Family, 127.

The room where Mason was accommodated exuded vintage elegance, with details that transported anyone to an era of refinement and sophistication. The walls were covered with beige and gold wallpaper, adorned with subtle floral patterns that gave the space a classic ambiance. The imposing dark wood bed, with its high headboard and intricate carvings, dominated the room. On the mattress, an olive-green silk duvet harmonized beautifully with velvet cushions and delicate lace accents.

A large arched window, framed by heavy burgundy velvet curtains, offered a privileged view of the lush green fields stretching as far as the eye could see. The soft light of the late afternoon filtered through, highlighting a Persian rug that covered part of the dark wooden floor. In the corner of the room, an antique desk with ornate drawers and curved legs held a porcelain inkwell and a few sheets of yellowed paper. A leather-upholstered armchair rested beside a bookshelf filled with leather-bound books, many with titles faded by time.

A crystal chandelier, hanging from the center of the ceiling, completed the setting, casting gentle reflections on the walls. The room seemed to hold stories within it, every detail chosen to preserve the memory of a bygone era.

Mason, however, didn't have time to fully appreciate the surroundings. He needed to change his clothes but realized he had left Kadman Manor in a hurry and hadn't brought any spare outfits. He looked at what he was wearing: a shirt, pants, and a jacket. Furthermore, he would need to resolve this soon, but first, he decided to explore the mansion and figure out how to get to the nearest town to buy what he needed.

As he descended the stairs toward the grand hall, he noticed that the mansion was busier than before. Staff dressed in impeccable uniforms moved through the corridors, preparing the house for dinner. A middle-aged man with an upright posture and a serene expression supervised the arrangement of silverware and crystal glasses in the dining room. Two young maids, wearing white aprons over simple dresses, hurried by carrying linen towels and floral arrangements.

In the kitchen, besides the housekeeper, Margareth, two assistants were working at a brisk pace. One of them, a burly man wearing a chef's hat, stirred copper pots on a wood-burning stove, while a young woman chopped fresh vegetables on a wooden cutting board. The scent of herbs and spices mixed with the aroma of freshly baked bread coming from the oven.

In the corner of the kitchen, a young man was organizing his recording equipment. Beside him, a folk-style guitar rested on a chair, while a professional tripod held a state-of-the-art camera. He was handsome, with dark, wavy hair falling over his expressive eyes. His relaxed posture contrasted with the intensity with which he adjusted cables and microphones. Margareth, the housekeeper, stood beside him, speaking in a soft but firm tone.

Mason approached discreetly and overheard their conversation.

"Ziggy, today isn't the best day to record," said Margareth. "Mr. Benjamin's son is back, and the house is full of important guests. You can do this tomorrow."

Ziggy sighed in frustration. "Mom, I know, but it's just a quick video. I promise I won't disturb anyone. Besides, it's my new original song—I was so excited to share it, and my fans are waiting!"

Margareth crossed her arms. "You always say that, but you end up drawing attention. And with Mr. Benjamin hosting such important visitors, we need to keep everything impeccable."

Mason, smiling, took a few steps toward them. "Sorry to interrupt. I was just taking a walk and ended up here. This kitchen is amazing! It looks like it's straight out of a movie."

Margareth turned to him, surprised but perceptive. "Ah, you're Damián's friend. I'm Margareth, the housekeeper. And this is my son, Ziggy."

Ziggy smiled, enthusiastic and curious. "Hi, I'm Ziggy! I was about to record a video, but it looks like it'll have to wait. Do you like music?"

Mason nodded. "Yes. Your guitar is beautiful! I like the painting on it—did you do that?"

Ziggy nodded proudly. "Yeah! I like singing and playing. Actually, I have a channel where I post my music and some daily life stuff here on the property."

"That's so cool! Can I see it?" asked Mason, intrigued.

Margareth frowned, cautious. "Ziggy is very talented, but he sometimes gets carried away. I don't think today is the best time to show your channel, is it?"

Ziggy rolled his eyes. "Mom, relax! It's just a video. Besides, Mason doesn't seem to mind."

Mason smiled. "Don't worry, ma'am. I'd love to see Ziggy's channel. And I promise not to cause any trouble. But actually, I need a favor… I'm out of clothes."

Ziggy picked up the guitar and began playing a soft melody. Mason watched, impressed.

"You're really good. How many followers do you have on your channel?" asked Mason.

"Oh, not many yet," admitted Ziggy. "But I'm working on it. Who knows, maybe one day I'll make a living from music."

Mason encouraged him. "With that talent, I'm sure you will."

As the two chatted, Margareth watched them with a discreet smile.

"Ziggy, later take Mason to explore the mansion and see if you can find some clothes for him. Or maybe take a walk; what do you think?"

Ziggy smiled. "Of course! I'll grab some of my clothes for him. And tomorrow, I can take him to town to buy whatever he needs."

Ziggy led Mason down a long hallway, its walls adorned with antique portraits and black-and-white photographs of classic airplanes. At the end of the corridor, a solid wooden door with wrought-iron details opened into a spacious and impressive room. It was Andrews' old office and laboratory, preserved almost exactly as it had been during his time. With every step, Mason felt he was getting closer to understanding Andrews.

The room was a true sanctuary of ideas and innovation. Large green chalkboards covered the walls, filled with complex calculations, mathematical formulas, and sketches of aeronautical designs. Some of the equations seemed hastily written, with numbers and symbols scribbled in a frenzy of creativity. Others were meticulously organized, as if Andrews had spent hours refining every detail.

In the center of the room, a dark wooden desk was cluttered with papers, blueprints of aircraft, and miniature prototypes. An antique globe, marked with flight routes, stood in one corner, next to a bookshelf filled with technical manuals and engineering books. On the floor, near one of the chalkboards, was a small wooden ladder, as if Andrews had climbed it to reach the top of the board and continue his calculations.

It was then that Mason noticed something peculiar. On one of the chalkboards, among technical notes on aerodynamics and propulsion, an unfinished formula caught his eye. He approached, his eyes scanning every detail with curiosity. The equation seemed to involve a principle of quantum tunneling coupled with a new form of gravitational propulsion. However, there was a mistake—or rather, a gap.

∇²ψ — (1/c²) ∂²ψ/∂t² = (8πG/ħc) Tμν

Mason frowned. What was Andrews trying to calculate? It resembled a relativistic wave equation coupled with a quantum metric of gravitational field.

He hesitated for a moment, knowing he shouldn't tamper with Andrews' notes. But the unfinished formula was like an irresistible puzzle. He picked up the chalk almost without thinking and began adjusting the variables.

∇²ψ — (1/c²) ∂²ψ/∂t² + Λψ = (8πG/ħc) Tμν e^{-iθ}

Ziggy, who had been quietly observing, widened his eyes. "Hey, wait! You can't mess with that!" He seemed genuinely concerned, as if Mason were violating a sacred space.

Mason took a step back, analyzing his work. "It's a matter of unifying variables. He was on the right track but needed an adjustment to account for the distortion in the gravitational field."

Ziggy blinked, trying to understand. "You talk like you actually understand this stuff…" He laughed, half-skeptical, half-impressed. "Or are you just making it up to sound smart?"

Mason smirked. "I'm not making it up. This is part of my intellect."

Ziggy looked around with a smile of admiration. "This was the room where Andrews started his work." He explained to Mason that Andrews would spend hours here, calculating, designing, and dreaming. "He's a genius, you know? Andrews inherited a small air service company from his grandfather but turned it into an empire."

Ziggy began recounting Andrews' story with enthusiasm, while Mason listened attentively, pretending not to already know all the details he had researched.

"Andrews Williams is the founder and major shareholder of a space exploration company, Planetary Octan. He inherited a small private air service company from his grandfather but didn't stop there. He studied engineering physics and used that knowledge to revolutionize the family business. In no time, he turned that modest company into a powerhouse."

Ziggy pointed to one of the chalkboards, where a sketch of an airplane was surrounded by notes. "He incorporated a failing aircraft manufacturing company and a regional air taxi service. But with vision and persistence, he made it all work. After a few years, he achieved success and founded one of the largest aircraft manufacturers in the world. A remarkable achievement!"

Mason observed the details of the room, impressed not only by the story but also by the energy that still seemed to linger in the air. "He really was a visionary," Mason commented, lightly touching one of the miniature prototypes on the desk. "These calculations on the chalkboards… it's all incredible!"

Ziggy laughed. "Most of the time, yeah. They say he had an unrelenting mind. He would work late into the night and often wake up with new ideas that he had to jot down immediately. Look at this—" Ziggy led Mason to another chalkboard, where a series of complex formulas was surrounded by scribbled notes. "This was part of a project for a new aircraft engine. He never stopped innovating."

Mason noticed the sparkle in the young man's eyes. It was clear that Ziggy deeply admired Andrews, and that admiration was contagious, even though Mason already knew the story.

"You seem to know a lot about him," Mason said, curious. "Have you always been interested in aviation and engineering?"

Ziggy hesitated for a moment, as if pondering his answer. "I've always admired what he did, but my real passion is music. I guess, in a way, Andrews inspires me to follow my dreams, you know? He never gave up, even when things seemed impossible. And that motivates me."

Mason smiled, feeling a genuine connection with Ziggy. "That's amazing. And you're right—he really was an example of perseverance. Maybe one day you'll inspire others with your music, just like he inspired with his inventions."

Ziggy returned the smile, seeming grateful for Mason's words. "I hope so. Now, shall we continue the tour? There's so much more to see!"

—

Far from the field… Kadman Manor.

As night fell over Kadman Manor, Cecil, the butler, walked slowly through the silent hallways. His steps were meticulous, almost imperceptible, as if he were a shadow himself. He stopped in front of a window, gazing at the moonlit garden. His cold, calculating eyes reflected a restless mind, occupied with thoughts that went far beyond appearances.

Cecil was a man of firm convictions. For years, he had served one of the most influential families in the world, witnessing firsthand the brilliance and grandeur of the elite. To him, excellence was not a matter of chance but the inevitable result of lineage and the right environment. Success was reserved for those born into golden cradles, educated from an early age by renowned mentors, polished to perfection. And yet, something about this logic didn't sit right: Damián and Aster.

They were good at everything—too good. Young people who hadn't been refined by the upper class yet displayed skills that transcended the ordinary. They were versed in art, culture, music, and science, as if they had been molded by a team of elite mentors. But what bothered Cecil the most wasn't just their talent—it was the ease with which they accomplished feats that, in his mind, could only be achieved by those shaped from childhood for greatness.

"How is this possible?" Cecil murmured, his fingers lightly gripping the edge of the curtain. He thought of Mia, the prodigy pianist and niece of Lady Elizabeth, and Clarice Phillips, both raised in environments that justified their excellence. But Damián and Aster… they didn't fit. There was no pedigree, no known mentors, and yet there they were, defying the odds.

Something was wrong—something he couldn't quite identify but felt as a silent threat. It was undeniable that Damián had received an exceptional education. But who had educated him? Who had prepared him? And, more importantly, why?

To Cecil, they were more than an anomaly; they were a danger. A risk that challenged his deepest beliefs and threatened the natural order of things. He didn't know exactly what they were hiding, but he was determined to find out. After all, a butler's duty wasn't just to keep the house in order—he also protected the secrets it held.

—

The dining room of the Williams mansion was impeccable, as always. The long, solid wood table, polished to a shine, was adorned with tall candles and elegant floral arrangements. Fine porcelain plates, silver cutlery, and crystal glasses gleamed under the light of the chandelier, casting golden reflections on the walls. The aroma of an exquisite meal, prepared by the house chef, was already filling the air, mingling with the scent of flowers and the faint smell of waxed wood.

Benjamin Williams, the family patriarch, sat at the head of the table. His imposing gaze and posture made it clear that he was the host and the center of this gathering. To his right sat General Hunter Jackson, a man of robust stature and piercing eyes, dressed in his impeccable uniform. He was an old friend of Benjamin's, and the two shared decades of friendship and loyalty.

Andrews, Benjamin's eldest son, sat close to his father. His posture was confident, almost arrogant, but his eyes revealed a mind always in motion, calculating every detail of the significance of this dinner. He exchanged occasional glances with Damián, suggesting a silent hostility between the brothers.

In addition to the Williams family, there were special guests that evening: the Delacroix family. Celeste Delacroix, a close friend of Tristan and Damián's godmother, had been a constant presence during the family's golden years. After Tristan's death, Benjamin had maintained contact with Celeste out of respect for his late wife's memory. Her presence that evening wasn't unusual, but her children, Étienne and Camille, were an interesting addition to the dinner.

Celeste, a middle-aged woman with natural elegance, wore a deep blue gown, her impeccable posture revealing the refinement of someone accustomed to high society. Her attentive eyes observed everything with a calculated serenity. Beside her, Étienne Delacroix, a young man with a serious expression and magnetic presence, remained reserved, discreetly analyzing the surroundings. Meanwhile, Camille, the youngest, carried a subtly provocative energy, her charming smile revealing a curious and sharp spirit.

The atmosphere was celebratory. Benjamin had insisted that Andrews be present, and it was clear that he had something important to announce. General Hunter, with his imposing presence, seemed to be there for more than just a social visit. Mason, for his part, observed everything with a keen eye.

Benjamin raised his wine glass, making a toast. "To the Williams family and the bonds that unite us. And to my son Damián, whose value is immeasurable."

General Hunter smiled, raising his glass. "To family and the future, Benjamin. May this be a moment of unity and prosperity."

Celeste Delacroix lifted her glass with a meaningful look. "And to those who shaped this family, whose memories still live among us."

For a moment, Tristan's name hung in the air, invisible but present. Benjamin maintained his composure, but his gaze hardened slightly before he sipped his wine. As the guests raised their glasses, Mason noticed Étienne and Camille exchanging a subtle glance—and damn… it was directed at Andrews, his dream of carefree nights.