Lucien furrowed his brow.

  They're really doing this to a sixteen-year-old…

  The guard stepped aside, gesturing for him to enter with a slight tilt of his head.

  He stepped forward, and the sight that greeted him was a row of maids standing by the door, their heads bowed in silent formality. The room was illuminated by the warm flicker of candlelight casting elongated shadows against the walls. A grand chandelier, its golden frame adorned with countless crystals, hung above the dining hall, bathing the space in a muted glow.

  At the heart of the room stretched a long, polished mahogany table, its surface gleaming beneath the soft light

  At the far end, a single, imposing chair stood apart from the others. The seat of the Baron.

  To the right of that throne-like seat sat the Baroness, poised and elegant. To the left, an empty chair—the designated pce for the heir of the Waren family. Beside it, the Baron's other children filled their seats: his three half-brothers and one half-sister.

  His half-sister, appearing in her te teens, sat with a composed grace, while the brothers, only two or three years apart, bore expressions ranging from disinterest to quiet scrutiny.

  He moved, pulling the mahogany high chair back before sitting at the end of the right side. Before becoming a baron, Edric Waren served as a knight. After earning merit in several battles against monsters, he was elevated to nobility, becoming a Blue-Blood Baron.

  A fanatic for discipline, he ensured the household remained in strict order.

  The room fell into tense silence, so still that even the rustling of clothes and the slightest movement of legs could be heard.

  Someone would think we were here to mourn rather than eat breakfast.

  Someone stirred.

  "Uhm… Lucien, why...are you here?"

  The words cut like a whip, shing through the heavy silence.

  The speaker was the third half-brother, Derrick Warren, two years older than their sister. His features bore some resembnce to the baron—brown hair and ember eyes—but the simirity ended there.

  Where the baron had a sharp, angur face with pronounced cheekbones, his were softened by chubby cheeks. Instead of piercing, hawk-like eyes, his were round and unassuming. And unlike the scar running across the baron's cheek, his face was unmarked, his muscles soft rather than hardened by battle.

  His face turned toward him, his lips tugging into an annoying smile.

  Why am I getting the urge to punch him in the face?

  The other two idiots also turned their attention to him, while the baroness stared into the air, likely lost in thought. The baron had his eyes closed, and their sister idly pyed with her nails, as if completely uninterested.

  How the hell, I'm suppose to answer?

  Well, fu*k it.Lucien gave him a look and said, "Didn't realize I needed permission to eat breakfast in my own house."

  The baroness, who had been staring into the air, snapped back to reality. The baron didn't react—at least, that's how it seemed. But his furrowed brows told another story. The sister, who had been pying with her nails, finally looked up. The two brothers sat there, mouths agape.

  "Well, aren't you being preposterous?" Derrick said, his chubby eyes boring into him.

  Lucien gave him a cold look. "Preposterous? For eating breakfast? You must have a very fragile sense of reality."

  Derrick's smile wavered, a muscle in his cheek twitching. "You know exactly what I'm talking about."

  Lucien leaned back in his chair, his posture rexed, but his gaze unwavering. He shook his head slowly, feigning confusion. "No, I don't. Would you care to eborate?"

  Derrick ground his teeth, his voice rising, harsher now. "You aren't—"

  "Enough."

  A rough, commanding voice cut through the air.

  The baron had opened his eyes, one hand raised to silence the quarrel. His gaze settled on Derrick, sharp and unwavering. "No arguments at the table. Are we clear?"

  Derrick's eyes widened. He opened his mouth, his tone defensive. "But, Father—"

  "Are. We. Clear?"

  This time, his voice carried an edge—something weighty, almost tangible. A force that demanded submission.

  Derrick lowered his head, his throat tightened. "Yes, father."

  The baron turned his gaze on Lucien.

  A heavy pressure settled over him—silent, commanding, demanding submission.

  Lucien met his eyes for a moment before giving a slow nod.

  It's Derrick's fault for picking a fight in front of the Baron. Even though he doesn't approve of me, he despises family quarrels. To him, open conflict is a sign of weakness—an invitation for outsiders to look down on us. Of course, it's not about actual unity. He just likes the illusion of it, the pretense that everything within the family is perfectly normal.

  From behind the baron's imposing chair, a maid pushed a banquet cart, its polished brass frame gleaming under the candlelight. Resting atop were gss-domed serving dishes, each shielding a carefully prepared delicacy—Honey-Gzed Boar Ribs, Braised Lamb with Rosemary, and Eggs with Truffle & Herbs—their rich aromas barely contained. The gss covers, typically used to preserve warmth and maintain presentation, reflected the golden glow of the chandelier.

  With practiced grace, the maids standing by the door stepped forward. One by one, they id out ptes, silver cutlery, and steaming dishes upon the mahogany table. Crystal goblets were set in pce, the deep crimson of aged wine poured only for the baron and baroness.

  The baron thumped his chest, his voice rough yet commanding.

  "Under the golden crown of the radiant sun, we feast in the grace of Aetherion's rule. May the light of wisdom guide our path, and the weight of His will shape our destiny. Glory to the Eversting Sovereign, keeper of order and enlightenment."

  The family echoed his words in unison. "Under the golden crown—"

  Lucien followed suit, thumping his chest and reciting the prayer. His voice was steady, but his eyes darkened.

  …The Aetherion kingdom's prayer. It's been so long since I st spoke these words…

  Zexusgo