Cecilus spent the day before the party at home. He didn't have the will to brighten his day, nor the motivation to pretend otherwise. The silence of the manor hung thick, as if the walls themselves were holding their breath.
Later, his father approached him.
"Remember, no drinking at the party. Alcoholism has taken many a man, and research has shown that early-age drinking is harmful."
"I already know, Father."
Reymund chuckled softly, arms crossed as he studied his son. "You've grown taller over the last month. Maybe soon you'll truly look like a grown man."
I have?
Cecilus turned, comparing his height—his head now passed Reymund's shoulders.
"I guess I have. It was going to happen at some point, wasn't it?"
"Ha! Yes, it was, Cecilus. Having both parents taller than most men is enough of a sign for your own growth."
Reymund's tone was light, but for a moment, his eyes softened.
Has the atmosphere between us ever been this relaxed?
"Well, the party is tomorrow," Reymund said finally. "No reason to treat it differently. I hope next year is a great year for you, son."
"Likewise, Father. But save the comments for tomorrow—and the day after. We'll both be in the right mind to say our goals for the new year, won't we?"
"Yes... yes, we will."
Cecilus nodded, but his face darkened as his fathers words faded.
***
Night fell, and the last day of the year arrived.
The Forwhilst manor glowed with lanterns and laughter, its windows spilling warm light into the snow-covered courtyard. Carriages lined the entrance, their wheels crunching against frost.
Cecilus arrived beside his family—his sister in a pale pink dress, Ayas in a blue suit. He and Reymund stood nearly identical: dark coats, calm composure, and only Cecilus's elven ears betraying the resemblance.
At the front gate, Trey greeted guests with a carefully practiced smile.
"Welcome! I hope you enjoy the food and festivities my family has set up for this occasion."
Reymund gave a curt nod as the family entered.
Cecilus watched the halls curve and shimmer with chandeliers before quietly excusing himself, claiming he needed the washroom. He slipped away, his footsteps echoing softly through the marble corridor.
Inside the washroom, he gripped the sink and stared into the mirror. His reflection looked pale, the faint shimmer of light in his pupils catching the lantern glow.
Ha... it's my last day. Where's my resolve?
Am I really afraid? Afraid of what?
He washed his face with cold water, the chill burning his skin. When he stepped out, Trey was already there.
"Oh, Cecilus! How are you doing?"
"I was just coming back from the washroom. Why are you here? Weren't you greeting the guests?"
"I passed off the job to Marina."
"Is that fine?"
"I don't really care if it's fine," Trey said, shrugging. "I doubt my father would notice, and what's the point of servants if I'm doing all the work?"
He hesitated, then offered with a half-smile, "Would you care for a drink? I was saving some liquor for a special moment, but I don't really know many others here. A master and student sharing a drink—it's common enough, right?"
Cecilus studied him.
I should probably say no... but if Trey's hungover tomorrow, that would make things simpler.
"Sure."
They walked into a quiet lounge. Velvet drapes muted the sound of the party; the air smelled faintly of oak and smoke. Trey disappeared for a moment, then returned with two glasses and a pair of heavy bottles.
"I'll be back, just wait here while I grab the wine," he'd said earlier—yet when he came back, his movements were oddly deliberate, almost ceremonial.
Cecilus sat on a worn chair, pressing his fingers against the bridge of his nose.
I have a migraine.
"You okay?" Trey asked, pouring.
"Just a minor migraine."
"We have healers who could treat that."
"Pain like this is easy to resist. If pain doesn't come with damage, there's no reason to worry about it."
Trey flinched—barely noticeable, but Cecilus caught it.
He poured the wine, crimson reflecting the lanternlight. "Bottoms up."
Trey drank first. Cecilus followed, bringing the cup to his lips. A faint purple glow flickered in his throat; the liquid vanished before it could touch his tongue.
Trey seems more relaxed now... was this poisoned?
But if it was, why would he drink it himself? He's not tense enough to be hiding anything.
No... this isn't poison. He's too calm. Too tired.
They drank in silence for a while before Cecilus broke it. "Why does your family even keep Marina around? Wouldn't it be more ideal for your mother if you freed her?"
Trey's expression soured. "My father is a scumbag. In his words, he created Marina so he could own her. He doesn't want to lose anything."
"Then why doesn't your mother leave him?"
"Her assets would become his. The deal between their families is a mess—too much paperwork to explain."
"Still... she's your mother. Don't you want to help her?"
"I made the decision not to deal with my family years ago," Trey said, staring into his glass. "And I've solidified it further now."
Cecilus leaned forward. "How about your sister? Do you not feel pity for her?"
"Why are you probing so much? Do you like her?" Trey's smirk was thin. "Taking her from my father would be effortless for you, I imagine."
"It's nothing like that. I'm just curious."
"It's not like I don't care. The clothes she wears—I bought them. The jobs she takes would've been hellish without my interference."
"That feels a bit bare minimum, doesn't it?"
"Then give her a present yourself," Trey muttered. "It's her birthday tomorrow."
"You know when her birthday is?"
"Of course I do. She shares half my blood."
"Then give her a present. Do something to make her smile." Cecilus raised his glass again.
"Hah." Trey's cheeks were flushed, his laugh unsteady.
So he's drunk. It wasn't poison after all.
"Fine, Cecilus. You win. I'll give the girl a present."
He looked down at his drink and smiled faintly.
***
Efrain sat at the dining table with his mother. She read quietly while the scent of soup simmered through the house.
"Mother," he said suddenly, "I have something to tell you. I'm going to leave this village to become an adventurer."
Her eyes widened. "What!?"
"Don't worry, I'll visit often. Cecilus said he's going to train me to become a warrior."
"The royal?"
"Yes."
"Oh." She relaxed. "Never mind then. That's fine."
Oh... she's not that mad.
"When are you leaving?"
"Tomorrow."
"What!? Why didn't you tell me sooner?"
"I was... planning to leave without telling you, but I changed my mind at the last second."
"Thank the heavens! If you'd left without a word, that would've killed me!"
She smiled tearfully. "How did you even get this opportunity?"
"Cecilus Crow is my friend."
"That's wonderful, Efrain! Maybe you'll become a warrior for the kingdom!"
"Thank you, Mother."
"I'll get your things packed."
Just then, bells rang through the village.
"The Forwhilst family has brought a New Year's feast for everyone in the village!"
A booming voice echoed as villagers rushed outside. Efrain and his mother stepped out into the cold night—the air smelled of spice and roasted meat, trolleys stacked high with food gleaming under the torchlight.
"Look, Mother! The duke is giving out free food!"
She laughed softly. "Let's eat well together before your departure. Don't you think that's a great idea?"
Efrain grinned. "I'd love that!"
***
The party stretched toward midnight. Cecilus split ways from Trey, heading to find his family before the countdown, while Trey slipped into the kitchen.
He gathered a pot and began to cook chicken soup, the warmth fogging the glass windows. After half an hour, he ladled the soup into a bowl and asked a maid for a blanket.
Outside, the air was sharp with frost. Marina sat huddled against the gate, shivering.
"Am I free to leave or eat?" she asked weakly.
"Here." Trey handed her the bowl and the blanket. Steam rose from the soup, curling around her face.
He glanced at his pocket watch—the hand ticked toward midnight.
"Happy birthday, Marina."
She blinked, startled. "It's... my birthday?"
"Yes. You were born on the first day of the year. I made the soup myself."
He watched her cradle the bowl, his thoughts gnawing at him.
Am I really redeeming myself? Is this pity worth anything?
"Thank you, Brother."
She smiled faintly, pulling the blanket tighter.
"When did the last guest arrive?"
"About twenty minutes ago."
"The gall on that man. It's obvious he just came for the announcement."
"Haha," she giggled softly.
"Why did you come out here, Trey?"
"I guess I feel... guilty."
"About me?"
"No. It's not something you should worry about."
He placed a hand on her head, then turned away, his breath fogging in the cold air.
***
Hart Forwhilst sat at his desk, candlelight flickering over stacks of paper. His wife slept behind him, turned away.
"What a miserable new year," he muttered. "Call Trey."
A maid hurried off and soon returned with Trey.
"What do you want, Father?"
"You idiot! Why did you spend all our food on those godforsaken villagers? Who gave you permission?"
"It was Mother."
"To hell it was!" Hart jabbed at his wife's shoulder. "Dear, wake up! Our son says you allowed it!"
She blinked awake, groggy. "What are you talking about? I didn't."
"See? Why the hell did you waste our resources?"
"I didn't," Trey said calmly. "I wasted mine."
"What—"
Before Hart could finish, his stomach split open. Blood burst across the desk, and his voice died in a wet gasp.
Trey's mother stared, frozen. "W-why?"
"Isn't this what you wanted, Mother?"
"N-no, I would never—" She coughed, crimson spilling from her lips. Her eyes glazed as her body slumped beside Hart's.
The maid tried to flee—but a blade flashed, clean and quick. Her body collapsed before she could scream.
"I've solidified it further now... huh." Trey's voice trembled. "I really have, haven't I?"
He looked down at his parents' corpses, face twisting into something hollow.
"No going back now."
He stepped out, quietly instructing another servant not to disturb the family quarters.
Back in his room, he sat on the bed, head bowed.
A figure materialized at the desk—a man with long black hair, his face hidden beneath a hood.
"Are you ready?" Trey asked.
"Yes. Just to be sure—it's only two people who are exempted?"
"Yes. Just me and the elf. The ones I want to keep safe haven't taken it."
"Good. I'll start in an hour. The guests will begin leaving soon."
The man vanished through the window.
Trey lay back, eyes half-closed.
"I'm sorry," he whispered.
A tear slid down his cheek as the manor's laughter dimmed into distant silence.