Chapter 2: The Fox's Bargain (Part 1 — Tea, Trouble, and Tails)
When dawn broke over Astervale Manor, it didn't do so quietly.
The light that streamed through Eliot's window was too bright, the air too crisp, and the house — far too loud.
A crash echoed from the lower hall. Then came the unmistakable cry of his sister, "Kieran! The tea set's alive again!" followed by the clattering of porcelain.
Eliot groaned, turning over in his bed and dragging a pillow over his face.
"Rise and shine, Lazy Lord," Whisper purred from somewhere near his ear. "The world refuses to wait for your beauty sleep."
"Let the world choke on its own mana," Eliot muttered.
"You do realize it might, at this rate."
He sighed and pulled the pillow away, squinting against the sunlight. Whisper was lounging at the foot of his bed in her spirit form — part illusion, part mist. Her fox body shimmered with silvery fur, and her tails curled lazily like smoke.
"Do you have to materialize in my bed every morning?" Eliot asked.
"Where else should I appear? The ceiling? Oh, that gives me ideas."
"Don't."
She smiled, sharp and amused. "You're so fun to tease before breakfast."
Eliot swung his legs out of bed and rubbed his eyes. "You call it teasing; I call it harassment."
"Semantics, darling."
He ignored her, standing and stretching. His nightshirt hung loose over his slender frame — one of those reminders that the old Eliot hadn't believed in sword training, exercise, or effort in general.
Still, the body wasn't weak — just untrained. That would change soon.
"Whisper," Eliot said, glancing at her. "I want to test the resonance again later — discreetly."
"Mmm. Ambitious today, are we?"
"Prepared," he corrected. "Father's sending me to the Spirit Academy in three weeks. I'll need at least a minor spirit contract by then."
"You already have me," she teased, yawning.
"You don't count," Eliot said flatly. "You're sealed, sarcastic, and vaguely homicidal."
"Flattery will get you nowhere, but continue."
By the time Eliot descended to the dining hall, the manor was alive with movement.
Servants bustled, the morning light spilled through crystal windows, and the sound of Amelia's laughter echoed like silver bells.
At the long table, Benedict sat upright, reading through a report with military precision. His blond hair was immaculate, his uniform flawless. Across from him, Amelia was chasing a floating teapot around the table with a wooden spoon.
"Kieran!" she cried again as Eliot entered. "It's possessed!"
The head butler appeared instantly, moving like a shadow. His smile was calm, polite — and faintly terrifying. With one graceful motion, he caught the flying teapot midair and placed it down.
"It is not possessed, young mistress," Kieran said smoothly. "You were simply stirring with too much enthusiasm. The teapot reacted to your mana flow."
Amelia pouted. "It's still rude."
Eliot sat beside her, suppressing a smile. "You and the spirits at breakfast again?"
"They started it," Amelia said indignantly. "One of them tried to drink the honey."
"That sounds like something I'd do," Whisper mused privately in Eliot's mind.
"Quiet," Eliot whispered under his breath, earning a puzzled glance from his sister.
Benedict looked up from his report. "So you're awake before noon. Impressive."
"Had to prove I'm still alive," Eliot said lightly.
"Barely," Benedict muttered, though there was the faintest hint of amusement in his tone.
Halfway through breakfast, Seren entered the hall carrying a tray. His chef's uniform was spotless, his expression as severe as ever.
"Your tea, young master," he said, setting a cup before Eliot.
Eliot eyed it warily. "It's not going to explode, is it?"
"Not unless your mana destabilizes it," Seren replied calmly.
"I like him," Whisper said in Eliot's head. "So stoic. So very stabby."
"Is everyone in this house mildly homicidal or sarcastic?" Eliot murmured aloud.
"Yes," Seren said without hesitation.
That earned a small laugh from Amelia and even a raised eyebrow from Benedict. Eliot took a careful sip — the tea was strong, smooth, and humming faintly with spirit energy.
"You infused this?" Eliot asked.
Seren nodded. "Low-grade harmony essence. It will help your spiritual flow adjust. Head Butler Kieran suggested it."
Eliot glanced toward the door, where Kieran was quietly directing servants with the kind of grace that made even shadows obey him. "Of course he did."
After breakfast, Eliot retreated to the greenhouse — a vast dome of glass filled with glowing flora. Here, away from his family's gaze, the air shimmered faintly with spirit energy. Perfect for Whisper's antics.
The moment the door closed, Whisper emerged, perched on a branch like a lazy cat.
"You wanted to talk business, Lazy Lord?"
"Yes," Eliot said. "About our contract."
Her tails twitched. "Oh? So formal. Are you proposing to me already?"
"Spirit contracts, Whisper. Not marriage."
"Same thing, in the right cultures."
He ignored her again and drew a small sigil circle in the air, lines of faint blue light forming a ring before him.
"You said my body is… unstable. That something ancient is sealed inside. I need to understand it — and I need you to help me keep it quiet."
"What's in it for me?" she purred.
"I'll find the fragments of your sealed power," Eliot said simply. "Piece by piece. You said your tails were sealed, right? Then I'll unseal them — in exchange for information."
For a moment, the air grew still. Whisper tilted her head, eyes gleaming.
"You're not afraid of making deals with a fox spirit?"
"I'm afraid of dying," Eliot said. "Everything else is just paperwork."
She laughed — long, melodic, and dangerous.
"Fine, Lazy Lord. You have my interest. One tail for one truth."
Her tails shimmered faintly, and a rune appeared in the air between them — nine sigils forming a spiral.
"Break the first seal, and I'll tell you where to find the others."
Eliot studied the rune. "What's the first seal tied to?"
"A place your bloodline abandoned — the old Astervale ruins in the northern woods."
He frowned. "That's within cursed territory."
"Oh, it'll be fine. Probably."
"Probably?"
"Seventy percent chance of survival. Eighty if you bribe Seren with snacks."
Eliot sighed. "Wonderful."
Whisper's form began to dissolve back into mist.
"We'll leave after sunset," she said. "When the spirits are most restless. And bring your blade this time — even lazy lords need protection."
Eliot looked at her fading outline. "Whisper."
"Yes?"
"Why me?"
She paused. Her tails stopped swaying.
"Because," she said finally, her tone softer than he'd ever heard, "you don't look at me like a tool. You look at me like a partner. And I… haven't had that in a long time."
Then she vanished.
Eliot stood alone amid the glowing flora, the faint hum of spirit energy curling around him.
He smiled faintly. "A lazy lord and a lonely fox. What could possibly go wrong?"
From outside, the manor bell tolled the noon hour.
Somewhere far to the north, deep beneath the ruins Whisper spoke of, an ancient seal pulsed once — like a heartbeat.