Adapting to Changes

Moments later, Clarke Higilton's float vehicle descended gracefully into an expansive, deserted parking lot. The lot itself was a kaleidoscope of luxury, dotted with vehicles that shimmered in hues more vibrant than a painter's palette. Not far off, a majestic structure reminiscent of a palace garden stretched out, its grandeur quietly asserting itself. The only link between this opulent parking haven and the building complex was a serene, tree-lined path, whispering tales of elegance and timelessness.

The garden was a labyrinth of pavilions, each an architectural marvel, sprawling endlessly, their sheer size making it difficult to see where they ended. Though these structures lacked the dizzying heights of the city's modern skyscrapers, they possessed a nostalgic beauty, a testament to the art of a bygone era. The entire scene exuded an ancient regality, yet it was tinged with an undeniable sense of awe.

Clarke remembered, including this parking area, that the entire complex spanning dozens of kilometers was the private domain of the Higilton family, a city within a city in Credence Province, carved out in the heart of Central Avenue. This area, known for its low population density and grandeur, housed the elite of the province. Among these, the Higilton family's estate stood out as one of the most expansive.

Upon exiting the vehicle, Clarke's eyes were drawn to a vast void projection near the lot, boldly inscribed in the universally recognized federal language:

[Private Property, Strictly Prohibited].

"Master Higilton, welcome home," greeted a middle-aged man, garbed in the refined attire of a butler, as he approached with a cadre of servants. He embraced Clarke warmly, a smile lighting up his face. "Master Clarke, your presence has been greatly missed over the past year."

"I hope so," Clarke replied, a hint of discomfort in his voice at the familiarity of the greeting, yet he recognizing the man as Albert, one of the chief butlers of the Higilton family and a confidant of his father.

As they walked towards the manor, surrounded by a respectful entourage, Albert's voice carried a note of curiosity. "Master Higilton, I've heard about your recent accident, yet it seems to have been a serendipitous event. Is that true?"

"Indeed," Clarke nodded, a thoughtful look crossing his face. "You might notice, Butler Albert, that I'm somewhat different now. My thoughts don't always shine as bright as they used to. I hope you'll bear with me."

Albert quickly waved his hand dismissively, a smile still on his lips. "On the contrary, Master Higilton, it's a delight to see you in improved spirits. The past is behind us; your health and well-being are what matter most."

Their conversation meandered as they traversed through the antique splendor of pavilions and gardens, finally arriving at a uniquely modest structure within the heart of the estate, a stark contrast to the opulent surroundings.

The quaint low building at the heart of the Higilton estate was marked by a colossal mahogany door, upon which the word "Library" was elegantly inscribed. The door, a rich tapestry of red hues, was tightly sealed, flanked by an array of sophisticated identity verification equipment.

Yet, the need for such formalities seemed redundant at this moment. Butler Albert gently rapped on the door before turning to Clarke Higilton with a deferential nod. "Master Clarke, the head of the family has instructed that you may enter without delay."

Acknowledging with a nod, Clarke pushed open the towering triple-panel door, stepping through the two-meter-high entrance into a realm of literary grandeur. The interior was reminiscent of the great National Library, with rows upon rows of towering bookshelves, each stretching nearly three stories high. Bionic custodians glided silently between the aisles, guardians of this vast ocean of knowledge.

Clarke found it peculiar, this adherence to traditional books in an age dominated by digital media. His gaze followed the endless rows of shelves, finally resting on a massive desk nestled between them. Seated there was a figure, a man in his thirties with an aura of sharp intellect, bearing a faint resemblance to Clarke himself.

Appearances could be deceptive in an era where age was not always mirrored in one's visage.

As Clarke approached, the man at the desk lifted his head, his mouth twitching into a strained smile. "Clarke, you've arrived."

The words echoed in the cavernous library, laden with an air of detachment.

"Father," Clarke acknowledged, his voice steady as he recognized the man from his memories. He advanced towards the desk, bowing slightly in a gesture of respect.

The man, seemingly reassured by the term 'father,' relaxed slightly. "This is the first time you've called me that. It appears your condition has truly improved."

"I can't explain it myself," Clarke admitted softly. "After my fall, I awoke with a clarity I haven't felt since childhood."

A brief silence fell, heavy with unspoken thoughts, before the man inquired, "What did the doctors say?"

"The same as always, no conclusive findings," Clarke replied, shrugging slightly. "Perhaps it's just fate."

"Let's leave the past behind then," his father responded thoughtfully. "You're fortunate to have recovered. What do you plan to do next?"

Clarke eyed him curiously. It was rare for the head of the Higilton family to seek opinions rather than issue directives. "I have no immediate plans. I'm still adjusting. I won't make any moves until I'm fully adapted."

"Is that so?" His father pondered for a moment before deciding. "In that case, you should continue living in City."

"Alright," Clarke agreed, nodding.

His father studied him for a moment, then, with a shake of his head, imparted, "You're already twenty-one, Clarke. These years shouldn't be wasted. I hope you can catch up and someday match the talents of your younger brother, Alexander."

Clarke understood the subtle dismissal. He nodded and turned to leave the library.

"Clarke!" His father's voice halted him at the threshold.

Turning back, Clarke inquired, "Yes, Father? Is there something else?"

His father's eyes searched Clarke's face, perhaps seeking something more before he finally spoke again.

Clarke's father paused, his gaze unwavering as he spoke with authority, "I'll allocate an additional sum of money for you. Now that you're well, you might consider starting a small venture of your own. As for the arranged marriage, let's postpone it for the moment."

"I don't think that's necessary," Clarke replied, shaking his head. "Moreover, the Higilton family personally pledged this marriage. Wouldn't canceling it tarnish our family's reputation?"

"Do you understand the implications of what you're saying?" his father asked, his eyes narrowing, a hint of scrutiny in his gaze.

Suddenly, Clarke felt an invisible pressure enveloping him, his brows furrowing and his heartbeat quickening. It was an aura unique to those who wield great power, born not just from their position but from the vast chasm of status between them and others. As the current patriarch of the Higilton family, his father's decisions impacted countless lives, his mere demeanor enough to unsettle the strongest of wills. This influence, however, was nullified in the absence of recognition of his authority.

"I am aware, Father," Clarke responded, his smile humble, his posture deferential. "I appreciate your concern, but I am no longer the person I once was. Perhaps I can begin to shoulder some of the family's responsibilities. As for the matter concerning Jessica Akio, I believe I can manage it."

Upon hearing this, his father regarded Clarke with a newfound perception, as if seeing him for the first time. After a long, contemplative silence, he finally spoke. "I hope you won't come to regret this decision."

"I won't," Clarke assured him succinctly, then turned and exited the room, leaving his father in a thoughtful silence.