Chapter 23: Echoes of Power

The estate was quiet. Too quiet. Adrian walked the familiar halls of the Zenith residence, but it no longer felt like home. His footsteps echoed, louder than they should have been, as if the silence itself was pushing him further into isolation. The once-celebrated heir to the Zenith family, now little more than a rumor, a whisper, a shadow in his own home.

"Adrian..."

His father's voice reached him before the man himself did. His tone was calm, yet there was an unmistakable undercurrent of concern, something Adrian hadn't heard in a long time. It was the kind of voice reserved for those who had failed. And Adrian could already tell what was coming next.

"You've been distant," Zenith's father continued, his steps coming closer. "Are you sure you're alright?"

Adrian stopped in his tracks, the weight of his father's words settling on his shoulders like a heavy cloak. He turned to face him. His father stood in the doorway, eyes sharp, but there was something else there—a sense of helplessness. A softness that wasn't there before.

"Why wouldn't I be?" Adrian replied, his voice colder than he intended.

Zenith's father stared at him for a moment, as if searching for something behind those distant eyes. Then, with a heavy sigh, he stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.

"I don't understand," he muttered. "You've changed, Adrian. Ever since your return from the ceremony, it's like you're a different person."

Adrian didn't answer. How could he? He was a different person. The boy who had left for the ceremony was gone. What remained now was someone who could no longer connect with the past, not even the family who had raised him.

"You know," his father began again, his voice strained, "it's okay if you feel lost. Everyone has their moments. You don't have to be perfect. Just... come back to us."

Adrian's lips twitched in a semblance of a smile, but it was hollow, as empty as the feeling within him. He didn't want to come back. Not to this. Not to the life that had bound him before.

"I don't feel lost, Father," Adrian said, his gaze hardening. "I'm simply... different now."

There was a long pause. Adrian could see his father's jaw tighten, his brow furrow. He didn't understand, and perhaps he never would.

Adrian left without another word.

Later that day, he stood once again in the training grounds, the place where he had once found solace. But it was no longer the same. The familiar sounds of swords clashing, the rhythmic calls of the instructors, all felt distant, as though they belonged to someone else's life.

A new challenge awaited him today, though he hadn't asked for it.

"Adrian Zenith, heir to House Zenith, who once stood on the precipice of greatness…" The voice rang out across the courtyard, sharp and cutting. Lucian Aldrin stepped forward, his figure framed by the afternoon sun. "Or should I say, 'Adrian Zenith, the fallen heir.'"

A murmur rippled through the gathering crowd of young nobles. They had gathered here, hoping for some spectacle, and Lucian, as always, was more than willing to deliver. His eyes gleamed with malicious amusement.

Adrian didn't flinch.

Lucian's eyes flickered with irritation at the lack of reaction. He expected anger. A denial. Something, anything, to prove that Adrian was still the same person he had once been—the person whose defeat would taste so sweet to him.

"You were supposed to be the one," Lucian continued, his tone mockingly sympathetic. "But now look at you. Just a shadow of what could've been."

The crowd waited. There was no movement from Adrian. No outburst. No insult thrown back at Lucian.

Adrian's gaze remained fixed on him, distant, detached. "Is there a point to this?"

Lucian's expression faltered for a fraction of a second, the briefest crack in his façade. But then he recovered, his smirk returning.

"Of course," Lucian said, stepping closer, his hand resting near his sword hilt. "It's simple. I want to see how far the mighty have fallen. A spar. You and me. To see if the rumors are true."

Adrian glanced down at Lucian's outstretched hand, the challenge clear in his posture. His fingers twitched, but not in anger. Simply... curiosity.

"Why bother?" Adrian asked, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. "Do you expect me to give you the satisfaction of a fight?"

A shift of uncertainty passed over Lucian's face, but he quickly masked it with a forced laugh. "You may not be worth my time anymore, but others will want to see this. You're not the heir you used to be, Adrian. Not even close."

There was an uncomfortable silence. The other young nobles shifted on their feet, unsure of how to react. Lucian's words had been sharp, but Adrian's indifference seemed to sting more.

Adrian took a step forward, his expression unreadable. Lucian tensed, ready to move, but Adrian simply walked past him, never breaking his gaze.

"I have nothing to prove to you," Adrian said softly, almost under his breath.

Lucian stood there, frozen, his pride battling his desire to lash out. For a moment, his posture wavered. But before he could act, a hand landed firmly on his shoulder.

It was one of Lucian's retainers, a seasoned knight with eyes that spoke volumes of experience. His grip tightened for a moment, almost as if to steady Lucian.

"Not here, Lord Aldrin," the knight murmured. "Not now."

Lucian's eyes flickered with irritation, but something in the knight's tone made him hesitate. With a sharp look, Lucian released a deep breath and stepped back.

As Adrian was walking away, his senses heightened, the familiar prickling at the back of his mind growing stronger.

It was the System.

Silent. Watchful. Waiting.

Adrian didn't know how, but he could feel it more clearly than before. The world had shifted, and somehow, the System was at the center of it all. What did it want from him? What was it waiting for?

For the first time in a long while, Adrian felt a surge of something—something that wasn't numbness or detachment.

It was the stirrings of a question.