I awoke in my extremely comfortable, luxurious bed, the silk sheets whispering against my skin as they slid away, carrying the faint, lingering scent of lavender from the linens. The morning sun filtered through the gauzy curtains, casting a warm, golden glow across the room, and I stretched languidly, feeling the plush mattress yield beneath me like a cloud. Rising, I padded barefoot across the cool marble floor to the adjoining bath, where steam soon enveloped me in a soothing embrace as hot water cascaded from the showerhead, scented with hints of sandalwood soap that tingled on my tongue when I inadvertently licked a stray droplet from my lips.
Dressed in casual clothes—a soft linen shirt that draped lightly over my frame and loose trousers that allowed easy movement—I stepped out from my quarters and headed toward the training ground. The path wound through an elegant courtyard, alive with the vibrant tapestry of greenery: manicured hedges rustling softly in the gentle breeze, their leaves brushing against one another with a hushed, papery sigh, and beds of flowers blooming in riotous color—crimson roses heavy with dew that released a sweet, heady perfume with every step, mingling with the earthy tang of freshly turned soil. A chorus of playful yips and meows filled the air from the bunch of cats and dogs weaving among the paths, their fur warm and sun-dappled as they chased shadows. Nearby, children's laughter bubbled like a fountain, high and unrestrained, as they darted about in games of tag, their small feet pattering against the stone tiles and kicking up faint puffs of dust that carried the faint, grassy scent of the lawn.
Maids and butlers moved with graceful efficiency, their starched uniforms rustling crisply as they tended to the little ones, offering gentle corrections amid the joyful chaos. Spotting me, they paused, their voices blending in a warm, harmonious greeting: "Good morning, young master."
I greeted back with a nod and a smile, my own voice steady and casual: "Good morning."
Saying this, I left their sight, the courtyard's symphony of sounds fading slightly behind me—the distant trill of birdsong, the soft splash of a decorative fountain, the mingled aromas of blooming jasmine and baking bread wafting from the kitchens.
"So, who is he?" asked a new maid, her voice laced with breathless curiosity, eyes wide as she clutched her apron.
The old butler replied with a flat tone, utterly professional, his words measured like the ticking of a grandfather clock: "He is the current younger generation's prodigy and ranks in the top five of the entire younger generation."
Hearing this, she gasped sharply, the sound echoing like a stifled sob, her face paling as she swayed, nearly fainting, the world tilting beneath her in a rush of overwhelming awe. Seeing this, the children erupted in peals of laughter, bright and infectious, their tiny hands clapping in delight.
"Hey, look, big sister fainted!" one boy crowed, pointing with a grubby finger, his cheeks flushed from play.
"Wait, why did she faint?" asked another, tilting his head, the scent of sun-warmed grass clinging to his tousled hair.
"Maybe she is hungry," replied one of them matter-of-factly, rubbing his belly with exaggerated drama.
"Na, maybe she is pregnant," offered a girl with a mischievous grin, and the group dissolved into a flurry of gossip, their voices rising in high-pitched imitation of elegant noble ladies—giggling whispers and dramatic sighs that carried on the breeze like scattered petals.
Seeing this chaos unfold, the old butler cleared his throat with an authoritative "Ahem," his experienced gaze sweeping over them like a calming wave. "Children, she is just faint from hearing about your big brother."
Hearing all this, the children's eyes lit up with literal stars sparkling in their wide, innocent gazes, a collective hush falling before they burst forth in unison, their voices a joyful cacophony that rang through the courtyard: "Big brother! Where is big brother?"
He cleared his throat again and—betraying me, that old bastard—pointed with a knowing glint in his eye. "He went in the direction of the training ground."
Hearing this, a group of children came charging toward me, their footsteps a thunderous patter growing louder with each bound, shrieks of excitement slicing through the air like arrows. And having no clue, I kept walking, the courtyard's serene beauty unfolding ahead—the rustle of leaves, the sweet floral whispers, the distant hum of the estate—unaware of the joyful ambush closing in
I continued walking along the winding path, still some distance from the training ground, the gravel crunching softly under my boots like the faint crackle of autumn leaves, each step releasing a subtle, mineral-sharp scent from the sun-warmed earth. The air hung crisp and invigorating with the morning chill, laced with the distant tang of dew-kissed grass and the faint, smoky whisper of woodsmoke drifting from the estate's chimneys, while birdsong trilled overhead in lazy, looping melodies that danced on the breeze against my skin.
Inside the training ground, my cousins—peers of my own age—sprawled across the dew-dampened turf like dead dogs, their limbs splayed in exhausted heaps, chests rising and falling with ragged breaths that carried the salty bite of sweat through the air. The ground beneath them was a patchwork of trampled grass blades, cool and yielding, matted with the earthy musk of exertion and the faint, metallic tang of polished steel from abandoned practice blades scattered nearby. Their training tunics clung damply to their forms, heavy with the morning's humidity, and the old retired grandpa's absence stretched the wait into a languid haze, the sun's rays slanting golden across their flushed faces, highlighting beads of perspiration that gleamed like tiny jewels on their brows.
One of them lifted his head, voice gravelly with fatigue and mischief, and asked, "Where's the old man? Keeping us waiting like this?"
"Probably playing around with the maid—it is morning after all," said one of them in a lewd drawl, his words dripping with exaggerated insinuation, low and rumbling like a conspiratorial purr that sent a ripple of heat through the group.
Hearing this, all the boys erupted in laughter, a boisterous wave of guffaws and snorts that rolled across the field like thunder echoing off the stone walls, their shoulders shaking with mirth, the sound raw and unrestrained, mingling with the sharp inhale of held-back chuckles and the occasional slap of a hand against a thigh, skin meeting skin with a meaty smack.
On the other side of the ground, the girls clustered in a loose circle, their voices a lighter counterpoint—a bubbling chatter like the fizz of effervescent wine—discussing the latest makeup products shipped from the capital, the air around them sweetened by the floral hints of their perfumes, delicate notes of rose and violet wafting gently on the breeze, undercut by the subtle, powdery residue of their morning routines.
"Omg, girl, did you know that company's product is something else? I applied it last night—look, my skin is still glowing," one exclaimed, her tone breathless with delight as she tilted her face toward the light, her cheeks radiant with an ethereal sheen that caught the sun like polished pearl, smooth and luminous under the touch of her fingertips tracing its silken texture.
Seeing this, all the girls surrounded her, leaning in with eager eyes and soft gasps, their fingers fluttering like moths to brush against her arm or hold up compacts to compare, voices overlapping in a symphony of excited whispers and sighs—sharing swatches of creamy lotions that left faint, velvety trails on their palms, the collective glow of their enthusiasm warming the space between them like a shared secret unveiled in the morning light.