The atmosphere in the attic buzzed with a thicker tension than dust. Marcus, with his complexion looking pale and strained, eventually ended the quietness. "See, Andre," he said, his voice filled with a mix of emotions, "I... I am happy that you have returned, even if it is only a part of you. However, you are not permitted to remain in this place."
Andre, no longer displaying his usual nervousness, showed a haunted expression and then flinched. "What is it that you are trying to say?" What other place could I possibly go to?
"Your parents," Res gently interjected, her soothing voice calming the tense atmosphere. They must be extremely anxious/upset. Andre, it is necessary for you to return to your house.
Andre's expression became stern. "They aren't my parents," he said sharply, a hint of something ominous passing over his face. "No longer."
Marcus felt a shiver of fear travel down his spine. This wasn't exactly the Elian he knew, not the carefree buddy he recalled. This was something... unique.
"Look, Andre," Res said, her voice firm but laced with empathy. "We don't know what happened, but your parents deserve to know you're alive. Maybe they can help you understand what's going on."
Andre remained silent, his jaw clenched, his eyes downcast. The silence stretched, broken only by the creak of the old house settling. Finally, with a defeated sigh, he spoke. "Fine," he muttered, his voice devoid of enthusiasm. "I'll go see them."
Relief washed over Marcus, a fragile thing easily shattered. But before they could celebrate, Andre surprised them both.
Closing his eyes, he uttered a soft guttural chant. The atmosphere buzzed with a sinister energy, a sharp difference from the cheerful fireballs he used to create. Upon opening his eyes, they briefly shone with an eerie red light before reverting back to their usual dim red color.
"There," he said, a hint of his old swagger returning. "All healed up. No need to worry about worried parents fainting at the sight of their 'demon' son."
Marcus and Res exchanged a worried glance. This demonic magic, it felt wrong. But before they could voice their concerns, Andre was already moving.
"Lead the way," he said, his voice tinged with a newfound arrogance. "Let's get this family reunion over with."
Marcus and Res felt a combination of nervousness and optimism as they trailed behind Andre, descending the squeaky stairs. He guided them to a dusty carriage concealed at the rear of the palace. As Andre got into the carriage, he felt a sense of impending doom wash over him. This wasn't a visit to see family members, it seemed more like an expedition into uncharted territory, led by Marcus, energized by a mysterious and unfamiliar force.
The carriage clattered down the empty streets, with the only noise being the consistent clip-clop of the horses' hooves. In the end, they arrived at a hill with a view of the city asleep below. The atmosphere buzzed with a unique energy, a palpable enchantment that Marcus had never experienced before.
Far away, a sparkling portal glowed with an unearthly light. With a cold smile on his lips, Andre pointed towards it.
"Well," he said, his voice laced with a dangerous excitement, "after you."
The portal throbbed with a supernatural buzz, its gleaming exterior changing how the world outside appeared into a swirling whirlpool of color. With a tight knot of worry in his stomach, Andre inhaled deeply and entered.
He made his way onto a decaying gravel path, with the smell of damp earth and decay hanging heavy in the air. Before him stood a majestic mansion in a state of disrepair, its once-impressive exterior now tarnished with chipping paint and covered in tangled vines. He let out a gasp, a noise that reverberated hauntingly in the quietness.This was the Aetheris mansion, where he grew up. A house that he hardly knew, a house full of memories that were both treasured and distressing.
The sound of the carriage door opening signaled Marcus and Res's arrival. Walking towards him, their expressions a blend of curiosity and worry, they surveyed the rundown mansion.
"Whoa," Marcus breathed, his voice barely a whisper. "This place has seen better days."
Res nodded, looking at the overgrown rose bushes that used to thrive beautifully when his mother took care of them.
With his heart pounding wildly in his chest, Andre pushed himself to move ahead. He had to finish this quickly. He had to catch a glimpse of her.
He arrived at the grand oak door, its exterior worn and marked. Shaking, he lifted his hand and tapped with his knuckles. The noise reverberated emptily within the quiet confines.
The atmosphere was filled with tension, broken only by the far-off sound of chirping crickets. As doubt started to eat away at him, the massive oak door slowly opened, showing a woman whose face bore traces of concern. Her chestnut brown hair, which now had streaks of silver, was tied up in a practical bun. Her eyes, a flicker of surprise shining in the same emerald green shade that he saw in his hand's reflection, met his gaze.
"Marcus? Res?" she said, her voice hoarse, laced with a weary relief. "What brings you two here so late?"
Andre's breath hitched. Anya Aetheris, his mother, stood before him, seemingly unchanged by the years… except for the absence of recognition in her eyes.
"Mrs. Aetheris," Marcus stammered, his voice laden with awkwardness, "We… we brought someone with us. This is Andre."
Andre remained motionless, his entire reality shifting. His mother was in front of him but she didn't notice him. An empty pain blossomed in his heart, a emptiness that no recollected memories could satisfy.
Res, sensing his turmoil, stepped forward. "He's a friend of ours, Mrs. Aetheris. We thought…" Her voice trailed off, unsure how to navigate this bizarre situation.
Anya's gaze flickered to Andre, a flicker of curiosity sparking within its emerald depths. "Well, Andre," she said, her voice gentle, "come in, come in. You all must be cold. Tea?"
Before Andre had a chance to reply, she guided them into the house, the weighty oak door closing firmly behind them, amplifying the fear he felt. Although this was his residence, he still felt like an outsider inside the house. How could he possibly communicate his true identity and transformation to a woman who was oblivious to his presence, a mother who may have forgotten him entirely?
Entering the doorway, Andre was overwhelmed with a sensory overload that contradicted the rundown exterior. The entrance struck him like a distant recollection.
Light from the sun poured in through a tall stained-glass window, creating a spectrum of colors on a shiny marble floor that shone like a distant memory. Healthy potted ferns with their fronds opening up in defiance of neglect were standing guard next to intricately carved side tables decorated with colorful orchids, their fragrant blooms releasing an exotic scent. The atmosphere was filled with a soothing heat, with a gentle aroma of cinnamon and freshly baked bread hinting at the promise of delicious comfort food emanating from somewhere in the house. It was a scent that pulled on his emotions, an old song unexpectedly resurfacing in his memories.
He quickly looked around, absorbing the lavish details that contrasted with the deteriorating outside. Plush armchairs in deep crimson velvet, hinting at former elegance, surrounded a stately fireplace. The mantelpiece showcased family portraits in tarnished silver frames and delicate silver trinkets, each holding a hidden tale of a life lived to the fullest. He felt a strange disconnect, experiencing a mix of recognition and a deep feeling of being an outsider looking into a life that didn't quite belong to him.
As they went further into the house behind Anya, the consistent clacking noise of knitting needles became louder. Turning the corner, they walked into a living room illuminated by the cozy light of a crackling fire. A woman in her late eighties sat in a rocking chair next to the fireplace. Her gray hair, tied back in a disheveled bun that showed signs of aging, surrounded gentle eyes that wrinkled at the edges as she glanced up from her knitting. As a feeling of familiarity washed over him, goosebumps appeared on Andre's skin. His grandmother, Grandma Aetheris, was a soothing memory of warmth in his childhood. However, there was a noticeable absence - the usual sparkle in her eyes, the understanding smile that he was accustomed to seeing even during his most difficult days.
Anya's hand rested on her mother-in-law's shoulder while she forced a smile to form on her lips. "Mom, come see who's arrived." Marcus and Res have a companion with them.
The rhythmic clicking stopped, replaced by a faint sigh as Grandma Aetheris (Eia. I'll call her Nana Eia) looked up.
Her gaze settled on Andre for a moment longer than the others, a flicker of something akin to recognition sparking in her cloudy blue eyes. But it was fleeting, replaced by a polite confusion. "Marcus, Res, what a lovely surprise!" she rasped, her voice raspy with age and a hint of disuse. "Come in, come in, both of you. And you, young man," she added, her gaze returning to Andre, "Welcome to the Aetheris household. What's your name, dear?"
Before Andre could respond, a sudden eruption of yellow hair came through a door branching out from the living room. A young lady, perhaps a few years beyond his age, stood before them, smiling widely when she saw Marcus and Res. However, upon noticing Andre, her smile faded and was replaced by a confused expression.
"Res! Marcus!" she exclaimed, her voice filled with youthful exuberance, laced with a hint of exasperation usually reserved for younger siblings. "What are you guys doing here so late? Didn't Mom mention the charity gala this evening?"
She hurried towards Res, wrapping her in a tight hug that almost burst the buttons on her blouse, then playfully pushed Marcus. Andre was motionless, his breath trapped in his throat. It was impossible for this to be true. His older sister Elara, with her previously bright yellow hair now touched with gold, still sported her characteristic messy bun and mischievous look in her eyes, easily recognizable. However, similar to his mother, her gaze held a void that caused him to feel a new flood of despair.
"Elara," Res said, returning the hug with a sigh of relief, "This is Andre. He's a friend of ours."
Elara backed away, but she still couldn't look away from Andre. She observed him closely, curiosity igniting as surprise faded away. "Nice to meet you, Andre," Elara said, her voice was warm and friendly but seemed slightly forced. "I am Elara, the resident... um... troublemaker," she stumbled over her words, obviously uneasy with the strange label.
Andre's lips let out a laugh that was choked. Troublemaker. That is exactly how Elara would characterize herself, with a mischievous sparkle in her eye and a defiant streak that runs deep. However, the sound that emerged was feeble, hardly able to be heard above the crackling fire.
Anya came back with a silver tray holding hot teacups and a plate full of pastries that tempted Andre. He had refrained from eating food ever since the unusual meal with Marcus and Res, and the scent of cinnamon sugar and buttery pastry was nearly impossible to ignore. However, he no longer had a desire to eat. How was it possible for him to concentrate on eating when his own family didn't even acknowledge him?