, slowing his pace by half a breath.

  Good, Dravien murmured. They expect awkwardness. Deny them that.

  The entrance hall swallowed him whole.

  Marble floors gleamed beneath towering chandeliers, their crystal facets scattering light across tapestries lining the walls. The air smelled of wax, polished wood, and something faintly floral. Every sound echoed just enough to remind visitors of the space’s scale.

  This hall was designed to make people feel small.

  Argus walked through it alone.

  Servants moved along the edges of the room, efficient and silent, carrying trays, folding linens, pretending not to watch. Dravien found it almost amusing. Demons had never pretended not to notice weakness. They named it. Exploited it. Humans preferred this elaborate dance of politeness and quiet judgment.

  At the far end of the hall, near the staircase leading to the upper wings, two familiar voices drifted through the air.

  Argus slowed.

  His siblings stood in partial shadow near the banister. His elder brother leaned casually against the railing, tall and broad-shouldered, his posture relaxed in the way of someone who had never doubted his place. His sister stood opposite him, arms folded, her sharp eyes bright with amusement as she spoke.

  They were discussing household matters. Training schedules. Minor disputes among servants. Things Argus had never been invited to care about.

  Argus felt Dravien’s attention sharpen.

  Argus approached, footsteps measured. He did not announce himself.

  The sister noticed first. Her smile curved slightly, not quite reaching her eyes.

  “Well,” she said lightly, “Argus how are you? Not going to greet your lovely siblings?”, she asked with a smile that never reached her eyes, her tongue practically shimmering with mockery.

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  “Nice to meet you Myra, you too Vaeron”. His voice was flat, devoid of emotion.

  Vaeron turned. His gaze swept Argus from head to toe, assessing, dismissive. “I heard you’d arrived as per custom dictates”.

  Yes it was only because of the customs that he bothered to come. In the past, attempting the trial had been extremely perilous so attendees met up with their loved ones before it.

  But now it was carefully controlled with advanced scriptures, protection runes and healers on standby. Attendees who died were very rare these days, nearly a couple of them every decade.

  Argus inclined his head in respect.

  Dravien whispered, Do not rush. Let them speak.

  “You look… healthier,” Myra continued. “Academy life must suit you. Or perhaps distance does.”

  The words were gentle. The intent was not.

  Dravien observed with interest. Backhanded insult. A human specialty.

  “I train,” Argus replied evenly. “Distance helps focus.”

  Vaeron let out a short breath that might have been laughter. “Training,” he echoed. “Still chasing potential, I see.”

  Argus felt the familiar sting, old and sharp. Dravien steadied him.

  At least demons insulted openly, Dravien muttered. This masquerade is tedious.

  Argus lifted his gaze. “Potential does not announce itself loudly.”

  A pause.

  The sister’s smile tightened just slightly. Vaeron straightened a fraction.

  Interesting.

  Before either could respond, footsteps approached from the adjoining corridor.

  Their mother entered the hall.

  She did not rush. She never did. Her presence carried weight without spectacle. Dark hair drawn neatly back, expression composed, eyes sharp but unreadable.

  She stopped a few steps from Argus.

  “So you’ve returned,” she said.

  “Yes, Mother.”

  “You will remain till monday?”

  “Of course.”

  A nod. Neither warmth nor disdain. Exactly as always.

  “See that you do not disrupt the household,” she said. “Dinner will be served at the usual hour.”

  She turned without waiting for a reply and continued down the hall.

  Dravien considered her thoughtfully.

  She neither favors nor despises you, he concluded. Indifference refined into discipline.

  After she left, the silence stretched.

  “Trial,” Vaeron said at last. “That is ambitious. Have you considered a different career choice? I wouldn’t want something to happen to my precious brother in that trial now would I?”

  Argus replied with feigned indifference. “I assure you Vaeron I intend to follow this path and successfully complete the trial.” His voice carried confidence that even surprised him.”

  Something suspiciously close to admiration flickered in Vaeron’s eyes while his sister’s examined him a moment longer, curiosity edging past disdain. Then she turned away.

  “Come,” the brother said. “We’re done here.”

  They left without another word.

  Dravien hummed softly. Humans wound with implication rather than blade. Inefficient, but persistent.

  Argus exhaled only after they were gone. This went better than every other talk with them, and it almost seemed as Vaeron acknowledged him. He had always liked Vaeron significantly more than his other family members.

  Part of it came from his fond childhood memories of him, tending to a bruise he had gotten when he fell from the stairs. Cheering him up by showing him small magic tricks, but it all changed when an assessment from the royal capital showed he had a defective core and low mana output. They also told him that his affinity with Magical energy was one of the lowest they had ever seen, even among nobles.

  His brother had been there with him even then, even when he was disinherited from the family fortune or when he was bullied in his 1st year. But along that time his brother had slowly gotten away from him. He started behaving like someone other than his brother, becoming almost like the people Argus had hated throughout his life.

  But he never hated his brother even though logic dictated he should’ve, he didn’t even understand it himself really.

  Before heading inside fully, he diverted toward the inner courtyard.

  The space opened beneath the sky, framed by arched corridors and climbing ivy. Sunlight filtered through the leaves, warming the stone beneath his boots. A small fountain bubbled at the center, birds perched along its edge.

  And beside it stood a familiar figure.

  “Argus!”

  The old elf maid turned, eyes lighting up. Her back was bent with age, hands rough from decades of work, but her smile was bright and genuine.

  “You came again this year,” she said, hurrying toward him despite her cane.

  Argus smiled, real this time. “I did.”

  She took his hands, inspecting him as though he were still a child. “You’ve grown thinner. Are they feeding you properly?”

  She was the only one in these recent years that felt like family. Even though she wasn’t she had been with House Thunderbloom for over a century and Argus had grown up with her. Her presence made this visit bearable, if only a little.

  This one is sincere, so you do have someone who cares for you.

  Dravien comented

  “They are,” Argus said gently. “I promise.”

  She nodded, satisfied. “Good. Very good. You always were polite. Not like the others.”

  She meant his siblings, they had always barely acknowledged her and that too just because of their grandfather. He strictly commanded all them to treat her as part of the family. She had tended to him and raised him when his mother was assassinated so he held a soft spot for her.

  A mother’s love is supposed to be unconditional even among demons. He commented, and yet it seems that does not hold for humans.

  No you are wrong, love like that exists just not in our family and if it ever did it is lost now.

  They spoke briefly. About the weather. About the gardens. About nothing important and everything meaningful. When she finally returned to her duties, Argus felt lighter.

  Dinner was as formal as ever.

  The long table gleamed beneath candlelight. Servants moved in silent coordination, placing dishes with careful precision. Argus took his seat where he always had, slightly removed, but no longer shrinking.

  Conversation flowed around him. His siblings spoke often, their words edged with quiet competition. Occasionally, a remark was directed his way. Always subtle. Always measured.

  “You seem quieter than usual,” the sister observed at one point. “Academy discipline, perhaps?”

  “Yeah, something like that,” Argus replied.

  Dravien commented, his tone suggesting amusement. They test boundaries through civility. Remarkable.

  As the meal progressed, Argus responded when necessary, remained silent when not. Each exchange was a lesson. Each pause a victory.

  When dinner finally ended, Argus excused himself.

  His room was unchanged, it bore a striking difference with the rest of the manor, adopting humbleness instead of extravagance.

  He closed the door behind him and leaned against it, exhaling slowly. Night had fallen and Argus felt tired, it had been a long day.

  You did well, Dravien said.

  Argus nodded faintly.

  He went to his bed and lay down, the memories of the day still in his mind, but slowly dissolving in the comfort of his bed.

  He didn’t know how many hours he had slept, but he awoke to the sound of footsteps in his room. They weren’t trying to be silent, they wanted to be heard.

  Groggily opening his eyes, he wiped sleep off them as he looked at the figure. Darkness still lingered outside, a single ray of moonlight crept though the curtains at the far end of his room lighting up the man.

  The man grinned, showing his crimson teeth, bloodshot red eyes bulged on his face. Argus looked at the scene with rising panic while the man’s grin deepened.

  He lifted his left hand, it held a shortsword which was currently bathed in blood.

  “I’m delighted you are awake, silence makes this far less satisfying.”