The table in front of me had silver cutlery, fine glasses, and white porcelain plates with golden details.
Old family portraits watched everything from the walls like silent judges.
I was seated in one of the central places at the table, with a plate of roasted meat in front of me and a glass of red wine in my hand.
I took a long sip before cutting another piece of the meat.
To my right, at the main head of the table, was my father, Charles Drake.
He always occupied that seat as if it were a throne.
At the opposite end, to the left side of the table, was my mother.
Elegant as always, with impeccable posture, eating slowly and in silence.
Around me were my siblings.
Tyler was to my left, chewing in silence, looking more at his plate than at anyone else.
On the other side was Mary, who looked completely bored, spinning her fork between her fingers while she ate.
The sound of cutlery gently tapping against the porcelain was practically the only thing that could be heard.
Until I felt my father's gaze.
I raised my eyes.
He was staring at me.
And then he sighed.
A heavy, long sigh… as if I were a huge disappointment.
— Dylan… — he said finally, resting his elbows on the table. — Is there something you would like to tell me?
I raised an eyebrow.
— Not that I remember.
He watched me for a few seconds before speaking again.
— The maid who was cleaning your room came to see me today.
I took another sip of the wine.
— And?
She said you tried to rape her.
The silence at the table grew heavier than the chandelier above us.
I chewed the piece of meat calmly before answering.
—Rape is a strong word.
My father clenched his jaw.
— Dylan.
I shrugged.
— She's just a common maid.
— I'm a Drake. A noble. What exactly is the problem?
For a second, no one said anything.
Then Tyler let out a muffled laugh.
Mary laughed right after.
My mother brought the glass to her lips to hide her smile.
My father didn't laugh.
He simply closed his eyes for a moment.
Mary rested her chin on her hand and looked at me with a venomous smile.
— You talk as if you were important.
I slowly turned my face toward her.
— And I am.
— Dylan, please.
— If you weren't such an uncontrollable bastard, maybe you wouldn't have taken that stab to the face at the last party.
My hand stopped halfway between the plate and my mouth.
I felt the blood rush up.
A vein pulsed on my forehead.
The scar on my face seemed to burn again.
— Careful, Mary.
She tilted her head, amused.
— Or what?
I gripped the fork so tightly that my knuckles turned white.
My father slowly turned his face toward her.
Charles didn't say a single word.
He only looked.
A heavy, cold look… the kind of look that made everyone in the room immediately remember who was in charge there.
Mary noticed.
Her smile disappeared.
She looked away and went back to moving her food around the plate in silence.
The room grew quiet again.
Then my father slipped his hand into the pocket of his coat.
For a moment, I thought he was going to take out a handkerchief or something trivial.
But no.
When he pulled his hand out, there was something in it.
A stone.
He slowly placed it on the table.
"Tok~"
The dry sound echoed through the silent dining room.
It was a silver stone, roughly the size of an apple.
The surface shimmered softly under the chandelier's light.
Small strange engravings were carved around it, curved lines and ancient symbols I had never seen before.
I looked at my mother.
Viscountess Mily was watching the stone with a serious expression.
Then she raised her eyes to my father.
And nodded.
A small gesture, but full of meaning.
My father took a deep breath and then spoke in a firm voice.
— From now on...
— All of you stop picking on Dylan, I don't want to hear a single joke about him trying to rape the maid.
My father placed one hand on the silver stone.
— I have something important to say.
I leaned slightly forward, watching that strange thing in the middle of the table.
— This stone is the oldest inheritance of the Drake family.
He ran his fingers over the engraved symbols.
— Long before we had titles… lands… or this mansion.
His gaze passed over all of us before he continued.
— The founder of our family saw this stone fall from the sky.
Tyler frowned.
— From the sky?
My father nodded.
— On a dark night. No moon. No stars.
— A light crossed the sky… like a falling star.
I kept staring at the object, curious without wanting to admit it.
— The founder of the Drake family followed the smoking trail that cut across the horizon and found this stone.
— At the bottom of a huge crater opened in the ground by the impact.
Mary leaned forward.
— A fallen star?
— That's what he believed. — my father said.
He raised his chin.
— He said it was a sign.
— That the Gods were confirming the beginning of the Drake family's nobility.
— Since then this stone has been passed down from generation to generation.
— From father to son.
Then he looked directly at me.
— Today… we are the eleventh generation of the Drake family.
My father slowly pushed the stone across the table.
"Sliding~~"
It slid until it stopped right in front of me.
— And today is the day you turn fifteen.
I looked from the stone to his face.
— Therefore… Dylan.
His hand tapped lightly on the table.
— By right, this stone now belongs to you.
— You must accept it.
— And one day… when you have children… and they become adults…
He pointed to the stone again.
— You must pass it on.
I looked at the silver object in front of me.
— So… this fell from the sky?
Before I could say anything else, I heard the sound of a glass being placed on the table.
I raised my eyes.
My mother, Mily, was delicately wiping her lips with a napkin.
She was still chewing a piece of meat while speaking with her usual calm.
— Well… now that your father has finished the dramatic part of the night.
She picked up the wine glass and took a small sip.
— I also have something to add.
My father, Charles, simply nodded.
My mother then looked directly at me.
— Dylan, your father and I managed to get you a spot in a carriage convoy.
I blinked.
— A… what?
She replied as if she were commenting on the weather.
— A carriage convoy that is traveling to a magical tower.
The fork stopped in the air in my hand.
— A magical… tower?
— There you will be able to take the arcane affinity exam.
She rested her elbow on the table.
— To discover the level of your talent for magic.
My brain took a few seconds to process that.
— Wait.
I looked from one to the other.
— Wait, wait, wait.
I placed the fork on the table.
— Travel?
I pointed at myself.
— Me?
I took a deep breath.
— Have you completely lost your minds?
Mary laughed immediately.
— Here it comes.
I ignored her and kept looking at my parents.
— A trip with mages?
I shook my head.
— Everything that involves mages ends with people dying in strange ways.
I pointed to the table.
— Fires appearing out of nowhere.
— People turning into statues.
— Heads exploding.
I spread my arms.
— No.
I shook my head again.
— I refuse.
The silence lasted half a second.
Then Tyler started laughing.
Tyler almost choked on his wine.
— The great Dylan… afraid of mages!
Mary didn't tease me, but she protested.
— Honestly, father, if anyone here should go to a magical tower… it should be me.
Tyler pointed at himself.
— Or me.
He looked at me.
— Anyone except him.
Mary agreed.
— Exactly.
She looked at me seriously, as if she knew me like the palm of her own hand.
— Dylan can barely control his own body, he's a pervert.
She picked up the glass.
— Imagine him with magic.
— The entire mansion would explode, or even worse, he would try to kidnap princesses to form a harem.
I was about to reply when a dry sound echoed on the table.
"Pow~~"
My father had slammed his hand against the wood.
The laughter died immediately.
Charles slowly raised his gaze.
— Enough.
Silence returned to the room.
Then he looked directly at me.
— Dylan.
I straightened my posture slightly.
— You are now an adult man.
— Today you received the inheritance of our family.
— And last week we discovered that you have talent for magic.
— Besides, do you have any idea what it took to get a place in that carriage convoy?
I didn't answer.
He continued.
— Favors.
— Debts.
— Promises.
His jaw tightened.
— Sacrifices.
Then he slowly closed his hand.
His fingers tightened until his knuckles turned white.
He clenched his fist hard and raised it toward me.
A chill ran down my spine.
— If you refuse this journey and waste the sacrifice I made for the family…
— I will punish you myself.
— With "a lot of fatherly love."
I immediately raised both hands.
— Alright!
I swallowed hard.
— Alright, alright, alright!
I forced a nervous smile.
— We don't need to go that far.
I looked at him.
— I love my father.
I raised my hands a little higher, in complete surrender.
— And precisely because I love my father…
I sighed.
— I will go on this trip.
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