Gentle clicking of polished heels echoes through the dark stairwell, its origin illuminated by a small lantern that remained steady through the movements of its carrier. An elderly man walked up a long flight of dark stairwells, leading to the top of a tower. With a lantern in his left hand, and his right hand behind his back, he moved with calculated grace, each step almost the same length as the last.
His figure was occasionally illuminated by the lantern, an aged face with grey moustache and stern eyes. His hand holding the lantern didn't waver, nor did he show signs of exhaustion as he walked up the stairs. Finally, he arrived at the top where a large, heavy iron door was located. It seemed like the entrance to a vault, but there were no locks.
Knock… knock…
The aged man knocked on the door. After a short pause, he pushed the door open. A loud groan resounded, the sheer weight of the door apparent, yet not even a slight grunt came from the old man as he pushed it open with his one free hand. The door gave way almost too easily to reveal a small room bathed in moonlight. It contained a small bed to one side, and a shelf and cupboard to the other. In the middle was a reading table and chair, just beside the window from which moonlight spilled in.
Sitting on the window sill was a boy with pale porcelain skin and short blonde hair. Even though the night was warm, he wore a knit cardigan and a grey shawl draped his figure. Bathed in moonlight with his hair gently fluttering, he stared out the window, at the stars that dotted the night sky.
"Young master Nuit," With the lantern lowered by his side and his head tilted downward, The aged man gently called out.
The young boy looked over his shoulder,
"Armand…" The boy's voice was gentle like silk, yet fragile like a butterfly's wings; it seemed as if it would vanish into the wind before it arrived at its destination. Armand's expression softened when he heard the boy's voice, but he recomposed himself the next second. With a slight sigh, he continued,
"His Lordship requests your presence."
The young boy whose name was Nuit, remained still, his gaze still on the distant stars. One would think he didn't hear the words of the aged man. Armand remained patient, his head still lowered as seconds drifted past.
"Lead the way," At some point, a shadow had casted itself over Armand and Nuit was already standing before him. Armand turned around, unflustered, and led the boy out of the room, down the stairs to the exit of the tower. Faint fog lingered around, looking particularly illusory beneath the crescent moon, the air humid from the night dew. Armand placed down the lantern at the door leading out the tower closing the door behind him. He gestured for Nuit to follow and led him away from the tower. They walked through the stone path, gas lamps illuminating the path for them. Soon, the sound of running water filled Nuit's ears as they arrived at a stone bridge. Nuit's steps slowed as he gazed into the running dark pool, at the fireflies that hid amongst shrubbery at the edge of the ravine. He pulled his shawl tighter around his neck before following Armand who picked up his pace. They descended down the bridge, stepping upon cobblestone paths that led to the garden. The flowers were old and withered, barely clinging to life. The fountain, located at the center of the garden was dry and filled with cracks, and the statues of shepherds and giant wolves were covered in vines, giving the garden an ancient feel, one that told of age and prestige weathered by the passage of time.
Nuit spared by a small glance at them. Armand made sure to control his pace, speeding up so as not to keep The Master waiting, yet slowing down whenever Nuit was lost in thought or staring at the unfamiliar elements of the Estate.
Past the garden, they entered the ground floor of the main manor. Nuit was led through the silent corridor filled with portraits, illuminated by peculiar means, and past the drawing room and music room to the grand staircase, at the top of which was a large mullioned window that overlooked the courtyard and parts of the garden. Nuit paused to gaze out into the courtyard, a barely visible smile gracing his thin lips.
"Young master," Armand urged when he noticed the boy had remained still for too long. Nuit turned to look at him, then followed silently. His eyes betrayed no emotion nor thought. Like a doll working on autonomy, he followed Armand through the corridors of the first floor, past the library and study.
The duo stopped before heavy mahogany double doors with brass handles upon which the family's crest was carved in. Armand silently cleared his throat before speaking,
"Your Lordship, as per your request, young master Nuit is here." His voice wasn't loud, but it was clear, strangely not leaving the confines of the corridor.
"Come in." A gruff, masculine voice sounded from within, deep and firm. Armand pushed one of the doors open, his head lowered. Nuit walked past him, into the room.
The room was dimly lit, the shelves and rolltop desk barely visible. Moonlight occasionally spilled in, briefly illuminating the space before quickly receding, dancing in the tempo of the velvet curtains and the evening breeze. Any form of illumination seemed unnecessary though, for even in the darkness, a pair of cold, condescending, cerulean blue eyes shone through, staring at the boy like it would an ant. A feral air seemed to fill the room, the atmosphere changing according to the man's unseen movements.
"Father," Nuit said, his voice still as soft and fragile, his head lowered. Silence lingered for a few breaths that seemed to last longer, the room was briefly illuminated, moonlight caressed Nuit's face, resting on his slightly trembling eyelashes. Seated in the dark, with his features obscured was the current head of House Schaefer, the right honourable Earl of Schaefer, Count Edmund Schaefer.
"The academy resumes in two days," he began, "Your admission letter came late."
Nuit's pale eyebrows creased, he slightly raised his head, "I'll be attending the academy?" he asked, voice thick with doubt.
"Yes. Armand will help you prepare. You leave by dawn."
"Yes, Father." Nuit headed for the door after a moment of pause. The door opened from outside, Armand was waiting with his head lowered. Just as Nuit was about to step out, his father's voice drifted over,
"Tread lightly…"
Nuit's lips curled into a crescent, his eyes bending to match. The curtains billowed, moonlight pouring in to illuminate his delicate features. He looked particularly stunning.
"As you wish, Father."