Ethan looked down at Blake, who was kneeling before him.
He hadn't seen the man in ten years, and he had grown a bit bulkier.
The muscles beneath his shoulder guards stretched the rivets taut. A new scar, likely less than six months old, ran from beneath his left ear down to his Adam's apple.
His plate armor was polished to a bright sheen, though there were fresh blade nicks on his gauntlets, suggesting he had been in a scuffle within the last few days.
“Alright, get up.”
Blake didn't budge.
He looked up, his eyes rimmed with red. His lips trembled several times before he managed to choke out, “Young Master, you've finally returned.”
Ethan reached out, grabbed his shoulder guard, and lifted him up.
Blake's plate armor weighed at least three hundred pounds, yet he was hoisted completely off the ground. His armored boots dangled in the air for a moment before planting back down on the stone.
“What are you crying for?” Ethan released his grip. “A grand captain of the guard for the ducal estate, sniffling at the front gate—what a disgraceful sight.”
Blake rubbed his eyes with the back of his gauntlet, the steel glove leaving a red mark on his face.
He opened his mouth as if to say something, but his gaze swept past Jack and Wesley, who were still standing in a daze by the gate, and he swallowed his words.
Seeing that Blake had something on his mind, Ethan didn't press him. He turned and walked through the gates.
Blake followed half a step behind, his movements significantly quieter than usual.
As Ethan walked along the path of the front courtyard, he noticed the old grey flagstones had been replaced with polished, blue-veined stone. The gaps were filled with fine white pebbles that gleamed softly under the sunlight.
The flower beds on both sides were meticulously manicured, filled with blooming purple-leaf irises imported from the South. Each blossom was as large as a basin, their petals edged with delicate gold trim.
Behind the flower beds stood twelve marble pillars, their shafts carved with House Leo's Thorn Crest. Perched atop each pillar was a stone falcon with outspread wings, their eyes set with thumb-sized pieces of amber.
A dark red carpet was laid out between the pillars, stretching from the main castle doors all the way to the edge of the courtyard.
Over a dozen servants were busy on either side of the pillars.
Some knelt by the flower beds trimming branches, others stood on ladders dusting the stone falcons, and some scurried back and forth carrying silver trays laden with freshly picked flowers and intricately folded napkins.
A head maid stood beneath the pillars directing the work, tapping a slender pointer in the air. Though her voice wasn't loud, her tone was exceptionally sharp. “The iris on the left is crooked; straighten it. You, on the ladder—the falcon's left eye socket is still dusty. Wipe it again. And you, are you trying to get us scolded by the Master with napkins folded like that?”
The servants hurried to obey her commands, their foreheads slick with sweat, yet none dared to utter a word of complaint.
A young maid carrying a stack of silver candelabras stepped out from behind a pillar. Walking in a rush, she nearly collided with Ethan.
She quickly sidestepped out of the way, the silver candelabras clinking softly in her arms.
Ethan continued forward.
On the steps at the end of the colonnade knelt two boys scrubbing the tiles. They wore coarse cloth shirts, their trousers rolled up to their knees, clutching wet rags in their hands.
One of them looked up at the sound of footsteps. His gaze lingered on Ethan's face for a moment before drifting down to his dusty travel clothes, and his lip curled slightly in disdain.
The older boy beside him nudged him with an elbow, and both immediately bowed their heads, scrubbing the blue-veined stone with frantic speed.
Ethan cast a brief glance at the two boys but said nothing.
He turned his head toward Blake. “Why is everything decorated so grandly today?”
Walking half a step to Ethan's right, Blake's plate armor clanked heavily with every stride.
He reached up to scratch the back of his head, his steel gauntlet clinking sharply against the edge of his helmet. A smile squeezed onto his rugged face, made slightly comical by the fresh scar running from his left ear to his Adam's apple.
“Young Master, today is your birthday.”
Ethan paused in his tracks.
Blake seeing him stop, quickly explained, “Ever since you left ten years ago, the Master has decorated the estate like this every year on your birthday. Hanging lanterns, arranging the flower beds, dusting the statues, replacing the carpets, and even having the napkins folded in brand-new styles. One year, when the Imperial City suffered a food shortage and we donated more than half of our grain, the Master still insisted on having the front courtyard decorated exactly as before. He said that you were working hard studying abroad, so the family's standards couldn't be neglected. What if you suddenly came home one day?”
He paused, his voice softening. “Even if you didn't return, the Master would stand at the entrance of the main castle, staring toward the front gate all night long. Once, during a heavy downpour, the Marchioness had to send servants three times before he finally went inside.”
Just then, a flurry of hurried footsteps echoed from deep within the main castle.
The footsteps were incredibly heavy, each step causing the blue-veined stone floor to vibrate slightly.
It was clear someone was running at full speed, completely discarding the usual poise and decorum expected of nobility.
A robust figure burst around the corner.
Slin Leo wore dark blue ducal robes, the Thorn Crest embroidered over his chest, his collar buttoned immaculately.
Ten years had passed, but his posture remained upright and his shoulders broad, though silver now streaked his temples and deep wrinkles lined the corners of his eyes.
His heavy boots thudded loudly against the floor as he rushed forward.
Several servants shrank further against the walls, and Blake instinctively took half a step back.
Duke Leo skids to a sudden halt three paces away from Ethan.
The soles of his boots made a harsh, scraping sound against the stone.
He stood there, his chest heaving heavily, his lips trembling.
Ethan placed his right hand over his chest and bowed slightly.
“Father.”
Duke Leo's throat bobbed.
He raised a calloused hand, letting it hover in the air, his fingers trembling slightly.
Then, the hand landed heavily on Ethan's shoulder, his fingers gripping Ethan's shoulder blade like iron pincers.
“You're back,” he rasped, the words squeezed from his throat. “You've grown sturdier.”
Before Ethan could respond, the rapid clicking of high heels on the stone tiles echoed from behind.
The Marchioness came running from the other end of the corridor.
The hem of her deep purple court gown fluttered as she ran, a few stray locks of hair falling loose around her temples. She rushed up to Ethan and cupped his face with both hands. “You've grown thin.”
Her voice trembled violently, her eyes brimming with tears.
Ethan looked at her.
His mother had a few more fine lines around her eyes. Though her face was still elegantly made up, it couldn't hide the dark, bluish circles beneath her eyes.
“Mother.”
The Marchioness's tears finally spilled over.
She pulled Ethan into a tight embrace, her arms locking around his back. She buried her face in the crook of his shoulder, her own shoulders shaking violently.
Ethan felt the fabric of his shoulder grow damp with her tears.
He raised his hands and gently patted his mother's back.
Blake turned and slipped away, and the servants hovering nearby quietly dispersed as well.
For a moment, only the three of them remained.
And at the corner, an elderly figure wept silently in the shadows.
It was truly a heartwarming scene.
Rate on N.U.
