Shadows of the Past

The family estate felt smaller than Axnem remembered, though that might have been his own changed perspective rather than any physical alteration. The Black family mansion had once been the centerpiece of a sprawling compound, but now only the main house remained occupied, its grounds maintained by a skeleton staff that spoke in whispers and avoided making eye contact.

His father, Lord Marcus Black, waited in the library—a room that had once contained one of the continent's finest collections of magical texts. Now, empty shelves outnumbered filled ones, and those volumes that remained looked worn from constant consultation rather than casual study.

"Axnem," his father said, rising from behind the massive oak desk that had served Black family heads for three generations. "You look well. Academy life agrees with you."

The formal tone stung more than criticism would have. In his future memories, his relationship with his father had been strained by disappointment and mutual frustration. Now, returned to his younger self, Axnem could see the careful distance his father maintained—protection against hope that might be disappointed once again.

"Father," he replied, settling into the chair across from the desk. "Mother's letter mentioned urgent family business."

Lord Marcus nodded, his expression growing heavier. "The Valdris Syndicate has called in their remaining loans. Full payment within sixty days, or they begin claiming collateral."

The Valdris Syndicate—in his previous timeline, those vultures had been among the primary beneficiaries of his family's downfall. They operated in the gray areas between legitimate banking and organized crime, providing capital when traditional sources weren't available, then demanding crushing terms when payment came due.

"How much?" Axnem asked, though he dreaded the answer.

"Forty thousand gold sovereigns," his father replied quietly. "Plus accumulated interest."

The number was staggering. A successful merchant family might see that much profit in a decade. For the reduced Black holdings, it represented impossible wealth.

"We have options," Lord Marcus continued, though his tone suggested none of them were appealing. "Your grandfather has... connections from the old days. People who might be willing to provide assistance in exchange for future considerations."

Axnem's blood chilled. He knew exactly what kind of connections his grandfather maintained, and what future considerations might entail. In his previous timeline, those same alliances had dragged the Black family into conflicts that ultimately destroyed them.

"What does Grandfather Aldric suggest?"

"That we leverage our remaining political assets. The Black name still carries weight in certain circles, and there are always those willing to pay for influence, even diminished influence."

Before Axnem could respond, footsteps echoed in the hallway outside. Heavy, measured steps that spoke of authority and power. The door opened without a knock, and Axnem's grandfather entered.

Aldric Black commanded attention simply by existing. Despite being in his seventies, he moved with the fluid grace of someone half his age. His silver hair was pulled back in a style that had been fashionable decades ago but somehow still seemed current when he wore it. Most striking were his eyes—pale blue, almost gray, and absolutely predatory.

"Grandson," he said, his voice carrying undertones that made the air itself seem denser. "Time we had a proper conversation."