The early morning light began to spill over the Osborn compound, casting a warm golden glow on the tiled roofs. A delicate mist hovered low in the courtyards, dancing around stone lanterns and whispering bamboo. Robert woke up before the sun had completely risen, his body instinctively following the path of discipline while his mind was still buzzing with the heavy determination from the night before.
He rose, washed, and straightened his dark traveling robes. A faint pulse of qi hummed in his veins, steadier than ever, the mark of a man walking not just for himself but for the clan that bore his name.
When he reached his father's chambers, the door was closed, but soft voices carried through. He knocked, sounding firm yet respectful.
"Enter," John's voice came, steady as always.
Robert pushed the door open. Inside, John Osborn stood near the window, his frame upright as stone, while Mary sat gracefully at his side. Both looked up as Robert stepped in and bowed deeply.
