Aldritch Manor

Aldenville, Duchy of Athanor, Pruvian Empire

Seven Years Later

 

“Run away with me.”

The girl bobbed her adventurer porcelain doll in the direction of its sweetheart. The sun’s warmth caressed her face with its radiant hands, and the earthy scent of the lush garden grass danced around her nostrils. They filled her with a peculiar comfort, and detached her from the rest of the world.

“Jack…” she bobbed the adventurer’s princess sweetheart, “I…You know I can’t. My parents! They’ll…th—”

“They’ll what? Chase us across the straits of Neverland? Trail us through the bogs of Doomfall? Do not fear, Lydia! With me by your side, no harm shall befall us. Join me, please. Let us journey to the world beyond…”

“I can’t Jack…I’m sorry. I cannot abandon my duty to the empire and my family. They rely on me to uphold the traditions that, for centuries, have sustained us. I—”

“But what about our love, Lydia?” she bobbed the adventurer doll strongly, “Does it not deserve to be cherished and nourished as a flower in springtime? I implore you, Lydia. Let us not be torn apart by our circumstances. Let us take our destiny into our own hands and follow the call of our hearts.”

“Oh, Jack! You’re right…how can I give up on us so easily?” she jerked the princess doll and moved it closer to the adventurer, “I-I don’t know how, but we can make something work. I believe in us…”

“Oh, Lydia!” the adventurer drew closer too.

The girl's lips curled, and she promptly revealed the concealed hand of the princess doll. In it was a toy gun, and it soon found itself in contact with the adventurer’s stomach.

The adventurer jerked backwards, “L–Lydia, what is the meaning of th—”

Per the girl’s imagination, the adventurer’s tale was supposed to end then and there, but a legion of clamorous clattering sounds suddenly saturated the air, and snapped the girl out of her reverie. Startled by the sudden disturbance, her eyes darted to the source of the sounds.

There were carriages, lots of them. They looked flashy too, not as flashy as the ones she’d ridden in, but flashy enough for her to remember a word she’d only learned recently—opulence. The carriages were just that, and they caused her expression to turn curiously pensive.

What are they doing here?

This many carriages at the manor mid-afternoon was odd. She’d seldom seen so many arrive at the same time, and the only times she did, it was in the evening, when her father was hosting his adult parties. And he never hosted them often, so surely, that couldn't explain the oddity she was witnessing.

Could it be Father and brother?

Earlier, the two had left the manor with a crate full of guns, and a contingent of the manor’s guards. The girl didn’t know where they could have possibly gone with such a party, but she knew they definitely didn’t leave with so many carriages. So could it really be them?

The only explanation she could cough up for the surplus of carriages was that perhaps they had brought back some more people from wherever they went. But that didn’t sound right. How could they be coming back with more people?

From what she could recall from her mother’s lessons, guns were used to send people you didn’t like to purgatory, the domain of eternal suffering. So, in that case, shouldn’t her father and brother have come back with less people? Assuming they’d, for some reason, gotten themselves embroiled in a scuffle of some sorts.

The girl shook her head, emptying it of any silly thoughts. At any rate, the answers to her questions lay in the carriages, so it was pointless mulling any more over it. She unhurriedly dropped her dolls, and sat herself up as the coachman of the frontmost carriage was opening its doors.

It took a few moments before the first passenger disembarked. It seemed they were hardly in haste. The girl squinted her amber eyes, and peered at the odd stranger, trying to make out their features.

It appeared to be an old—a really old—woman. She seemed to be wearing, in the girl’s opinion, a rather flashy dress. It was black, with elaborate silver trimmings lining its edges. She wore a toque hat too. It was black and silver like the dress, but unlike it, was embellished with what seemed to be diamond flowers. Two long silver gloves, and a white reticule completed the womans’ attire.

From the girl’s position, the woman’s face was barely discernible, but her glacial blue eyes stood out like a sore thumb. The sight scrunched the girl’s brows. Granna’s eyes were a bright green, so the old woman in front of her was a stranger.

It took less than a moment for the stranger to notice her. They locked eyes, and a slight panic seized the girl’s chest.

The stranger was staring straight at her

And, what’s worse, she was smiling. It wasn’t the gentle kind of smile one would expect from a woman her age. Rather, it was a rigid, almost lopsided smile that made the girl momentarily question whether it was a smirk instead.

I’ve got to inform mother…

The girl immediately stood up. She had to run inside. Her mother had always said to avoid strangers, so the last place she wanted to be was this close to possibly many. How they’d even managed to get to the manor eluded her rationale, but she knew the safest place she could be was beside her mother. She’d know what to do.

Within ten hurried breaths, she reached the familiar pompous double doors that served as the entrance to the manor’s interior. In haste, she reached for its knobs, flung it open, and bolted past it, only to stumble backwards after hitting something solid.

“Young Miss Loretta?” A familiar fruity gruff voice brushed past her ears, “Are you alright?”

The voice’s tone sounded both confused and concerned, and Loretta instantly recognized who it belonged to. She rubbed her nose, adjust her pink bonnet and blinked at the voice’s figure, “Yes, Mr. Edward.I’m alright…sorry for running into you!”

Her last words trailed, as she’d scurried off while muttering them.

Edward let out a muffled chuckle, finding Loretta’s behavior amusing. He reached for his suit's interior and produced a brass pocket watch. It was a little past three. The guests were right on time.

He adjusted his necktie, straightened his jacket, and headed out the door, taking in a lungful of the fresh spring air in the process. Quite a few of the guests had already disembarked their carriages, chattering amongst themselves, but his eyes focused on the old woman only a few feet away from him.

His mouth instinctively opened to greet the familiar figure, but she spoke first. He had forgotten how soothing her voice was.

“Frightful one, isn’t she?”

“Good afternoon Lady Thelma.” Edward bowed and greeted fist, then cocked an eyebrow, “I take it you mean Young Miss Loretta?”

“Yes.” Lady Thelma half-smiled, scrutinizing Edward from head to toe, “It's a bit surprising. Her father was the complete opposite when he was her age.” The memory of an 8 year old Adgar Aldritch resurfaced as she stopped in front of Edward.

Outspoken, always eager, and witty beyond his years, the boy was one of the boldest children she’d ever laid her eyes upon. If he was in the girl’s place, he’d have walked up to her and asked how she’d gotten into the manor while donning the most innocent smile he could muster.

“Ah, then yes, I suppose she is.” Edward chuckled, inwardly agreeing with Lady Thelma. Bar the Duke and his mother, the Duchess, and the Young Master, the Young Miss acted timidly around people, even those her age. The Duchess had found it to be concerning, so in a bid to rectify it, she had instructed him to ramp up the frequency of her playdates with other noble children, especially the ones from lower Houses.

In his opinion, its effects were limited so far, but he could see that the increased social exposure was slowly building her confidence. The children from lower noble Houses seemed to always try to please her—something he assumed to be due to their parents’ instructions—, and Loretta would occasionally order them around, telling them how exactly she wished her toys to be played. That was new.

“It’s good to see you again Edward. You haven’t changed a bit.” Lady Thelma said, still half-smiling, as she strolled past Edward and into the manor. Edward looked at the guests for a moment, gestured to the footmen who’d tagged along with him to welcome the remaining guests, then followed Lady Thelma into the manor.

“It’s a pleasure to see you again too, Lady Thelma.” he said, as he caught up to her. It had been some ten plus years since he last saw her. Out of House Aldritch’s senior council members, she was one of the most reclusive, only appearing when necessary.

Lady Thelma gave a low hum in acknowledgement, and her frosty blue eyes pierced through the grand foyer of the manor, surveying it in its entirety. It had hardly deviated from how she remembered it. The foyer was large and airy, with high ceilings that soared overhead and ornate cornices that adorned the walls.

At its center was a classy, wide, staircase that swept upwards in a graceful curve, its banisters carved from the finest Walsevain oakwood and adorned with intricate patterns of foliage and flowers.

To the left of the staircase was a short hallway leading to the main lounge of the ground floor and to its right, was another short hallway. But this one led to the main library and gallery of the manor. Past the staircase was the door to the dining hall.

The foyer’s walls were furnished with oil paintings, photographs, portraits, and portraits. The entire space was illuminated with crystal chandeliers and sconces that glittered in the light.

Lady Thelma walked to the photograph that seduced her attention the most. It was a photograph of her nephew, the Duke of Athanor— Adgar D. Aldritch—,and his only son—the child she’d heard so much about and the reason she and the other 6 members of the senior council were convening at the manor today.

The Duke was dressed in his signature black three-piece suit, and was seated in an armchair, his legs crossed and an arm supporting his chin. While his son—also dressed in a three-piece suit— stood at his side, arms folded behind his back, and his expression as blank as his father’s.

Lady Thelma touched the boy’s face absentmindedly. “He’s the spitting image of his father. A dashing young gentleman.” she said, as she compared his face with her nephew’s. It was the first time she’d seen his appearance.

“Certainly.” Edward, who had been watching along patiently, concurred. “The Young Master and His Grace are strikingly similar in appearance. Though, in my opinion, the Young Master’s face is more approachable. He has his mother’s nose and cheeks.”

“Hah” Lady Thelma laughed, amused. Edward was still as blunt as ever. “How is she by the way? Vittoria.” her laughter dulled, “I heard she was in a coma a few weeks ago.”

“At the moment, she’s alright.” Edward's expression didn’t change, “His Grace made sure of it. He contacted every reputable arcane physician in the Tetrad, and they all gave the same diagnosis: that she had a mild case of Solaris’ Blight, and that she was lucky it wasn’t anything worse.”

“Tsk.” Lady Thelma shook her head, pity evident in her expression. The Blight was one of the worst afflictions a practitioner could ever experience—its effects were particularly dreadful—, and Vittoria had been so foolish as to inflict it upon herself. In severe cases, a practitioner could either end up unable to use magic permanently, or dead.

“Where is she?” Lady Thelma asked, stepping away from the photograph.

“She’s here, at the manor, my lady.”

“I see.” Lady Thelma glanced at the entrance momentarily, “And my nephew?”

“His Grace went out hunting with the Young Master earlier. He’s scheduled to return before sunset.”

“Alright.” Lady Thelma waved her hand dismissively, “You can go welcome the other council members. I’ll go pay Vittoria a visit.” She said over her shoulder, walking towards the staircases.

“Very well, my lady.”

✵ ✵ ✵

“Do you see it?” Adgar tilted his head and whispered to his bare-chested son, who was lying prone beside him, under the cover of shrubs, and camouflaged by nearby foliage. The boy held a Stanway Model 800 hunting rifle—a state-of-the-art firearm he’d gifted him for his last birthday—, and his face was smothered with dirt.

Anakin blew the stray lock of mahogany hair obscuring his vision away, then peered through the rifle's scope, “Yes, Father. I do.” His target became clear the moment he did. It was a deer-looking creature with blue and white hair and abnormally long horns.

“Good. Now take aim and focus.”

Anakin steadied his breath and firmly gripped his rifle, ensuring its stock was pressed against his shoulder. He cocked it, and softly exhaled.

“Fire at will.”

A bang and a puff of smoke later, Adgar glanced in the direction of the shot through his binoculars. “Bullseye.” he grinned, and ruffled his son’s hair, “That’s my boy. Your shots are as straight as ever.”

The corners of Anakin’s lips quirked up, and inwardly he heaved a sigh of relief. It had taken him copious amounts of practice to develop a shot accurate enough to take down game some —by his estimates– hundred yards out, so hearing his father’s compliment felt nice.

“Come, let’s go fetch your prize.” Anakin watched as his father stood up and offered him a hand. He dropped his rifle and took it, “I didn’t expect to see a Woplerfoff all the way out here. Aren’t they supposed to be native to the continent of Westven?”

“They are.” Adgar said, picking up their hunting pack. “And they can also be found in some parts of Erdia, though not in large numbers. I’m surprised we encountered one today too. They usually appear in Pruvia around the summer, when they migrate. This one probably left early.”

He explained as he signaled to the guards in the distance and pointed in the direction of the Woplerfoff.

“Ah,” Anakin mumbled, enlightened. He’d probably forgotten that bit of information when he read about them. “I see. That would make sense.”

He spoke to himself, picked his rifle, and trudged after his father, who’d already started walking to the Woplerfoff. They continued to make small-talk on the way, with Anakin occasionally voicing his distaste about the forest's humidity, and Adgar teasing him about his sensitivity, saying the more he complained about the weather, the longer he’d keep making him hunt bare-chested.

“She’s a beauty, isn’t she?” Adgar whistled praisefully the moment they’d reached the Woplerfoff carcass. He knelt down and ran his fingers across its patterned coat. Anakin knelt down beside him.

“Definitely.” he opined, joining his father in his actions. The Woplerfoff’s coat had a peculiar luster to it, one that he wouldn’t have thought possible to be able to exist on an animal prior to reincarnation. He admired its alluring silver horns, then checked for where it had been struck.

It only took a moment for him to find it. It was a neck shot, a little off from his actual target, but still fatal nonetheless. He paused his actions when he noticed his father’s cocked brow and ruminative look.

“Father?” he said, “Is anything wr—”

“It’s a yearling.” Adgar answered his question ahead of time, and Anakin’s brows scrunched.

“Is that bad?”

“It’s…unusual.” Adgar stroked his beard with his free hand. “See this right here?” He pointed to a spot on the Woplerfoff’s coat, “Yearling Woplerfoffs coating patterns are irregular. An adult’s don’t overlap like theirs do.”

He glanced at his son, “It’s unusual because she’s alone. Yearlings don’t migrate themselves since they haven’t matured enough to be able to accomplish it. How this one managed to get all the way here is a miracle.”

Realization dawned on Anakin as Adgar continued to inwardly speculate. A yearling Woplerfoff all the way out here in northern Pruvia was as odd as flying pigs, and he couldn’t explain it.

Could it be related to the recent changes in the aetheric currents? He wondered, attempting to draw any connections between the two oddities. Within the past year, aetheric currents in the Tetrad had become abnormally chaotic.

Normal aetheric currents were steady and orderly, like conveyor belts in a factory. But now, they were starting to churn and flow in disarray, like rivers during a flood. It was something The First Domain had never experienced, so its meaning was something he couldn’t quite place his finger on.

Adgar ground his jaw and produced a gold pocket watch from his pockets. “It’s nearly half past five.”
He glanced at its hands and stood up, “Let’s end our hunting trip here. Our guests have probably arrived.”

“Alright, father.” Anakin picked his rifle and got to his feet, trying his best to suppress the anxiety welling in his stomach. Today was arguably the most important day of his new life, and he would be lying if he said it didn’t give him the jitters.

A failure to impress would flush all the efforts he’d put in over the years down the drain, and cloud his already clear future.

Lets try to focus on the positive, He tapped into his rejuvenated optimism, dampening the welling anxiety.

If everything goes well, I’ll finally be able to use magic…finally…