Chapter 2 — The Mansion at the Heart of Eld

Old Mr. Bell was shouting again.

That was how I knew the village morning had truly begun.

“Oi! I told you brats not to run near my cabbages!”

His voice carried all the way down the dirt road, sharp enough to scare the birds from the fence posts. A flock of sparrows burst into the air as two younger children fled from the edge of his vegetable garden, laughing and screaming as if a monster had been chasing them.

To be fair, if someone only heard Mr. Bell’s voice, they might have believed that.

He stood at the side of his field with a wooden hoe gripped in both hands. His back was bent with age, but his glare had the strength of a battle-hardened soldier. His eyebrows were thick and grey, his beard was wild, and the deep lines carved into his face made him look permanently angry at the world.

Even the village dogs knew better than to bark near his fence.

I slowed my steps as I approached.

The road beside Mr. Bell’s garden was narrow, bordered by rows of cabbages, turnips, and strange purple vegetables that Mother always said were good for health but tasted like sadness. Dew still clung to the leaves, shining softly beneath the morning sun.

Mr. Bell noticed my shadow first.

His shoulders stiffened.

“If you’re here to step on my seedlings, I swear I’ll—”

He turned around.

Then he saw me.

The terrifying look on his face melted almost immediately.

“Oh. Azoth.”

His voice became so much softer that, for a moment, I wondered if the shouting old man had been replaced by someone else.

I raised a hand awkwardly.

“Good morning, Mr. Bell.”

“Hmph.” He cleared his throat and leaned his hoe against the fence. “Morning, boy. You’re up early.”

“I had something important to do today, remember?”

“Ahhh… that.”

He said it so quickly that I blinked.

“You actually remember?”

“Of course I do.” Mr. Bell folded his arms, trying to look annoyed again. “You think these old ears are just for decoration? Half the village has been talking about it since last week.”

My fingers tightened slightly around the food bundle Mother had given me.

So everyone knew.

That made my stomach feel strange.

Not bad.

Just heavier.

Mr. Bell looked at me for a moment. His eyes, usually sharp enough to make grown men stand straighter, softened in a way I was still not used to.

“You nervous?”

“No.”

He stared at me.

I looked away.

“…Maybe a little.”

“Hah.” He let out a short laugh. “Good. Means you’re not stupid.”

I did not know how to respond to that, so I smiled.

Mr. Bell scratched his beard and looked over his vegetable garden. A few of the wooden support stakes had tilted from last night’s wind. I recognized them because I had helped him put those exact stakes in two weeks ago.

Back then, he had complained the entire time.

Too loose.

Too crooked.

Too slow.

Too much dirt on my boots.

But after we finished, he gave me three turnips and told me not to tell anyone he had thanked me.

I still told Mother.

She laughed for a long time.

Mr. Bell sighed, then reached down and plucked a small piece of grass from between the stones.

“Today is the day, right?”

I looked at him.

His face was still mean. His voice still sounded rough. But there was something warm hidden beneath it.

I nodded.

“Yeah.”

For a brief moment, neither of us spoke.

The village moved quietly around us. Wagon wheels creaked in the distance. A woman called for her son to hurry. Somewhere nearby, chickens argued with the morning as if they had personally invented it.

Mr. Bell finally waved one hand at me.

“Well, I won’t hold you any further.”

He pointed his thumb toward the heart of the village.

“Go on ahead, Azoth. Show those haters what you’ve got.”

I stared at him.

Then I laughed.

“Haters?”

“What? You think an old man like me doesn’t know that word?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You thought it.”

“I definitely did not.”

“You’re a terrible liar, boy.”

This time, my smile came easier.

Mr. Bell turned back toward his garden, but before I could leave, he spoke again.

“And Azoth.”

I stopped.

“Whatever happens today…” He did not turn around. “Don’t let anyone tell you what you’re worth.”

The words were quiet.

So quiet that they almost disappeared beneath the morning breeze.

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.

Kind.

That was what Mother had called me.

A good boy.

A normal boy.

A boy without talent.

I looked down at my hands.

Then I nodded, even though Mr. Bell could not see it.

“I’ll try.”

“Hmph. Don’t try. Do it.”

That sounded more like him.

I smiled one last time and continued down the road.

The deeper I walked into the village, the more the familiar houses began to thin apart. Eld was not a large village, but it had a strange shape. Most homes gathered around the farming roads, small and wooden, with slanted roofs and fenced yards. Smoke rose from chimneys. Laundry hung between posts. Children ran barefoot over dirt paths.

It was a peaceful place.

A normal place.

But at the center of that normal place stood something that had never fit.

The mansion.

It rose from the middle of the rural village like a piece of another world that had accidentally fallen from the sky.

Its walls were made from pale stone, smooth and clean in a way no village building had any right to be. Tall windows lined its front, each framed with dark wood polished so well that they reflected the sunlight. Ivy climbed partway up the left side of the building, but even that looked too neat, as if the vines themselves had been ordered to behave.

The mansion stood at the end of a wide stone path, directly facing the village road.

To its right was the ancient monument.

A giant figure carved from stone, taller than any house in Eld, stood with one hand resting on the hilt of a massive sword. Time had worn away much of its face, but its posture remained strong and proud. Moss covered parts of its shoulders. Cracks ran along one arm. Even so, it gave off a feeling that made people lower their voices when they passed.

The monument had stood there for thousands of years.

At least, that was what the adults said.

It was built to commemorate the hero who once saved the world. The hero who drove back calamity, sealed away despair, and gave humanity a future.

When I was younger, I used to stand beneath it and imagine myself holding a sword just like that.

Back then, I believed wanting to become strong was enough.

To the mansion’s left stood the village hall.

Compared to the mansion, the hall looked painfully ordinary. It was a large wooden building with a patched roof, a notice board by the entrance, and a bell tower that leaned slightly no matter how many times the villagers repaired it. Most village meetings, harvest counts, and arguments about missing chickens happened there.

Ancient hero on the right.

Village hall on the left.

And between them, the mansion stood quietly, beautiful and strange.

I had passed this place many times before.

Still, each time I looked at it, the same question came to mind.

Why was a house like this in Eld?

Our village had farmers, craftsmen, hunters, and one very angry vegetable gardener.

It did not have nobles.

At least, it was not supposed to.

I stopped at the front gate and took a breath.

The iron bars were decorated with curling patterns shaped like vines and stars. Beyond them, the mansion courtyard was perfectly kept. White flowers bloomed along both sides of the path, and a small fountain whispered gently in the center.

I adjusted the strap of my bag.

“Okay, Azoth,” I muttered. “Don’t mess it up.”

“Azoth!”

Something shouted my name from behind.

I turned.

Then I nearly jumped out of my skin.

A creature stood in the road.

Its hair was red, messy, and sticking out in every direction. Its skin looked pale. Its shoulders drooped forward. Beneath both eyes were dark shadows so deep they looked like bruises.

For one terrifying second, my mind went completely blank.

“Ghoul!”

The creature froze.

Then it raised both hands.

“Excuse me?!”

I blinked.

The voice was familiar.

Too familiar.

“…Rory?”

Rory stared at me with the dead expression of someone who had been betrayed by his closest friend.

“You thought I was a ghoul?”

“In my defense,” I said carefully, “you look like one.”

“I do not!”

I leaned slightly closer.

His eye bags somehow looked even worse up close.

“You do.”

Rory’s mouth opened, then closed. He rubbed both eyes with the heel of his hands and groaned.

Normally, Rory looked like the sun had decided to become a person.

He was bright, loud, and impossible to ignore. His red hair made him easy to spot even in a crowd, and he was slightly taller than me, which he never forgot to mention whenever it suited him. He had the kind of smile that made old ladies give him extra food and the kind of confidence that made him try things before thinking about whether they were dangerous.

He was righteous.

Excitable.

And, sometimes, just a little bit naughty.

Today, however, he looked like he had personally lost a fight against sleep, and sleep had not been gentle.

“What happened to you?” I asked.

“What do you mean?”

“You look terrible.”

“You’re terrible.”

“Did you fight a monster?”

“No.”

“Did the monster win?”

“Azoth.”

“Was it a ghoul?”

“I will push you into the fountain.”

I laughed.

Rory tried to glare at me, but his eyes were so tired that the attempt failed halfway through.

He sighed and dragged himself to my side.

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“Why not?”

He looked at the mansion gate.

For the first time since he arrived, the joking expression faded from his face.

“Because of today.”

The air between us changed.

I followed his gaze.

The mansion stood silently beyond the gate, waiting.

“Oh,” I said.

Rory rubbed the back of his neck.

“I kept thinking about it. What if I mess up? What if I’m not good enough? What if I suddenly forget everything we learned? What if I trip before we even get inside and Lady Hilda decides I’m too stupid to continue?”

“That last one sounds possible.”

He pointed at me.

“I knew you were going to say that.”

“You made it too easy.”

Rory tried to laugh, but it came out quieter than usual.

I understood.

My own stomach had been twisting since I left home. I had tried not to think about it too much. I had smiled for Mother. Joked with Mr. Bell. Walked like everything was normal.

But it was not normal.

Today was not normal.

Rory looked at me.

“Are you nervous?”

I remembered Mr. Bell asking the same thing.

“A little.”

“Only a little?”

“A lot,” I admitted.

Rory’s shoulders relaxed.

“Good. Me too.”

We stood there together in front of the gate, two twelve-year-old boys pretending not to be afraid of the future.

Then Rory slapped both cheeks with his hands.

Hard.

I flinched.

“What are you doing?”

“Waking myself up.”

“That looked painful.”

“It was.”

“Did it work?”

Rory’s eyes watered slightly.

“No.”

I laughed before I could stop myself.

Rory laughed too.

The heaviness between us loosened.

“Come on,” he said. “If we stand here any longer, I might actually fall asleep standing up.”

“That would be impressive.”

“It would be embarrassing.”

“Both can be true.”

Together, we stepped through the gate and into the courtyard.

The fountain whispered softly beside us.

White flowers swayed in the breeze.

The mansion stood ahead, silent and beautiful, as if it had been waiting for us since before we were born.

With every step, my heartbeat became louder.

Rory walked beside me, but even he had stopped talking.

That was how I knew he was truly nervous.

When we reached the front door, I looked up.

It was taller than any door had the right to be, made from dark polished wood and decorated with metal patterns shaped like vines and stars. Beside it hung a thin bell cord.

Rory lifted his hand toward it.

He stopped halfway and looked at me.

“Ready?”

“No.”

“Good.” He swallowed. “Me neither.”

Then he pulled the cord.

Somewhere inside the mansion, a bell rang.

Once.

The sound was soft.

Too soft for such a large building.

For a moment, nothing happened.

The courtyard remained quiet. The fountain whispered behind us. White flowers swayed gently in the morning breeze.

Then the gate behind us closed.

Click.

I turned toward the closed gate.

Rory stopped breathing beside me.

Then, slowly, I looked back.

A man stood in front of us.

Tall.

Straight-backed.

Dressed in a black butler’s uniform so perfectly fitted that it should have looked elegant.

But it did not.

On him, the uniform looked like a disguise.

His hands were folded behind his back. His blonde hair was tied neatly behind him. His face was calm, almost expressionless, yet the air around him pressed against my skin like the edge of a blade.

My throat tightened.

A cold sweat ran down my back.

Every fibre of my muscles screamed at me to move.

I gave the deepest bow I had ever made.

“G-Good morning, Sir Garther.”

The man’s eyes moved from me to Rory.

“G-Good morning, Sir Garther…”

Rory followed a second later, sweat beading along his forehead.

Sir Garther had been training us for the past two years in the village.

Like soldiers, our bodies had been fine-tuned to respect and obey every command Sir Garther gave us.

Slowly.

Quietly.

Like he was measuring where to cut, he replied.

“Seems like you kids finally learned what courtesy is. Very well. Lady Hilda has been waiting.”

His voice was gentle.

That made it worse.

Rory’s hand trembled at his side.

I could not blame him.

For the first time ever, Sir Garther sounded gentle.

Was the world ending…?