Lucian hung his long coat on a hanger near the door and changed into a fine white linen shirt and loose trousers. He then put on a sweater against the approaching winter cold. He breathed out a long sigh, the kind that followed a tiring day.

  Not that he had done any physical work.

  In truth, all he had done was some strange meditation and slept for a couple of hours.

  “Hm… but I sure am tired.”

  He flopped onto his bed. Its soft cotton sheets shrunk and hugged his entire body in a comforting embrace. He hadn’t planned to sleep so early in the evening, but the lack of anything interesting soon pulled him into slumber.

  After a short while, long enough to be called “soon”, a knock woke him up.

  “Master Lucian, it is I, Benedict. It is time for dinner.”

  “Yes, come in,” Lucian said, rubbing his eyes.

  An elegant old man in a black suit, polished leather shoes, and a proud moustache entered. He had come to escort Lucian to the dining hall.

  On the way, they walked through a corridor with a backyard view on the left, connecting the living quarters to the dining hall.

  Lucian paused while looking at the garden of white flowers. In the distance, he could see a pond filled with goldfish and colourful koi. But the fish were not what held his attention. He had stopped because this was where he and his father used to feed them together. Every day, except today.

  ‘I wonder if he is alright.’

  Looking up at the night sky, he noticed strange movements among the guards.

  ‘Are they changing positions? I don’t think so.’

  “Is everything fine, young master?” Benedict asked, noticing the worry on his master’s face.

  “The guards,” Lucian replied.

  “Oh, there is no need to worry. They are Librarians from the two guilds under your great family. They are most certainly strong.”

  ‘Indeed, there is nothing to worry about. In the known history of our family, no unfortunate incident has ever occurred.’

  “You’re right,” Lucian said, turning toward his butler. Winter was nearing, northern winter at that, yet his butler was sweating. His usually calm and composed face carried a hint of fear.

  ‘Is he afraid I will punish the guards? I am not that cruel.’

  Reaching the dining hall, Benedict walked a little faster. Before Lucian could reach the door, he pulled it open and bowed respectfully. Lucian entered with an awkward smile.

  A grand dining table stood at the center of the ginormous hall, filled with cuisine of all kinds.

  At the head of the long table sat his father, the family head, seated proudly. Despite having lived for decades, he looked to be in his early thirties, or even late twenties, if one considered Lysander’s pale skin and signature snow-white hair. He looked more like an elder brother than the father of three. Perhaps it was the benefit of being a powerful Librarian. Lucian wished he could be like that too.

  His father greeted him with a smile and told him to hurry, the food was getting cold.

  Lucian moved toward his seat, the third seat to his father’s left, after his two elder sisters. As he did, his gaze paused on a woman beautiful enough to rival his father’s mysterious charm. With golden hair and hateful eyes, the woman seated to his father’s right was his mother, but only in name.

  He had never known the meaning of “mother,” despite her being his biological one. All he ever saw in her eyes was hatred toward him. As always. For thirteen years, she had remained a stranger.

  The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  Still, he never felt the need for a mother.

  He took his seat with a soft sadness in his eyes, then a piece of cake was suddenly shoved into his mouth. It was Aris, enjoying a cake in her other hand.

  Lucian smiled.

  ‘Even though I have no mother… I have a family.’

  The servants, swift as the wind, served the food flawlessly.

  “How is the council going?” his father asked his eldest sister, Noelle, seated beside Aris and closest to him.

  She looked a lot like Aris, but far more mature and elegant. With her white hair and pale skin, she looked like an angel, and a real one, unlike Aris, who merely appeared as one.

  “Quite well, actually,” Noelle said. Her voice was low, yet carried unspoken authority.

  “Of course it is. You are called the Devil’s Authority, after all,” Aris teased.

  Noelle smiled. “They are quite easy to tame.”

  ‘Devil’s Authority… such a name for my gentle sister.’ Lucian couldn’t understand it. As far as he remembered, she was the kindest woman in the world. In fact, she had acted as a mother to both of them.

  “By the way, where have you two been all day? I couldn’t find you anywhere,” his father asked.

  Aris choked on her cake and immediately turned to her father.

  “Nullscribes! Yes, Nullscribes! What are they doing here?”

  The family head nearly slipped his glass of wine.

  “Oh, you don’t know? Tomorrow is Lucian’s birthday. There’s a banquet, of course. All the high families are here.”

  “Ah—ha…”

  “What? Had you forgotten?” Noelle asked.

  “Of course not! I even have a gift,” Aris said, pouting.

  “I bet it’s not better than mine.”

  “Alright, you two. No fighting here,” their father said before the argument escalated. And that was how dinner concluded without a sisterly war.

  Before Lucian could leave, however, his father asked him to meet him in the garden.

  The cold air bit at Lucian’s skin as he stepped outside, he regretted not wearing a full-sleeved sweater, but the garden’s beauty was enough to mesmerize him.

  regretting his choice of clothing. Still, the garden’s beauty was mesmerizing.

  Under the soft light of the full moon, the white flowers glowed beautifully. His father sat on a rock near the pond, a bag of fish food beside him, tossing handfuls into the water.

  As Lucian approached, his father turned and smiled.

  “White doesn’t suit you.”

  “Huh?”

  Lucian looked down at his shirt. He thought it suited him well.

  “Whether it does or not, it’s comfortable,” Lucian replied.

  “Indeed.”

  His father shifted slightly. “Sit.”

  Lucian picked up the bag and tossed some food into the pond.

  A cold breeze washed over him, making him shiver. The air was cold, but the surroundings made it feel colder. The garden held only white flowers, white roses, Madonna lilies, tulips, hydrangeas, and white jasmine.

  “Why only white flowers?” Lucian wondered aloud.

  He had asked this many times before, but today was the first time he received an answer.

  “Plain, isn’t it? Boring. Or perhaps sorrowful,” his father said.

  Lucian looked into his father’s eyes. Unlike his own, warm like summer sunlight, while his father’s were like molten silver, as if on the verge of spilling out.

  “Do you hate this colour?” Lucian asked.

  “No. I just find it boring.”

  His father tilted his head slightly. “What do you think white means?”

  Lucian thought.

  White. The colour of peace. Of purity. In war, white meant surrender. It represented weakness… yet also hope. In the sea incident two decades ago, survivors wore white so as not to lose the last of their hope. From then on, white became known as the colour of endurance. It was also used to bind promises, and symbolized discipline.

  After a long pause, Lucian said, “It gets dirty easily.”

  His father chuckled. “That’s also true.”

  “But it’s still the colour our ancestors chose,” he continued. “Because white is the colour of beginnings. It can change effortlessly. It can take on many names. It is the only colour that can become all colours.”

  “I never thought of it that way,” Lucian said.

  He sighed. “What are you trying to say?”

  His father smiled again. “You should go inside. It’s cold.”

  ‘Did you only realize that now?’

  Lucian crossed his arms and began to walk away.

  “If I…” his father’s voice stopped him. “If I were to die one day, Lucian, you would become the seventh head of Lysander.”

  ‘Still joking at this hour.’

  Lucian turned back and smiled. “Then Noelle would make the best head.”

  Entering the mansion, Lucian was greeted by a young woman in a maid’s outfit.

  “Ivelle!” Lucian said, surprised by her sudden appearance.

  She bowed slightly. “Good evening, young master.”

  She was young and beautiful, assigned as his caretaker for nearly three years now. In his experience, she was the best, especially because she secretly brought him cookies at night, even after Noelle forbade late-night snacks.

  Lucian noticed the shawl in her hands. “Go on.”

  She bowed again and walked toward the garden of white flowers.

  Lucian paid her little attention and returned to his room.

  Outside his room, he saw Noelle about to enter.

  “What are you doing here?” Lucian asked.

  “Oh, there you are. What are you doing dressed in so few layers?” she frowned.

  “Ah—Father called me.”

  “Well, anyway…”

  She showed him a box made of reddish wood he didn’t recognize.

  “What’s this?” Lucian asked.

  “Your present, for tomorrow.”

  “Oh…” Lucian smiled awkwardly and raised his hand to take it.

  “It’s for tomorrow. Don’t be so impatient.”

  With that, she left, and an awkward silence followed.

  Lucian entered his room, removed his sweater, and jumped onto the bed for a peaceful night.

  As the night deepened, Lucian suddenly woke, drenched in sweat. He had sweated so much that his pillow was soaked.

  He frowned. “It’s almost winter, damn it.”

  Stepping outside his room, he froze.

  The house was burning. Engulfed in a terrible fire.