At three years old, Silas Morwynn sat curled up on a velvet cushion in the entry hall, barefoot and silent. Confused tears slid down his cheeks now and then, soft and unnoticed. He clutched nothing but the pendant hanging around his neck—its sigil strange and ancient, unrecognized even by the portraits, who refuse to speak.
He had been here two days.
The food appeared when he was hungry. The candles lit themselves when he cried. The House did not speak, but it watched.
On the third day, Silas wandered.
Behind the entry hall, he found a stone staircase that curled upward into shadows. Halfway up, his small hands slipped. He tumbled down a few steps, hitting the stone with a soft cry. His knee bled.
As he sat on the stair, whimpering, something began to glow.
Blood had touched the runes carved into the step. One by one, they lit—red as coals, pulsing like breath. Silas stared, eyes wide, no longer crying.
Then cam the sound of shifting stone. A low vibration rolled through the hall like a purr.
And for the first time since the Morwynn name was thought extinct, the ancestral fortress whispered:
"He is ours."
That night, while he slept on his cushion, Silas was silently moved to an entirely different wing of the manor.
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Waking up, Silas found himself on a children's bed, covered in dark crimson sheets. Looking around, he sees a low wooden table holding an old tome and a few children's toys resting against a stone wall with an empty portrait hanging above. Directly across the bed is a bench under a tall window with a view of the waves crashing against the rocky shore.
Shrugging off the bed covers and stepping down onto the cold stone floor, he grabs the tome from the table and takes a seat on the bench. The tome was wrapped in leather and shut tightly, not even budging when he tried to open it. Frowning, Silas looks at the cover and sees a strange sigil, a diamond shape with a straight line continuing from the top point, in the middle of the line is a small circle with another straight line going perpendicularly through the circle.
Slowly tracing the sigil with his finger, it starts to glow and Silas wonders what it means. Suddenly hearing something—
"Good job young one," intones a deep voice.
Silas jumps, looking around for where the voice came from.
"Over here," the voice points out.
Looking over, Silas suddenly realizes the empty portrait from before is filled. Inside is a middle aged man with curly brown hair similar to his own, bright blue eyes, and a short scruffy beard. He had an intense look to him that made Silas nervous.
"Qui es-tu?" the boy questions.
"Hmm" the man frowns, "That's problematic, but just another thing you will have to learn. Can you understand me boy?"
Silas squints "Oui, barely."
The man nods to himself, "Good. My name is Karl Morwynn, the last Lord Morwynn before the fall of our house. But you don't need to concern your self with that until your older. First thing you will need to do is find the stasis chamber. Before I died I made sure to preserve a few elves in case a new heir ever had need of them."
Silas looks down, holds up the tome and asks, "What about this?"
"That tome is tied to you as heir Morwynn, when you need it, the tome will show itself to you. You may leave it there," Lord Morwynn explains. He wasn't sure what the word heir meant, but he liked the way it sounded when Karl said it—like something important.
Silas sets the tome on the bench and climbs down to the floor, asking "Where?"
Lord Morwynn points at the open doorway on the other side of the room, "Though that door is a hallway. I want you to turn left and go all the way down the hall, you will see a blank stone wall with a sharp piece of rock sticking out. Use the rock to make your hand bleed and rub your hand on the wall. Inside you will find small beds with small creatures on them that look like they are sleeping, there should be two footprint indentations in the stone floor. All you need to do is stand in them and wait, the manor's magic will do the rest."
"Okay," replies Silas. Walking down the hall, he sees another tall window overlooking the whole estate, his mouth opens as he realizes how big the property is. Continuing to the wall, he finds the sharp piece of rock sticking out. Reluctantly putting his palm against it and pushing cause the skin on his hand to cut easily as blood starts welling up. After wiping his bloodied palm against the wall, he cradles his hand against his chest as he watches the wall light up in red runes, just like the stair from yesterday.
The wall starts making a shifting sounds and splits the stone down the middle showing the inside chamber. It's as the portrait described, a dark closed room with no other exit and no windows, lit only by the few candles that are floating around the room. Against the back wall rest three small beds with elvish creatures resting in them, they are just a little bigger than he is with large heads and ears. About a meter in front of the beds, carved into the stone floor are adult sized footprints, Silas steps his little feet into them and waits.
Feeling something strange, as if energy was being sucked out of him, the footprints start glowing blue. The runes along the walls flared to life, glowing blue like veins under the skin. On each elf's chest, a red sigil blazed awake. Silas recognized the sigil as the same one that was on the tome earlier.
The elves eyes start to open one by one, waking from the stasis they were in for over 300 years as form fitting black cloaks appear on their bodies. Slowly sitting up, they start to look around before pausing abruptly after seeing the three year old boy clutching his bleeding hand in front of them.
"Young master!" the middle elf exclaims in a squeaky, feminine voice. Popping off the bed to the side of the boy the female elf cries out worriedly, "young master be hurt!"
She kneels next to him, gesturing him to give her his hand. Silas does so curiously wondering what these creatures are. Grabbing the small appendage, the female elf carefully holds the bleeding hand and closes her eyes. Silas watches as the wound he got from cutting his hand on the rock is being closed with magic, a few seconds later and it's gone as if it was never there.
"Whoa," whispers the young boy.
"There, all better" squeaks the female elf. Standing up and looking at the boy with her own large round eyes, she asks "What be your name, young master Morwynn?"
"Silas," he speaks softly. Then asking curiously, "who are you?"
"I's be Mimsy," she replies. Turning back to the other elves who had gotten out of their beds when the two were talking.
Pointing to the one on the right, she squeaks "this one be Nybbin."
Then pointing to the one on the left, squeaking "and this one be Cressel."
Both of which wave after being introduced. Nybbin steps forward, bowing and with a deeper voice says, "hello young master Silas, I am in charge of all the cooking in this manor."
Cressel steps up next, bowing as well, "and I be in charge of the greenhouses along with the grounds of the manor."
"Mimsy be in charge of care-taking and cleaning for you, young master" she squeaks from next to him.
Silas looks at them all, a little overwhelmed and bows back to them. But the elves quickly stop him, Mimsy gently telling him, "you need not be doing that young master."
Looking him over, she gently grabs his arm. Talking to him slowly, "You be messy, Mimsy will take you to clean up, while Nybbin gets started brewing up some foods to make young master grow big and strong."
Nybbin nods, and pops away. Cressel doing the same a few moments later, presumably to check on the manor lands.
"Let us get you cleaned young master Silas," Mimsy squeaks out as they both pop away.