Aidan walked toward his room, already inside the inner castle as the corridor's silence lingered and his footsteps echoed, his mind still on the first day of training.
A woman entered his field of vision, followed by one servant and one guard behind her. The guard was formally dressed, so it was easy for him to guess.
The woman wasn't looking forward, her eyes down on papers in her hand while talking, but she seemed to notice a gaze upon her as she lifted her head. Her stern expression melted into a beautiful smile as she halted near the turning before saying:
"Oh my, if it isn't my lovely grandson?" Her voice was fresh.
Aidan stopped as he gazed at Lady Charlotte before saying, "Good afternoon, Grandmother." His voice was relaxed. He had started calling her "Grandmother" after meeting with his uncle Erwin and his father told him to call her that— and not to use "step." His father had seemed firm about it, so he did as told. He didn't have anything against her, so he didn't mind.
"Good afternoon," she said before continuing, "How was your training?" she asked, her eyes locked on him.
"It was alright," Aidan replied.
"Good, good," she repeated before saying, "Remember to train well—after all, you are the heir of the Wilson estate, aren't you? Remember to take care of yourself," she commented, her tone playful but her eyes sharp.
"I will do my best," Aidan replied. "I have to go to my class now, so I'll excuse myself."
"Alright then, grandson. Go to your class," Charlotte said as she walked forward with no hesitation in her step, powerful and resounding across the corridor.
Aidan moved on, the corridor falling completely silent behind him.
He opened the door to his room, where Henry could be seen at the table where he studied. On the table were six empty cups, not counting the one in Henry's hand as he sipped it slowly before putting it down. His hand extended for his cane as he said, his tone a bit dramatic:
"Ohh, so you, a Wilson, finally decided to grace a peasant like me with your presence?" His nose flared, and his hand gripped his cane tighter.
Aidan hurriedly came forward. "I am sorry, Master. This was my first day of training, and I didn't want to cut it short," Aidan said, knowing he was in the wrong.
Henry snorted. "Do you even know how precious my time is?" he said, then grumbled internally, "Not even your father would make me wait… well, maybe Liam would—but at least Edward wouldn't." Henry comforted himself, but why does it seem his son is also going on the same path?
"Alright, I accept my fault," Aidan said, his face apologetic while his hand also rose in a gesture of apology before taking his seat.
"Hmph," Henry snorted once more before he started the lecture, his tone unlike his usual self.
Aidan's hand moved swiftly, following Henry's words as he wrote them down. When Henry stopped speaking, Aidan finished writing the last word, tapping the end of his quill against the page before closing his book.
Henry stood up, reaching for his cane in one swift motion. He adjusted his robe before turning toward the door. With a glance at Aidan, he said, "I'm going out of town for a few days and won't come for session. Until I return, study The Ethics of Nobles. When I come back, I'll be testing you—do you understand?"
Not waiting for a reply, he strode out of the room, his cane tapping against the floor.
Aidan watched Henry's back as he hurriedly exited the room. Muttering to himself, he said, "He really seems to be in a hurry. I wonder where he's going."
He shook his head before standing up, intending to take a nap—his body was still exhausted, and now even his mind felt drained.
Henry, who was now standing above the Wilson estate in the air, glanced toward a direction as his body began to change its appearance, and in the sight of slight old age stood a handsome figure. Unlike Henry, his hair was completely black, his cane seeming to disappear somewhere.
With a single step, he crossed the lands of Wilson Castle. Two more steps, and he left the Wilson fiefdom behind. Another step carried him past Viscount John's territory as he edged toward the Dark Forest, his robes flowing weightlessly through the air.
The sun shone brightly upon him, but as he neared the forest, its light seemed to dim. The once-sparkling rivers turned murky, their waters rotting. The lush green fields withered into barren wastelands, and jagged rocks took the place of fertile land.
With every step he took toward the Dark Forest, the bright day gradually faded into darkness. The closer he came, the dimmer the world became, until, upon reaching the forest's edge, the sun's light vanished entirely—swallowed by an unnatural night.
Towering trees stretched endlessly into the sky, their immense size making those outside the forest seem like mere saplings. His gaze drifted toward the forest's surroundings, where high above, mana swirled in the sky for reasons unknown.
An eerie sound seemed to come near his ear from the darkness—a whisper calling him to enter the forest, alluring him to edge closer.
He opened his mouth, muttering to himself, "What is happening in the Dark Forest?" His gaze deepened, searching for any sign of why such dense mana was gathering. This is unlike anything ever recorded in history…
To think all these things happened right after the birth of two Primordial Name beings. A memory of a little girl and a boy appeared in his mind—a slight crack in the sky, as if glass were breaking. Something that happened six years ago, and now the Dark Forest, with mana swirling as never seen before.
This time, he wasn't muttering to himself—he spoke a name aloud. "Mother Maaya, what does this all indicate for our world? For Maaya?" he questioned.
He sighed as he walked toward the Lizardman Empire alone. He could already imagine those damn reptiles, heads held high, brushing off the signs like they were nothing more than much that they couldn't handle themselves. Pride ran thicker than blood in their veins—he just hoped, for once, they'd set it aside, even if only for their own festival coming in few year.
Henry's thoughts drifted to the festival. In the heart of the Lizardman Empire, preparations for it would already starting. It wasn't just any celebration—in every fifty years it came in once.
Even the stiff borders between empires softened then, with invitations crossing lands that normally bristled with tension. Convincing them wouldn't be easy. Pride rarely bent, even for its own future but he would take the chance who knowns they take it seriously even if only for their festival.