The Northern Continent

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The 13th of Vogue, Year 2001

Dukenam, 8:30 PM

The city thrived under a sea of glowing lights, illuminating the towering skyscrapers that stretched toward the night sky. The streets bustled with life, the rhythmic tapping of expensive shoes against pavement blending with the distant hum of passing vehicles. Perfume lingered in the air, carried by figures moving purposefully through the vibrant scene.

In the distance, the low growl of engines rumbled, cutting through the noise of the city. A convoy of sleek black cars advanced steadily, their polished exteriors gleaming beneath the streetlights. Close behind, men clad in dark uniforms rode motorcycles in tight formation, their presence enforcing a quiet authority as traffic parted to make way.

The convoy wound its way beyond the city's heart, following a well-maintained route that led toward the outskirts. Soon, a grand estate loomed ahead, its imposing iron gate standing as the first barrier to entry. Guards stationed behind the gate scrutinized the approaching vehicles before granting passage, the heavy iron doors groaning as they swung open.

Inside, the mansion was alive with movement. Staff members bustled about in perfect synchronization—chefs, butlers, cleaners, and waiters all attending to their respective duties. The air was thick with the warm aroma of expertly prepared dishes, yet there was an undercurrent of tension as the household prepared for the arrival of its most distinguished guest.

The front doors opened, revealing a robust man with broad shoulders and a presence that commanded the room. His military uniform bore the weight of experience, his physique hardened by years of rigorous training. Though his strength remained, time had begun to claim his features—his once-full head of hair now surrendering to the inevitability of age.

General Basil.

His expression was unreadable, sharp eyes sweeping over the assembled staff as they dipped their heads in respectful bows. Behind him, seven men followed in rigid formation, their disciplined postures and stern faces mirroring that of their superior. They moved with purpose, their steps measured as they advanced toward the dining hall.

In the background, whispers stirred.

"Are they here for another meeting, or just to gossip as usual?" one waiter murmured under his breath, his tone laced with dry amusement.

"You must be new," his colleague replied, shaking his head. "General Basil and his subordinates are close friends. They gather here often, though it's hard to say whether it's for business or leisure."

"That's odd. Aren't they technically—"

"Competing against each other?" a new voice interjected.

The waiters flinched, turning to see a boy standing behind them, his presence unnoticed until now. He couldn't have been older than thirteen, yet his silver-grey hair and strikingly long lashes gave him an almost ethereal quality. His androgynous features made him appear delicate, fragile even, but there was something unsettling in his gaze—an intelligence far beyond his years.

"Luscious…" one of the waiters exhaled in relief before narrowing his eyes. "Were you eavesdropping?"

Luscious smirked. "If I was, would it really matter? You do know General Basil doesn't like whisperers."

The two exchanged uneasy glances. "You're not going to snitch on us, are you? The General favors you, after all."

"Relax," Luscious said, waving a hand dismissively. "You weren't saying anything bad. Besides, I'm not the type to spill secrets."

One of the waiters let out a dramatic sigh. "In that case, if you get the chance to talk to the Generals, do us a favor and mention that our salary is too low."

Luscious chuckled, amused by the bold request. "Tell you what—if the conversation goes well and they're in a good mood, I might just bring it up."

"That's all we ask!" the two replied in unison, as if they had just won an unseen battle.

Their victory, however, was short-lived.

A sharp smack landed on both their heads, causing them to yelp in pain. Standing behind them was a woman, arms crossed, an exasperated look on her face.

"You idiots," Madeline, one of the senior chefs, scolded. "There's no way the General will consider something like that. And you, Luscious—stop feeding them delusions."

Luscious only grinned. "Oh, come on, Madeline. A salary raise wouldn't be such a bad idea, would it?"

She let out a tired sigh. "You three—try not to get yourselves in trouble. You know how the General is…" She paused, then pointed at the two waiters. "Well, maybe just you two. Luscious gets away with far more than he should."

As if on cue, the house master entered, his air of authority immediately quieting the room. With practiced ease, he directed the staff back to their respective tasks, ensuring the mansion remained in perfect order.

And just like that, the evening continued, the air thick with unseen tension, whispers of ambition, and the weight of unspoken truths.