Metempychosis: Quest of Rebirth

[3] Dinner

Words alone fail to capture the sheer grandeur of the mansion. It wasn't just a building; it was a living testament to extravagance, a symphony of opulence that commanded attention with every gilded detail.

The sprawling estate, a marvel of manicured gardens framing its imposing facade, whispered tales of wealth and power. In the distance, the arena, a coliseum where knights clashed in monthly spectacles of valor, echoed with thunderous cheers.

Butlers and maids, their movements precise and practiced, flitted like silent shadows, attending to their duties with unwavering dedication. The setting sun, a blaze of fiery hues, cast a radiant glow upon the scene, as if bidding farewell to another day in paradise.

Leo and Anna, the maid, disembarked from the carriage, their footsteps echoing against the cobblestones as they approached the mansion's entrance.

Awaiting them was another maid, her practiced smile guiding them towards the dining room with an efficiency that bordered on the uncanny.

Before parting ways, Leo offered Anna a few affectionate pats on the head, a gesture born of a familiarity that gnawed at the edges of his memory. With a knowing nod, Anna took her leave, leaving Leo alone to face the imposing threshold.

As he stepped into the dining room, a heavy atmosphere descended upon him. The weight of expectation, the unspoken tension, pressed down with each passing moment.

Despite his best efforts, a serpent of unease coiled around his heart, threatening to unravel his carefully constructed facade of composure.

"Good evening, Dad," he forced out, but his words hung heavy in the air, met with a stunned silence from the occupants, including the Duke's three wives.

'Well, F*ck! I think I just blew my cover,' he thought, cursing his luck.

Silence.... I gruesome silence enveloped them all.

But in time, the man at the far end of the table broke the silence, his voice a low rumble that commanded attention. "Sit," He said.

His face was a roadmap of life, etched with lines that spoke of laughter and sorrow, triumphs and battles.

Time had weathered him, but not broken him. Instead, it had sculpted a mask of stoicism, an impenetrable facade that hinted at the steel beneath.

His eyes, however, were windows to the soul. Fiery maroon orbs, they held an unsettling intensity, burning with a passion that seemed to defy his age. Not the passion of youth, but the controlled fire of someone who had learned to harness their flames.

His attire was as understated as it was deliberate. A simple black long-sleeved shirt clung to his frame, emphasizing the breadth of his shoulders and the lean power of his arms.

The fabric, though seemingly plain, exuded a subtle sheen, hinting at hidden quality. Black pants, tailored to perfection, flowed seamlessly down his legs, disappearing into polished boots that spoke of both authority and practicality.

Even his hair, styled in waves that seemed calmed by years of discipline, spoke volumes. Gathered in a neat bun at the nape of his neck, it betrayed a life spent under harsh suns, in places where order wasn't simply desired, but a necessity for survival.

And then there was his body.

Not the ostentatious bulk of a bodybuilder, but a physique honed to a razor's edge. Every muscle was defined, speaking of years of rigorous training, of pushing his limits and mastering his own form. It wasn't just about strength, but about control, about channeling power into precision and grace.

In every detail, from the glint in his eyes to the set of his shoulders, the man at the head of the table exuded an aura of quiet power, of a storm held in check, waiting to be unleashed. He wasn't just a man; he was a force, a presence that demanded respect, even fear, just by existing.

The room itself was an epitome of meticulous design. The grand table, adorned with a flowery white and gold pattern fit for a royal palace, groaned under the weight of a culinary masterpiece prepared by a team of top chefs.

Diamond-encrusted cutlery gleamed under the brilliance of the chandelier, while a battalion of butlers and maids stood at attention, ready to cater to every whim.

The centerpiece, a massive chandelier intricately designed and crafted, cast a dazzling brilliance that transformed the room into a scene straight out of a fairytale.

Leo navigated the room, passing by siblings and the wives, the silence deafening despite the chatter. His mind, however, was preoccupied with finding an empty seat, a haven in this storm of unspoken tension. Finally, he spotted a seat seemingly reserved just for him.

Relief washed over him as he sank down, only to be jolted back to reality by the sight of his neighbor - Rio, the bane of his past existence, the thorn in his side, the reason for countless sleepless nights. Anxiety clawed at him, memories flooding his mind like a dam burst. He took a deep breath, trying to focus on the present.

Their eyes met, and in a bizarre twist, Leo understood Rio's unspoken taunts, hidden beneath the stoic facade.

"Let's eat," Clause declared, and cutlery clattered against plates as everyone descended upon the meal. The atmosphere crackled with tension, thick enough to cut with a knife. Leo knew he'd have indigestion long before dessert.

The excruciating silence stretched on, punctuated only by the clinking of silverware. Finally, the tension reached a breaking point, and everyone seemed to yearn for escape. But who dared leave first?

The maids swiftly cleared the table, transforming the dining room into a meeting chamber. Leo's eyes scanned the faces around him, searching for someone familiar, someone to ground him in this sea of unknowns.

The Duke had three wives, each with two children. The first wife had a son and a daughter, the second mirrored the first, while the third had two sons. Though bound by blood, their eyes held no warmth, no familial affection. Brothers, united by lineage but divided by ambition, all focused on the same prize: the Duke's legacy.

The silence in the room was palpable until Clause broke it with a stern address to Leo. "Leo," he began, his disappointment evident, "your actions have brought shame to the house of Constle. I should have banished you and stripped you of your rights immediately, but I have decided to hold off on that decision. However, know that your banishment is inevitable, and it will take place on the day of the entrance examinations. After that day, you will no longer be recognized as a Constel."