Change Is Coming (3)

Vryne exited his room, deep in thought as he navigated the dimly lit halls of the Drexsic estate. His mind swirled with fragmented pieces of the novel's story—what he knew, what he had edited, and, most concerningly, what he didn't. While he was well-versed in the main plot, the behind-the-scenes machinations were an enigma.

He had some foresight regarding the Drexsic estate, particularly the roles his father, Ivor, and Solara Van Greysteel played in the coming events. But beyond that, uncertainty loomed over him like a storm cloud. If he didn't act soon, he could easily stumble into the same doomed path the original Vryne had walked, leading to his inevitable death at the hands of the protagonist.

Pausing near one of the large arched windows, he gazed out at the sprawling courtyard, its stone pathways bathed in the eerie glow of mana-powered lanterns. His reflection stared back at him—a face that belonged to Vryne El Drexsic but carried the mind of someone desperate to change fate.

The marriage arrangement.

Solara's presence, his father's sudden increase in attention—this was the moment where everything began to spiral. The engagement between the Greysteel and Drexsic families was meant to strengthen their influence, yet it had also been the catalyst for Vryne's obsession, his downfall, and ultimately, his death. Worse still, this was the groundwork for Ivor's long-term schemes.

A slow exhale left his lips.

Not this time.

His gaze sharpened as he turned away from the window and continued down the hall. If Ivor thought he could use him like a pawn, he was sorely mistaken.

—

Ivor sat at his grand mahogany desk, his piercing gaze fixed on the shifting images within the Cryios—a crystal orb resting atop an obsidian pedestal. The ever-changing visions revealed the various corridors, chambers, and hidden passageways of the estate, flickering like a vast network of enchanted security feeds.

Standing a foot to his right was an older man dressed in a finely tailored attendant's uniform. His slicked-back silver hair and worn yet perceptive dark-blue eyes gave him the appearance of a seasoned caretaker. Adjusting the aged spectacles resting on his nose, he observed the Cryios with mild curiosity before speaking.

"What do you think of the Cryios, my lord?"

Ivor's response was curt and measured. "It serves its purpose." His expression remained unreadable as he leaned back into his chair. "However, it is flawed. Its connection to fluctuating mana signatures makes it unreliable. It can be tampered with."

The attendant studied the crystal orb thoughtfully before giving a respectful bow. "I shall inform the artisan of your concerns."

Lifting the Cryios from its pedestal, the old attendant took his leave, the heavy wooden door shutting softly behind him.

Now alone, Ivor exhaled through his nose, fingers tapping against the desk's surface. He had dismissed the Cryios too quickly—perhaps its limitations could be remedied. Regardless, he had no use for tools that failed to provide absolute control. If he was to shape the future of the Drexsic name, he required certainty.

And speaking of investments…

A flickering image of Vryne surfaced in his mind.

His son's recent change in demeanor had not gone unnoticed. Whispers had spread throughout the estate—his withdrawn, erratic behavior replaced by something… sharper. More deliberate.

Was it merely coincidence, or had something truly shifted within him?

Ivor was not one to ignore the details, no matter how small. He had built his legacy through calculated precision and unwavering caution. If Vryne was becoming unpredictable, he would need to assess the risk.

Pushing himself up from his chair, he contemplated on wether to see the boy for himself.

However, as he sat in the dimly lit spot of his study, his gaze shifted toward another presence lingering nearby.

Emerging from the shadows of the room, a tall woman stepped forward.

She was a striking figure, her presence sharp and commanding. Long black hair, fading into an ethereal silver at the ends, cascaded down her back in a sleek ponytail. Her piercing crimson eyes held an eerie, predatory glint, framed by sharp, angular features that gave her an almost ghostly beauty. A series of faint scars traced the side of her pale neck, remnants of past battles.

She wore a form-fitting black tactical uniform, reinforced with leather straps and buckles, accentuating her toned frame. The fabric clung to her like a second skin, allowing for unrestricted movement—every part of her attire designed for function, not aesthetics.

Ivor barely had to give the command.

"Watch him," he murmured, his voice low and controlled.

The woman offered a silent nod, her expression unreadable as she bowed slightly. Without another word, she turned and strode down the hall, her movements fluid and soundless. With every step, she seemed to fade, her presence dissolving into the darkness like a phantom.

Ivor watched until she vanished completely.

Then, with an unreadable expression, he returned to his study, his fingers steepling together as he considered his next move.

—

Vryne walked with deliberate steps through the estate's open courtyard. The night air was cool, carrying the distant hum of nocturnal creatures and the faint flicker of torches lining the stone walls.

Then he saw her.

Solara Van Greysteel.

She stood near the reflecting pool at the courtyard's center, moonlight casting a silver sheen over her elegant figure. Clad in a form-fitting dark coat, adorned with the Greysteel family's emblem, she exuded an air of nobility and quiet strength. Her f fiery Orange-blue hair was tied in a loose braid over her shoulder, and her teal-blue eyes flickered toward him the moment he approached.

"Vryne," she acknowledged, her voice smooth yet distant.

"Solara," he responded evenly.

For a moment, they merely studied each other.

He had always found her character compelling—strong-willed, unyielding, a woman born into a family that demanded perfection. Yet, in the novel's story, she had been nothing more than a tool, forced into an engagement that served political interests rather than personal desires.

The original Vryne had ruined everything with his obsession.

Not again.

"You seem different," Solara commented, tilting her head slightly.

Vryne gave a small, almost amused scoff. "Do I?"

She narrowed her eyes, scrutinizing him carefully. "You do. You're not acting as… desperate, as before."

The word hit like a blade, but he let it pass without reaction.

Instead, he simply smirked, tucking his hands into his pockets. "Yes, it would appear so, Solara. Maybe I've changed."

She hummed, unconvinced.

Before she could press further, a subtle shift in the shadows caught Vryne's attention. It was barely noticeable—just a flicker, a presence lingering at the edges of his perception.

Someone was watching.

His heartbeat slowed as he kept his expression relaxed, but his mind sharpened like a blade.

Ivor.

No doubt his father had already moved a piece onto the board.

Vryne turned back to Solara, his smirk fading into something more unreadable. "It's a long night. You should get some rest."

Solara studied him for another lingering moment before nodding. "You as well."

As she turned and left, Vryne exhaled, allowing his body to relax ever so slightly.

Then he tensed again, before calling out to Solara again. "Ah, wait one more thing".

Solara suddenly halted in her steps, glancing over her shoulder at Vryne, "Yes? What is it?"

Vryne studied her for a moment, before speaking again. "No never mind, I'll let you know in the morning Solara, forgive my suddenness."

Solara stared at him for a moment, before turning away and continued on.

Vryne Relaxed again, before exhaling for a second time.

Then, he glanced once more toward the darkness beyond the courtyard.

He didn't know who his father had sent. But he would find out soon enough.

And when he did, he would make sure they knew—

He was not the same Vryne El Drexsic.