The main house was just like Edric's mansion—only far, far larger. Honestly, it looked more like a fortress than a residence. Situated dead center in Whystan, the colossal structure stood alone in an open plaza of polished white marble, surrounded by nothing: no perimeter wall, no visible guards, no sentries, not even a token gate. Anyone could stroll right up to its outer walls and circle the grounds if they wished. Such was the Farbens' absolute confidence in their power.
Tina guided the carriage across the wide front yard with practiced care and brought it to a smooth stop before the grand double doors. Six other carriages already waited in a neat semicircle, each gleaming under the dying sunset. One yellow, one red, one pink, one orange, one brown, one blue, and now he's black.
Edric had never truly understood why they were separated by color. Perhaps it was a holdover from their mothers' rivalries, or some old tradition meant to mark each sibling's distinct claim, but it didn't matter much.
Tina stepped down first, unfurling a large black umbrella against the lingering mist. She opened his door with gentle precision and offered her free hand.
Edric drew a slow breath, steeling himself. His left leg still refused to register sensation; his right arm trembled faintly even as he gripped the cane. With gritted teeth and every ounce of remaining strength, he pushed himself upright and swung his legs out. The marble step felt cold and unyielding beneath his shoe.
Tina's arm slid supportively beneath his elbow without a word. Together they stepped into the open plaza, the umbrella casting a soft shadow over them both.
"Welcome, Master Edric."
A butler stood framed in the golden light spilling from within. His posture was impeccable—ramrod straight, shoulders squared, every inch the mirror of Galleon. Behind him, two neat lines of household staff stretched along the walls, heads bowed in perfect unison, hands clasped behind their backs.
"Good evening, Terry," Edric replied, voice steady.
"I trust the journey was uneventful?" Terry asked, stepping forward smoothly to accept the umbrella from Tina.
"The same as always," Edric said.
The entrance hall opened before him like a cavern of marble and gold. The air inside carried the faint, clean scent of beeswax polish and old wood—cooler and heavier than the misty evening outside. Footsteps echoed softly on the black-and-white checkered floor despite the thick Persian rugs. High above, crystal chandeliers cast warm, prismatic light across walls lined with ancestral portraits and gilded molding.
But the true centerpiece dominated the far wall: an enormous family painting, easily twice the size of any in Edric's own home. Every sibling stood in their assigned place, each wearing the colors that matched their carriages. Their mothers—long gone or long estranged—were captured in elegant poses beside them. And there, near the edge but still included, was Edric as a younger boy, small and healthy, standing beside his mother. Her face though…wasn't there, erased.
Edric let his gaze linger only a moment before averting it.
He looked instead toward the grand staircase that rose at the hall's center—wide enough for six people to ascend abreast, its marble steps gleaming under soft sconce light. The balustrade was carved with the real Farben emblem: three half-circles. It seemed plain sure, but for what he knew, that was his father's symbol when he himself had been only one of the sons disputing the throne.
So it made sense.
Terry gestured politely toward the stairs.
"The others have already gathered in the drawing room, sir. They are expecting you."
Edric gave a small nod.
"Wait here," he said to Tina, voice low, without turning back.
He didn't wait for her reply. The grand staircase rose before him like a judgment. Each step was a battle. His left leg dragged slightly, numb and unresponsive; his right leg burned with the effort of compensating. Eventually, slowly and painfully, he reached the top.
The corridor that stretched ahead was completely dark. No sconces flickered, the rain fell over the high windows. Not even light came out from beneath the drawing-room door at the far end, which would make anyone doubt that there were really people inside.
When he reached the door, he stopped. Taking a deep breath, he placed his hand over the handle. Before he could turn it, he felt a sudden pull.
Suddenly Edric found himself in a warmly lit room entirely constructed of rich, polished oak. The air carried the comforting scents of aged paper, linseed oil, and faint wood polish. Tall bookshelves lined every wall, crammed with leather-bound volumes on art, history, and arcane philosophy.
In one corner stood stacks of canvases—some blank, others half-finished with bold strokes of color depicting stormy seas or abstract forms that he had no idea what it could mean. In another corner, blocks of pristine marble were slowly being chiseled into elegant statues.
This was what one might call a hobby room—a private sanctuary where their father retreated to express himself artistically, far from the demands of ruling and rivalry.
Almost poetic in a way and his Father surely thought as well.
Yet Edric had no time to appreciate the art. In the center of the room stood a grand circular table of dark mahogany, surrounded by eight high-backed chairs. Seated at each—save one empty—were his father and siblings, all eyes locked directly on him.
"You're late," his brother Rufus drawled, a smirk tugging at his lips.
Edric didn't respond, instead he adjusted his posture and coldly met each gaze in turn.
First, his father, Lloyd. He was a tall man still in his prime, broad-shouldered and unyielding. His hair had been gray since birth—a quirk often mistaken for age—but it only accentuated his timeless authority. His matching gray eyes were calm and indifferent as always, revealing nothing of the thoughts behind them. Dressed in an impeccably tailored gray suit that blended seamlessly with the shadows, he looked more like a ghost than a living person
At his father's left sat Dunstan, the eldest brother. He matched their father's impressive height, with dark brown hair cropped short in a military style, keen brown eyes that mirrored the old man's indifference but burned with sharper ambition, and olive skin that spoke of hours spent under the open sky. In contrast to their father's formal suit, Dunstan wore a crisp brown military uniform—adorned with medals and epaulets, the insignia of his own private force gleaming under the lamplight.
'His army uniform, no doubt.'
Then came Lynce, the elder sister. Her healthy pale skin made a striking contrast to her vivid pink hair, which cascaded in loose waves down her back like a cascade of rose petals caught in the wind. Like all the others, her eyes were matching in hue—piercing pink that gleamed with quiet intensity. She dressed in an elegant pink gown accented with fine black stripes that enhanced its beauty, the silk fabric whispering softly with her slightest movement.
Next, Bowie. With platinum blonde hair that shimmered like spun moonlight and fair skin that glowed softly under the room's warm lamps, she was utterly enchanting. Though her eyes paled in comparison to Edric's unnatural golden ones, they weren't ugly, far from it. Their hazel color reflected everything they gazed upon, making it seem as if she could peer straight into one's soul. In the light of the sun, they were truly majestic, but even here they held a captivating depth.
She was dressed in a simple yellow sundress that draped her slender frame, and she hugged a bear plush toy close to her chest. For what Edric knew, it was called Huggy.
Next came Cyan. His moist blue hair looked weird under the illumination, making it seem like rippling water caught in a gentle current. With intelligent eyes peering sharply from behind modest wire-framed glasses, he always carried a book in hand—its leather cover cracked from constant use, pages marked with precise notes.
After him came Alani. Her short orange hair was just as weird as Cyan's, seeming a little elusive for some reason—almost as if the strands might leap or flicker like embers ready to ignite. Her matching orange eyes glimmered with unrestrained enthusiasm, bright and alive in a way that felt both inviting and unpredictable. She was dressed in totally mundane clothes—a plain shirt and trousers that looked utterly out of place amid the family's finery.
And finally, the second youngest, Rufus. His rebellious red hair looked like flames—wild and untamed, catching the lamplight in fiery bursts that cast shifting shadows across his sharp features. In his eyes, Edric could see something between anger and disgust while looking at him.
Dressed in a red suit with a black tie, he looked like he just came from a blood bath.
That was the entire Farben family, the ones blessed by the Gods, seated in birth order around the table, with Edric's empty seat being the last one at his father's right side.
Without further delay, he walked toward it. His cane thudded dully against the wooden floor with each measured step, the sound echoing faintly in the hushed room like a reluctant heartbeat. No one said anything about his speed—not even Rufus, surprisingly. Whether out of ritual courtesy or something else, Edric didn't know, but he welcomed the silence anyway.
The moment he sat, his father spoke.
"Now that everyone is here, let's begin."