The hover bus glided smoothly through the cityscape, its quiet hum blending into the evening's gentle bustle. Roy sat near the window, arms crossed, golden eyes lost in thought as he watched the world outside. The towering skyscrapers reflected the soft glow of streetlights, the world outside moving at its own pace, indifferent to the weight on his chest.
As the vehicle neared his stop, he let out a small sigh and rolled his shoulders. His home wasn't far now. A place of grandeur, wealth, and luxury.
A place that never quite felt like home.
The bus came to a halt, and Roy stepped off, the scent of fresh earth and blooming flowers meeting him immediately. The florist shop was just a few steps away, tucked between two high-end boutiques, its wooden sign gently swaying in the night breeze.
A small bell chimed as he entered.
"Ah, young master Roy," an elderly florist greeted him warmly, her wrinkled hands carefully trimming the petals of a delicate white lily. "Back again for your mother?"
Roy nodded with a faint smile. "As always, Mrs. Fenwick."
She sighed fondly, walking to a display filled with golden-hued flowers. "Eleven years, and you still pick the same ones."
"She liked them the most," Roy murmured, reaching out to take the bouquet. "Sun's Embrace."
"Because she said they reminded her of you." The florist smiled knowingly before carefully wrapping the flowers in delicate paper. "You're a good son, Roy."
His smile wavered slightly, but he quickly recovered. "She deserves it."
With the bouquet in hand, he paid the florist and stepped back out into the cool night, beginning the familiar path home.
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The mansion loomed in the distance, a sprawling estate of intricate architecture and towering spires. Grandiose fountains adorned the front, their waters shimmering under the moonlight. Manicured gardens stretched across acres, with trimmed hedges forming elaborate patterns that only those from the sky could fully appreciate.
The wrought-iron gates stood tall, their golden crest reflecting his family's legacy. A legacy he barely acknowledged.
As he approached, a familiar figure stood at the entrance, waiting with a poised, composed stance.
"Welcome home, young master."
Gerald, the family steward, bowed slightly, his crisp black suit impeccably tailored. His silvered hair was neatly combed back, and his sharp green eyes held warmth that contrasted the otherwise cold air of the estate.
Roy smirked. "Gerald, you're still standing outside like a loyal hound. Don't tell me you've been waiting here all day."
Gerald let out a soft chuckle. "It's hardly waiting when I know you'll be back at this hour. Punctual as always."
Roy raised the bouquet slightly. "Figured I'd make my usual stop first."
Gerald nodded, his eyes softening. "She'll appreciate it, as she always does."
The young noble walked past the gates, Gerald falling into step beside him. The path leading to the mansion was lined with glowing lanterns, their light casting long, wavering shadows on the cobblestone.
"How are things here?" Roy asked, his tone light but laced with genuine curiosity.
"The usual," Gerald replied. "Your father remains busy with his affairs. Your uncle, however, has embarked on yet another mission."
Roy grinned. "What else is new? He probably left without telling anyone again."
"Indeed," Gerald chuckled. "Though the guards are quite confident he'll return safely. The Duke, on the other hand, hasn't really left his office."
Roy scoffed. "Of course, he hasn't."
The walk continued in comfortable silence, only interrupted by passing house staff who bowed politely as Roy greeted them with casual familiarity. Unlike his father, Roy never treated them as mere servants. He knew their names, their families, their habits. They were the only warmth this mansion had ever known.
Gerald stole a glance at the boy beside him. "You should visit your uncle's study. He left a letter for you."
Roy raised a brow. "Oh? And what exactly did he say?"
The steward shook his head with amusement. "You know him. Cryptic as always. Just said you'd 'figure it out' once you read it."
Roy sighed. "Of course, he did."
As they reached the grand entrance of the mansion, Gerald slowed his steps.
"I do wish… the Duke and you had a better relationship." His voice was careful, hesitant, like stepping on thin ice. "You and Lord Garrick—your bond is strong, admirable. But your father—"
Roy's expression turned unreadable. "Don't." His voice was quiet, yet firm.
Gerald sighed but said no more. He simply held open the door, allowing Roy to step into the lavish interior of his home.
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The halls were vast, each step echoing against polished marble floors. Ornate chandeliers hung from the high ceilings, their crystal ornaments casting fragmented reflections across gilded walls.
Despite the beauty, the estate felt empty.
Servants moved efficiently but spoke little, their presence ghost-like in the expanse of the mansion. Roy barely noticed them as he walked toward a familiar hallway, his grip tightening slightly around the bouquet in his hands.
At the very end of the corridor was a door.
His mother's room.
The air was cool inside, a faint scent of medicinal herbs lingering in the space. White curtains danced gently by the open balcony, allowing moonlight to filter through. And there, on the massive bed surrounded by soft silks and pristine sheets, lay a woman.
Her golden hair spilled across the pillows like liquid sunlight. Her face was serene, untouched by time. She looked as though she were simply asleep, trapped in a dream she had never awakened from.
For eleven years, she had remained like this.
Unmoving. Silent.
Roy's chest tightened as he approached, his fingers ghosting over the bed's edge.
"Hey, Mom," he murmured, forcing a small smile as he placed the flowers in the vase beside her. "I brought your favorites again."
She didn't respond, as always.
He sat beside her, staring at her peaceful face, trying to remember the sound of her voice. It had faded over the years, becoming a whisper he could barely grasp.
But he still remembered her touch.
Her warmth.
He placed his hand over hers, feeling the coolness of her skin beneath his fingertips.
"They say you collapsed when I was five," he whispered. "Just… fell asleep one day and never woke up."
He swallowed, his throat tightening.
"I barely even remember you," he admitted, his voice quieter. "But I remember how safe I felt when you held me."
He exhaled, pulling his hand back.
"I'll stay a little longer today," he said softly, leaning back into the chair beside her bed.
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Much later, after the mansion had settled into a quiet lull, Roy found himself walking toward another part of the estate.
His father's office.
Each step felt heavier, the grand halls feeling colder the closer he got.
His father was many things.
A powerful Duke. A feared warrior. An unyielding noble.
But never a father.
Roy stopped just outside the large double doors, staring at the ornate carvings on the wood.
His hands clenched into fists.
With a slow breath, he lifted his hand.
And knocked.