Cecilus walked toward the area where the water was about to fall.
Avoiding it would make me look like an accomplice—at least if anyone decides to investigate further.
A fresh downpour of water cascaded from above, soaking everyone in the hall. The girls shrieked in unison, their satin skirts clinging to their legs, ribbons drooping against wet curls. Ayas froze mid-melody, his performance going quiet as confusion crossed his drenched face.
Cecilus tilted his head back, letting the cold droplets run down his cheeks and neck. He brushed his pale hair backward, slicking it against his scalp, and a grin tugged at his lips. To him, the chill felt almost cleansing.
Beautiful day for a shower, isn't it?
Through the chaos, a sharp voice cut through.
"Timothy! I know it was you!" Alison stomped her foot, splashing water from the puddles that pooled around her.
Well, sorry little guy, but you weren't smooth with it. Did you even need my distraction? Everyone looked clueless anyway…
Timothy emerged from behind a marble pillar, giggling with barely contained glee.
Huh? How did he get there? Is he a stealth master?
Alison lunged toward him, but Timothy darted away, laughter echoing off the walls. Cecilus sighed, watching them vanish down the corridor.
I'll ask him later. For now, I should go change—and make sure Ayas knows my involvement was nonexistent… or at least minimal.
A few maids hurried in, holding armfuls of towels. They handed them out quickly—though only one remained after tending to the ladies first. Cecilus stepped aside and gestured toward Ayas.
"Go ahead."
Ayas arched a brow, half smiling. "Awfully kind of you—treating me to a towel after being the one to soak me."
"Wait! Hold it! Why do you think this was me? I got soaked too!"
"You were speaking with that boy minutes before it happened—and acting… unusual."
"This is how I always act!"
"Then you always act unusual and are always up to something."
"Wait! How would that even make sense? The buckets came out of nowhere—and that kind of power doesn't even fit my magic set!"
Ayas shrugged, drying his hair with the towel. "Relax, I won't say anything. If you were the distraction for that boy, then I share the blame. I just didn't expect you to pull something so grand."
"Hey! You just said I wouldn't do something like this! And why does it sound like I'm that kid's lackey now?"
"You're more offended that I said he outdid you than that I called you a suspect. Someone might think I'm speaking to a child."
"Damn you! Fine—this towel is mine, then."
Cecilus snatched the towel and ran toward his family's guest room, leaving Ayas muttering under his breath.
"I didn't even say I'd tell anyone, and he's more defensive about his pride than the prank…"
Inside his room, Cecilus rubbed the towel through his hair, shivering from the residual cold. He drew a warm bath, steam filling the small room, and soaked until the chill faded. When he emerged, clean and dry, the sun had already dipped low—so he ate, and soon after, retired to bed.
***
Morning brought a quiet determination.
I need to figure out how that kid did it. There's no way he knows magic, right? He seemed too scatterbrained, and his father didn't strike me as the type to bring his son to an identification crystal early. But who knows—maybe he's some prodigy? I doubt it…
The manor's library smelled faintly of parchment and cedar oil. Cecilus scanned the shelves, fingers gliding along the spines until one title caught his eye—Cloaking Magic: Theory and Practice. He pulled it free.
Cloaking magic… the base spell conceals objects, it's uncommon, letting the user choose who can or can't see them. That fits with how only I saw the buckets. But how did they float?
He flipped through the pages, brow furrowed.
Unless… he knows more than one magic type? That would take absurd luck and skill. Using that level of power for pranks, though—what a waste. Then again, isn't that what I do?
He set the book down.
Telekinetic magic could have lifted the buckets. Or maybe he cloaked himself and held them. But then—why only let me see them?
He sighed. I'll just ask him when I see him. No point overcomplicating it. Though he was probably punished yesterday… maybe I won't see him today.
The manor buzzed with new arrivals—the wedding was two days away, and the ball was set for tomorrow. Nobles filled the corridors with chatter and perfume.
But to Cecilus's surprise, Timothy came sprinting down the hall, laughter trailing behind him as if the previous day's chaos had never happened.
Did they seriously let him off scot-free? He looks more pampered than punished.
Timothy spotted Cecilus and bounded over.
"Hello! Did you see what I did yesterday? It was so funny! I tried to make it so you could see the buckets, but maybe I messed up. Sorry for getting you wet!"
So cloaking magic was the reason… No point admitting I got soaked on purpose.
"Didn't you get in trouble afterward?" Cecilus asked.
"Oh! Mother just let me go. My dumb sister isn't as cool as I am, so she doesn't matter much." He said it with a careless smile.
Translating this kid's nonsense is a nightmare… but it sounds like he's spoiled because he's gifted.
"See? I can make things disappear and float!"
Timothy lifted a flower pot, suspended it midair—then it vanished entirely. The sound of shattering ceramic echoed, though no fragments were visible. After a few seconds, the pieces reappeared. Maids rushed to clean the mess without batting an eye.
What a little demon… If I had powers like that, I'd never waste them on havoc.
"When did you start learning magic?" Cecilus asked.
"Hmm… seven months ago, I think!"
Seven months?! What the hell—this kid's a genius. That means he's already advanced past the basic spell and even mastered a second magic type! No wonder his mother spoils him. Still, letting a child run wild with that kind of power…
"Well, I'll talk to you tomorrow during the ball. Are you planning to dance?"
Timothy shook his head. "Nope! Don't know how." He skipped away down the hall, humming to himself.
Cecilus continued toward the main hall. The scent of alcohol drifted through the air before he even entered. Inside, his family was scattered about—his mother chatting among the wives, his siblings sampling food and laughing.
I could join them… but I'd rather spend the day doing something I actually enjoy. And first on that list: finding air that doesn't reek of liquor.
He turned on his heel and made his way to the garden.
The path wound through blooming arches of wisteria and pale roses, their fragrance soft and sweet in the afternoon breeze. On a stone bench sat a familiar man—his uncle, Huon. Cecilus approached and took a seat beside him.
"Ah, Cecilus!" Huon greeted warmly. "I saw your father earlier but hadn't greeted you yet. Forgive me. Though we met a few weeks ago, so it's not too rude, I hope?"
Cecilus offered a polite nod.
"You didn't sneak any alcohol from the hall, did you?"
"No. It's not that I couldn't—Father would never notice—but the idea of losing control doesn't appeal to me. Also, I have a hunch that I'm intolerant."
Huon chuckled softly. "Good. Remember, your father's harshness comes from care. Everything he does, he does for your mother and the generations to come. The restraints he puts on you are born of love."
Care? Hah. That man would sooner see me dead than see me free. Yet he lacks the strength to end me himself. You call it love, Uncle—but I've lived under his gaze. I know what festers behind it.
Huon continued, "Humans aren't so simple that weakness defines there feelings. You and your father may never act like family, but you've had only each other to rely on."
"Why are you out here, Uncle Huon?" Cecilus interrupted, irritation flickering in his tone.
"Because my friends in the hall said I was too drunk and were mad at me for lecturing them. It seems I do a lot of deeper thinking while intoxicated."
Wonderful. I just wasted minutes listening to philosophy from a drunkard.
Cecilus stood, smoothing his coat. "I'll take my leave then, Uncle." He gave a short wave and resumed his stroll through the garden, the breeze catching his pale hair and brushing it across his cheek. His gaze, though, wasn't on the flowers—it was elsewhere, watching the main hall through the eyes of a wolf.
***
Reymund stood by the bar, ordering another glass of water. Around him, laughter and clinking glasses filled the room. His wife spoke cheerfully among nobles, while his children were nowhere to be found. He barely heard the drunken chatter beside him.
Regnier slung an arm around his shoulders. "Reymund! Stop drinking water! There's liquor stored here older than you, and you're conserving it?"
"I… don't drink," Reymund replied uneasily, glancing back toward his wife.
Can't risk losing control. Not in front of that boy. Not again.
"Come on!" another large man bellowed, shoving a glass of vodka toward him. "Show some spirit!"
Keep calm. Just step away. Don't make a scene.
"Yeldove!" Regnier called across the table. "Your husband's a coward! Can't even stomach a sip!"
Yeldove froze, eyes wide—but smiled faintly to defuse the tension.
Reymund's jaw tightened. He snatched the glass and drank it down in one go.
"There. Happy?" he muttered.
The world tilted. Heat flushed his face. He bent over, coughing—then vomited, collapsing to his knees.
Regnier sneered. "You really can't handle a drink, can you? Pathetic."
For the first time in years, Reymund felt humiliation cut through him—an ache deeper than shame.
He'd acted out of impulse, desperate to silence ridicule, and now he could barely lift himself off the floor.
Now he was only the ground unable to will himself to get up as his surroundings began to grow quieter.
Then came a blur of movement—a shadow darting fast.
No… was that Yeldove?
He forced his gaze upward, still trembling.
Cecilus stood there, his hands in his pockets, looking down on his father.