The low murmur of voices spread quickly through the servant halls.
Arven heard it first as whispers outside his door. Within minutes, the entire wing was buzzing with tension.
"The young lady is coming."
"Celyne? Here?"
"Why now?"
"I heard she is staying for weeks."
"She will choose new personal staff."
"Or break another one."
Arven pulled on his servant tunic, listening carefully. No official word had reached him yet, but the pattern was clear. Even the older servants looked pale and stiff as they hurried past.
Moments later, a sharp knock sounded.
A senior maid opened the door without waiting for permission.
"All servants to the main hall. Lord Pracius's daughter will be arriving within the hour. Every one of you will be present. Make yourselves presentable."
She left without further explanation.
Arven exhaled slowly. "So this daughter of his finally appears."
A faint sound behind him drew his attention. Daisy leaned against the doorway, arms folded.
"You should be careful," she said quietly.
Arven tilted his head. "Why?"
Daisy's crimson eyes were serious. "Lady Celyne is not like the others. She will not seduce you or threaten you. She will choose you... and use you. If you let her."
Her words carried more weight than simple gossip. Arven nodded once.
"Thanks for the warning."
Daisy hesitated, as if wanting to say more, then simply turned and left.
Arven adjusted his pants and followed the flow of servants toward the grand hall.
The main hall of Lord Pracius's estate was a vast chamber of marble and aged gold. High windows filtered sunlight through faded banners. Intricate chandeliers hung overhead, though some crystals were cracked or missing.
Arven took quiet note of the details. The mansion wore the mask of wealth, but beneath it lay neglect and slow decay. A fitting mirror of its master.
Servants lined up in neat rows along the red carpet that stretched from the entrance to the dais where Lord Pracius usually held court.
Arven found himself near the back of the line, as expected for a newly pressed servant.
The air hummed with nervous energy. Older staff stood rigid, faces pale. Even the younger maids who whispered constantly seemed too frightened to speak now.
Some glanced toward the dais, as if expecting Lord Pracius to appear. But the throne-like chair remained empty.
A faint chime echoed from the entryway.
A steward's voice rang out. "Announcing Lady Celyne."
The great doors swung open.
She entered with deliberate grace, every movement fluid and measured.
Long waves of deep purple hair cascaded down her back, gleaming in the light. Her violet eyes swept the hall with cold precision, as if weighing every soul in attendance.
She wore a simple, elegant black dress trimmed with silver, its high collar framing her pale neck. The lack of jewelry only made her presence more striking.
The room seemed to grow colder as she passed.
Her steps were soft, unhurried. The faint click of her heels echoed through the silent chamber.
Lord Pracius did not appear to greet her. The dais remained empty. Whether out of neglect or design, no one dared to question it.
Lady Celyne stopped at the center of the hall, gaze sweeping the assembled servants.
Her voice was smooth, sharp as a blade.
"My dear father has extended his hospitality," she began, words laced with subtle disdain. "And I find myself compelled to endure it. During my stay, I expect the full cooperation of this household."
She paced slowly along the front line of servants.
"I will be selecting certain staff for personal duties," she continued. "Some may serve well. Others... will not."
A faint smirk touched her lips.
Her gaze moved down the line, cold and calculating.
Arven watched her carefully. Even from a distance, he could feel it. This was not a spoiled girl playing noble games. This was a predator searching for prey.
As her eyes swept the ranks, they met his own.
For a heartbeat, neither moved.
Arven felt something stir in the air, as if the System itself was holding its breath.
Then her violet gaze narrowed slightly, lips curving in a faint, knowing smile.
The moment passed. She moved on without a word.
Around him, several servants exhaled shakily.
Arven remained still, mind racing.
Later, in a quieter corner of the hall, Daisy found him again.
"You saw it," she said softly.
Arven nodded. "She looked right through me."
Daisy's expression tightened. "She chooses her tools carefully. If she selects you... refuse her."
Arven smiled thinly. "I doubt it will be that simple."
Daisy hesitated, then touched his arm lightly.
"Just be careful."
Before he could reply, another senior maid approached.
"You. New boy," she said sharply. "Lord Pracius wants you to remain ready. Lady Celyne may request you later."
Arven inclined his head. "Understood."
Elsewhere, within a private room high in the mansion, Lady Celyne poured herself a glass of dark wine.
She stood before a large mirror, gazing at her reflection.
"I will not waste years waiting for my dear father to grow weak," she murmured.
Her eyes gleamed with cold intent.
"I will find the one tool I need. The perfect pawn. Someone capable... someone useful."
A slow smile touched her lips.
"And when the time comes... father will not see the knife until it is too late."
That night, as Arven prepared for rest, the System stirred.
System pulse detected.
New source identified.
Engagement potential: high risk, high reward.
Observation state initiated.
No name. No path. Only a pulse of opportunity.
Arven smiled to himself.
"So this is how the game will be played."