Change Is Coming (7)

A sleek, elongated vehicle maneuvered through the congested streets of the capital, its polished obsidian-black exterior gleaming under the morning sun. The car bore the insignia of the Greysteel family—a silver emblem depicting a sword encased in a swirling storm, a symbol of both authority and the family's deep-rooted military traditions.

Inside, the plush leather seats provided both comfort and silence, save for the occasional hum of the engine. The interior was designed with functionality in mind, eschewing excessive decoration for sleek, minimalistic elegance. The scent of polished wood and aged leather filled the air.

Seated within was a man of striking presence—Talion Van Greysteel, the patriarch of the esteemed Greysteel family. Draped in a finely tailored dark-blue suit, his imposing frame exuded an effortless authority. His shoulder-length hair, a mix of storm-gray and deep navy, bore the marks of age and wisdom, while his beard, though neatly trimmed, only added to the regal sternness of his demeanor.

His dark teal eyes, like turbulent seas under a stormy sky, were an intricate blend of colors. Flecks of silver and faint hints of green shimmered within the depths, revealing a gaze both analytical and commanding—eyes that had seen battle, victory, and loss in equal measure.

With his head resting against his palm, Talion stared out the window, observing the moving world outside with a silent contemplation. The rhythmic blur of pedestrians, towering structures, and bustling vehicles passed by in fleeting moments.

A hesitant voice broke the silence.

"Sir Greysteel…" The driver's voice wavered slightly, despite his best effort to mask his nervousness.

Talion's gaze remained fixed outside as he responded in a calm yet firm tone. "Calm yourself. You don't need to sound so tense."

"B-But, sir, you are the—"

"The patriarch of the Greysteel family, yes, yes," Talion interrupted, exhaling as he shifted his focus to the front. His eyes briefly met the driver's in the rearview mirror. "And you think the only way to show respect is to act like you're walking on eggshells?"

The driver hesitated before responding, his hands gripping the wheel a bit tighter. "It's… proper etiquette, sir."

A grin tugged at the corner of Talion's lips. "You're a good man, but really, I'd rather have a conversation, not a formality."

The driver, flustered but unwavering, nodded. "I… appreciate the sentiment, sir. But my respect will remain."

Talion sighed, offering a curt nod.

His attention returned to the world outside, but this time, his thoughts drifted elsewhere. To a small girl with a wooden sword.

Her hair, a vibrant blend of fiery orange and deep blue, matched the raging tempest of her spirit. Her bright teal eyes, untouched by the weight of the world, glowed with youthful determination. Her clothes were dirtied with sweat and effort, yet her smile radiated pure joy.

The image of his daughter, Solara, lingered for a brief moment—until it faded, swallowed by the present.

Under his breath, Talion muttered, "I wonder how she's doing."

—

In the flourishing gardens of Drexsic Manor, vibrant flowerbeds stretched across the grounds, their colors blending into a picturesque scene of tranquility. The fragrant scent of blooming roses and lilies filled the air, carried by the soft breeze.

At the center of it all, Solara Greysteel was seen kneeling beside a maid, carefully carrying a bundle of freshly picked flowers. Her usual fierce, untamed demeanor was absent. Instead, there was an air of quiet contemplation.

"Lady Solara, please, you really don't need to trouble yourself with this—"

"I insist," Solara interrupted, her tone leaving no room for further argument.

The maid, though reluctant, relented. The young heir of the Greysteel family was not one to be swayed once she made a decision.

In truth, the household staff had grown fond of Solara's presence—despite knowing she was only here due to Vryne's orders. But today, something felt different.

Whispers carried through the air.

"She's never been this… eager to help before."

"Do you think Lord Vryne did something again?"

"Or maybe she's doing this out of spite?"

Yet, those who observed closely noticed something peculiar. Her expression would shift—her brows furrowed in determination, only for her face to flush moments later. Her ears burned a light shade of red.

Unbeknownst to them, the reason for Solara's distraction was far more personal.

Vryne's words from the previous night haunted her.

"You're too good for me."

Her grip on the flowers tightened as the phrase echoed in her mind. She clenched her teeth in frustration.

Why? Why did those words make her feel like this?

Vryne's past compliments—his half-hearted attempts at flirtation—had always been irritating, even disgusting. But this time, there had been no flirtation, no deception. His tone, his eyes, his sincerity—

"Alluring?!"

Solara immediately shook her head, scolding herself for such a ridiculous thought.

Even more absurd was his claim about dissolving their engagement. Was he serious? Did he truly intend to change?

Glaring at the sky, she exhaled.

"All I can do now is wait."

—

Vryne walked through the grand halls of Drexsic Manor, his steps measured and steady. The air within these walls carried a certain weight, a presence that had been ingrained into the very foundation of this noble household.

But now, standing before an ornate door, something far more unsettling loomed beyond it.

He stopped a mere foot away, staring at the intricately designed wood, though his focus was not on its craftsmanship.

It was the aura seeping from within.

Dark. Pitch black. A vile, festering presence that leaked through the door's seams, pulsating with unseen malice.

Vryne could feel it in his bones, in his veins. His body reacted instinctively—his stomach twisted, his breath felt heavier. And yet… it was familiar.

Was this because he was in Vryne's body? Or was it something else?

A low, emotionless voice cut through the silence.

"Enter. Son."

A pause.

Vryne sighed, reaching for the handle.

"Yes, Father."

With that, the door creaked open.