Chapter 13
Two years had passed since Lucien Caelum Velebrandt first explored the grand city nestled within the territory of House Velebrandt. Once a six-year-old boy who marveled at magical meats and noble fashion, Lucien was now an eight-year-old heir slowly coming into his own. The once timid yet curious child had grown visibly more composed, observant, and mature. Yet, he retained his whimsical curiosity, his love for storytelling, and the noble arrogance befitting his lineage.
The Velebrandt estate, a bastion of luxury and power, remained an oasis of peace in a world slowly creeping toward chaos. The Abyssian King had long been resurrected—an event feared across the continents. But within the fortress-like estate walls, guarded day and night, the darkness of the outside world felt like a myth, a story far removed from Lucien's daily life.
This morning, like many before it, Lucien found himself in one of his favorite spots—a secluded gazebo nestled deep within the Velebrandt flower gardens. The morning sun poured a gentle warmth through the climbing vines above the gazebo roof, casting dappled light on the cobblestone floor. A low breeze made the curtains sway like lazy clouds. A set of fine silver trays rested on the nearby marble table, holding tea steeped in honeyed herbs, an assortment of crisp biscuits, and colorful fruit slices.
Lucien sat back in a white rocking chair, his legs barely touching the footrest. His white hair, now slightly longer and brushed back neatly, glowed under the sunlight. His two-colored eyes—one a striking crimson and the other an ashen gray—reflected calm satisfaction.
Snuggled against him was a sleeping three-year-old boy with tousled white hair and cherubic cheeks. His younger brother, now able to speak in short sentences and run about the estate halls like a wind-up toy, had grown fond of curling up beside Lucien whenever he could.
Today was no different.
Lucien gently caressed his brother's back, the warmth of the child's tiny body resting peacefully against his stomach. The rocking chair creaked softly beneath them as they moved in a rhythmic lull.
He let out a breath and tilted his head upward. "Two years already," he murmured, smiling faintly. "I've bathed, eaten, trained, read every dry book in the library, annoyed Marie, and somehow haven't died of boredom."
The breeze danced through the garden, ruffling his silver locks.
His thoughts drifted. Back to the beginning.
When he first woke up in this world, a reincarnator thrust into the body of a villain feared by all, Lucien had expected pain, punishment, maybe a swift execution by one of the 16 heroes. But what he got instead was the peaceful life of a noble child, surrounded by loving family, indulgent maids, and incredible privilege.