"Uncle Benjamin!" Samuel's voice rang through the cool evening air, breathless with excitement. "Hurry! You gotta see this—there's a bird's nest way up in the apple tree!"
Without waiting for a response, the boy, no older than ten, took off running. His feet barely touched the ground as he sprinted toward the towering apple tree. Its thick branches stretched outward like ancient arms, barring entry to the dark, mysterious forest beyond the castle grounds.
Benjamin's gaze followed him, his brows knitting together. He knew this tree well. It had stood there long before his time, a silent guardian at the forest's edge. And yet, as he looked at it now—truly looked at it—something felt off. The sheer size of it, the way its roots twisted deep into the earth like grasping fingers.
Maybe it had always been this way, and he had simply never noticed. Or maybe, after years of war, his eyes finally saw things differently. He had left Centarious Castle as a younger man—reckless and hungry for battle, blind to the quiet details of home. Now, summoned back after nearly a decade, he returned wary, knowing full well he was walking into a trap. His brother, William Centarious, had called him back for a reason, and it wasn't out of sentimentality.
Shaking off the thought, Benjamin exhaled and strode toward Samuel, who was already struggling to climb.
…
The walk behind Centarious Castle was meant to be simple—a chance for Benjamin to reconnect with his nephew after years apart. The last time he had seen Sammy, the boy had been a mere six-month-old infant, small and fragile in his arms. Now, he was an energetic ten-year-old, and Benjamin—who had spent most of his life around soldiers and scholars—was utterly clueless when it came to children.
Doubt gnawed at him. Was he truly cut out for this? He had no idea how to speak to a child, let alone bond with one.
As the sun began its descent, Benjamin decided to turn back. When night fell, a mystical fog often rolled in from the enchanted forest, veiling the land in an eerie shroud. Though harmless, the mist made it dangerously easy to lose one's way, and he wasn't about to take that risk—not with Samuel by his side.
But just as they neared the apple tree, Samuel suddenly broke into a run.
Benjamin hesitated only a moment before following.
…
Benjamin stood beneath the tree, watching as Samuel climbed, his small hands gripping the branches with determined ease. There was no use trying to talk him out of it—he had learned that much already.
With a resigned sigh, Benjamin sat down at the base of the tree, leaning against its sturdy trunk. The sun dipped lower, casting a golden hue over the castle grounds, its light filtering through the branches above. It was beautiful. And yet, as he watched the sky shift into twilight, an old sorrow crept into his heart.
How many sunsets had he missed? How many moments had slipped through his fingers while he was lost in war, in revenge, in an endless cycle of bloodshed?
Above him, Samuel's laughter rang out—light and unburdened.
Benjamin let out a small smile.
He leaned his head back, his eyes growing heavy. The warmth of the evening wrapped around him, lulling him into stillness. Sleep took him before he could fight it.
…
Theos—The Road to Centarious Castle
A carriage of polished mahogany, adorned with gold filigree, gleamed beneath the dimming sky as it rolled smoothly along the ancient road from Theos. Its enchanted steel wheels barely disturbed the dust, gliding effortlessly toward the looming stone walls of Centarious Castle.
Inside, Michael Centarious sat in silence, his crimson eyes catching the last traces of evening light. His wavy black hair framed sharp, aristocratic features—a face carved from nobility itself. Opposite him, Paul Luminath, a man in his mid-thirties, sat with an air of quiet authority, his presence like the warmth of the sun—steady, yet utterly dwarfed by the commanding aura of a noble.
As the carriage neared the castle gatehouse, flickering torches along the stone walls cast long shadows across Michael's face. He let out a weary sigh, breaking the silence.
"Sir Luminath, can I skip tomorrow's training?" His voice carried exhaustion, though he tried to veil it behind disinterest.
Paul didn't answer right away. Instead, he studied Michael, his keen eyes searching for the reason behind the request. "Why?" he finally asked.
Michael scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Do I need a reason?"
Paul exhaled through his nose, unimpressed. "Yes, you do."
Michael crossed his arms, tapping his fingers against his sleeve. "Fine. I just got back. I want a break."
Paul raised a brow. "You'll have time for that after training."
Michael let out a frustrated breath. "Come on, Paul. Just one day."
Paul's lips twitched slightly—not quite a smile, but close. "You're this close to mastering the first seal of Blood Walking. You stop now, and all that effort means nothing."
Michael groaned. "You say that every time."
Paul gave him a knowing look. "And yet, every time, you come back stronger."
Michael narrowed his eyes, but before he could argue, the carriage rolled to a stop. He clicked his tongue, deciding to drop it. For now.
The footman pulled the door open, and Michael stepped out, stretching his shoulders as he took in the sight of the castle's grand porch. Paul followed, his presence ever watchful.
Waiting at the entrance stood two figures.
Mrs. Alexandra, the castle's housekeeper—a sharp-eyed woman in her late thirties with an air of quiet authority—bowed first, followed by a young maid in her early twenties, dressed in the castle's traditional servant attire.
"Good evening, young master," Mrs. Alexandra greeted smoothly. "How was your journey?"
Michael gave a small nod. "Fine. Long." He glanced around. "Where's Sammy? He's usually the first one running out here."
Mrs. Alexandra hesitated for half a second—just enough for Michael to catch.
"Young Master Samuel is with your uncle, Sir Benjamin."
Michael froze.
He blinked, sure he had misheard her. "...What?"
Mrs. Alexandra's expression remained unreadable. "Sir Benjamin returned earlier today."
Michael stared at her, his mind struggling to process the words.
His uncle—Sir Benjamin Centarious. The man who had left for war nine years ago and never once returned. A figure from his childhood, more ghost than man in his memory.
Paul let out a low whistle beside him. "Well, didn't see that coming."
Michael barely reacted. His fingers curled slightly, but he quickly forced them to relax. His face remained impassive, unreadable.
"He didn't send word ahead?" Michael's voice was flat, but there was an edge beneath it.
Mrs. Alexandra shook her head. "No, young master. He was summoned by your father, the Duke."
Michael's jaw clenched slightly. That changed everything.
…
Beneath the Apple Tree
Benjamin's eyes fluttered open. He was still beneath the giant apple tree, its shade cool against his skin. For a moment, everything seemed as it should be.
Then—something shifted. A prickle ran down his spine. The air smelled different.
His eyes darted across the branches, searching. The child was nowhere to be seen.
And then, in the distance, he saw it.
Beyond the tree, the world was on fire.