William didn’t lead Boren back the way he had come. Instead, the old butler turned toward the heart of Stonehelm Estate, where the architecture subtly transformed, where decorative beauty yielded to ancestral weight.
The gardens thinned out. The laughter of servants faded away. With each step, the air grew heavier, as if the estate had become more than just a home; it was now a monument to a lineage that predated comfort.
They walked along wide marble corridors supported by towering pillars etched with ancient runes.
Above them, stained glass windows filtered sunlight into muted gold and pale blue hues, casting fractured patterns across the floor that shifted like slow-moving water.
The walls were lined with portraits, rows upon rows of faces framed in gilded metal and dark wood. Men and women wore expressions of authority, severity, and composed distance.
Previous patriarchs. Elders. Strategists. Warlords.
Every gaze seemed to follow him or at least it felt that way. Boren’s steps unconsciously slowed as he passed them, his chest tightening with each stride deeper into this unfamiliar territory.
He had lived in this estate all his life, yet this was a path he had never been allowed to walk before. This was the artery of the house, the place where inheritance became policy and blood became law.
And today, for the first time ever, he was being summoned into it. The realization unsettled him more than fear ever could.
This would be only the third time he had seen his father.
The first was when he was ten years old. He still remembered that day vividly: scrubbed raw by servants and dressed in robes too stiff for his small frame, he was brought into a small examination chamber where elders assessed his aptitude for mana.
His father hadn’t spoken to him or even looked directly at him; he merely stood behind the elders with arms crossed, wearing an unreadable expression, as if observing a stranger’s child being evaluated for livestock value.
The second encounter occurred during the Patriarch’s birthday celebration, a formal gathering filled with hundreds of guests amidst music and incense wafting through the estate.
Boren had been lined up with his siblings at one end so as not to draw attention to himself. When it came time for him to bow, his father’s eyes passed over him as though he were nothing more than empty space.
No greeting. No acknowledgment. And now... this.
William finally stopped before a colossal door at the end of the hall, a door crafted from dark ancient wood veined with silver mana-thread, its surface engraved with House Stonehelm’s crest so deeply that it seemed carved into reality itself rather than mere timber.
The old butler straightened up and announced clearly, "Patriarch! I have Young Master Boren."
Silence enveloped them for several heartbeats until a calm voice emerged from beyond the door, low and steady without warmth or displeasure: "Come in."
The door opened silently as William stepped aside.
Boren swallowed hard, feeling the dryness in his mouth and the dampness in his palms. His heart thudded unevenly, a weight he couldn’t shake off.
He stepped inside, the doors closing behind him with a quiet finality.
The chamber was immense, designed not for visitors but for endurance. Towering bookshelves loomed like walls, reaching toward a ceiling lost in shadow, each shelf crammed with tomes, records, and ancient scrolls sealed within crystal tubes.
A massive chandelier made of faceted mana-crystal hung overhead, casting a restrained glow that did little to soften the starkness of the room.
At the far end stood an enormous desk carved from a single piece of ancient heartwood. Its surface was etched with faintly glowing sigils of authority. Behind it loomed a high-backed chair that resembled a throne.
Seated there, with his back turned to Boren, was the Patriarch of House Stonehelm.
In that moment, Boren felt impossibly small. He bowed deeply and stammered, "P-Patriarch... you asked for me."
The man remained facing away. "I heard," he said calmly, "that you are working at the Adventurer Guild."
The words landed like a physical blow.
Boren’s jaw tightened as he replied before fear could silence him. "Yes. I’m a receptionist at the Adventurer Guild."
A low sound escaped the Patriarch, a mix between a breath and a hum.
"I see," he said. "And how is your work?"
Boren blinked in surprise; this wasn’t what he had prepared for. He had braced himself for rebuke or cold instruction but found none of that here.
"It... it’s busy," he answered carefully. "Very busy. There are many adventurers and commissions, lots of paperwork but it’s good work."
The Patriarch continued to face forward. "Are you eating properly?"
"...Yes."
"Sleeping?"
"...Not much," Boren admitted reluctantly. "But that’s because there’s so much to do."
"Do you find the environment tolerable?"
"Yes."
"And do people treat you acceptably?"
Boren hesitated before nodding slowly. "They treat me well."
After a moment’s pause, the Patriarch inclined his head slightly.
"That is sufficient," he said simply. "You may go."
Boren froze in disbelief.
"...That’s all?"
"Yes."
The dismissal was gentle yet final. Uncertainty churned within him; this wasn’t what he had expected or feared at all. He took a step back while keeping his posture lowered and then another until he reached the door.
His hand brushed against its wooden surface when something stirred inside him. He turned his head just enough to glance back at the tall figure before him; words hovered on his lips, a question, a thousand buried things, perhaps even a plea but they never crossed the distance between them.
He closed his mouth again and bowed once more and left.
The door closed behind him, sealing off the outside world. Silence enveloped the chamber.
After a few breaths, another voice broke the stillness. It seemed to echo from every corner of the room.
"You summoned him just to inquire about his health?"
The Patriarch shifted in his chair. "What would you have preferred I ask?" he replied.
"I assumed," the voice responded smoothly, "that you would insist he cut ties with the Adventurer Guild."
A soft chuckle escaped the Patriarch’s lips. "How could I?" he said quietly. "A father should support his son’s chosen path."
Silence fell over the chamber once more.
"...Since when," the voice finally questioned, "did you become a loving father to a child you spent two decades ignoring?"
The Patriarch remained silent for a moment before speaking again.
"How goes the investigation?" he asked. "Have you identified who is behind the Adventurer Guild?"
"No," came the reply. "There’s no sign of an external faction, no signs from the Capital either, no hidden houses. Nothing at all."
"That is... troubling," murmured the Patriarch. "Then either someone very powerful is erasing their shadow... or someone very clever is walking without one."
"Do you think it originates from the Capital?" the voice inquired.
"I suspect many things," said the Patriarch calmly. "But I doubt a single individual would risk dismantling systems that have governed dungeon control for generations, at least not without solid backing."
There was a pause before he continued, "Still, if there’s no visible foundation... perhaps my son has finally discovered his purpose."
The voice took on a more cautious tone. "You’re using him."
The Patriarch did not deny it.
"Continue monitoring the Adventurer Guild," he commanded. "Gather every detail: financial patterns, political shifts, any unexplained developments."
"Understood."
With that, the presence withdrew.
The Patriarch remained seated and motionless.
Meanwhile, in another wing of the estate, Boren walked away from the only man who had ever had the power to call him son, unaware that his small happiness had already become part of a much larger scheme.