Isten looked up at the Blodyn Manor from below, an appraising look in his eyes. His family had entered inside, but he took one last, final glance at it before he joined them. It was a prodigious building, both in looks and size. Made from red brick, its polygonal corner turrets rose into the sky. Centred beneath its crenelated parapets was a giant clock.

He entered through the gates that led to the great court, walking on the gravel and cobblestones, which crunched beneath his feet. They paved the path to the interior. An oak door painted black was held open by two guardsmen. Inside were his parents and uncles, as well as servants that scuttled about with great concentration. Trulliad had disappeared earlier.

He slipped off his boots, transferring to indoor footwear, and stepped onto a wine-coloured rug that lined the floor. It transferred onto an elegant, varnished oak flooring upon which his family stood and where he joined them. Surrounding them were walls covered in elegant wallpaper, separated by a wooden border with artistic engravings.

They were about to begin conversation when a man dressed in navy blue strode before them. He entered through a forked hallway, coming from the right corridor, and was given passage by the guardsmen who stood before a timeworn staircase. He whispered something into Lucien’s ear, before doing the same for Morrigan.

Lucien shook his head slightly, with vague disappointment, though Morrigan was more open about her discontent. Anger flashed on her face which she tried to contain with a smile, but it seeped through into her eyes and eyebrows. They were slanted at a dangerous angle, and Isten was sure he could hear her teeth being ground.

“Eiddil, take Isten to his room. Pick some proper clothes out for him and show him to the bathhouse,” Lucien ordered, his eyes lively and alert. “Isten, get refreshed. You will attend our evening meal which you need to be prepared for.”

“Of course, Father.” Isten responded, slightly puzzled.

‘I wonder what happened to make them dismiss me, especially on a day such as this…’ Isten thought to himself.

He was shaken from his thoughts as an arm was placed around his shoulders. He looked to his right, and saw it was Eiddil, who dragged him up the timeworn staircase. He turned his head around, and watched his parents and Malus split along the forked pathway, disappearing into the enormity of the house.

“Can you remember much of this manor? It has been years since you were last here.” Eiddil asked, breaking the silence.

“Not really. It’s as you said, it has been far too long since I was last here. I have some brief memories of certain rooms, but they have mostly faded by now. It’d be unlikely if I even found myself returning to them, just look at the size of this manor.” Isten replied.

“Very true, it would be like finding a needle in a haystack,” Eiddil chuckled. “I do suppose eleven years is a lifetime, particularly for you, but for us old folks, it doesn’t feel like much time has passed. Well, except for your mother. She has felt every sand of time pass.”

“What about father?” Isten asked.

“Well…” Eiddil started, “it’s harder to know with him. He obviously cares, but he also stands deep within the Cymorthian tradition. This is just a part of the Cymorthian way to him. We’ve all been through it in our lifetime, and it’s no different that you went through it than anyone else.”

“Oh, I see.” Isten said wearily, too apathetic to be embroiled in a discussion about family politics. He knew it would be more sensible to ignore family politics for now, to gain a relationship with them, before trying to navigate through that mess.

“I met grandfather when we travelled here. You could probably tell as part of his entourage returned with us. He said something about going on a diplomatic journey to the Frontier.” Isten spoke, passing Gothic sconces that lit the corridor.

“Ah, yes, I thought you did. Father left just under a month ago now, mentioning a diplomatic task. He didn’t explain what he was doing, but now I have an idea from what you’ve said.” Eiddil replied.

“What do you think he’s doing on the Frontier?” Isten asked, intrigued.

“Well, he’s probably meeting with some Ascensionist leaders from Citadel. You know who they are right?” Eiddil turned the question onto Isten.

“I think so, though I can’t be certain. They’re Citadel’s leading political organisation, right?” Isten responded, wavering slightly in his answer.

“Correct. They’re also international as well. Some think that Cythraul leads a faction here, but he’s never confirmed it. Personally, I think he has ever since he resigned as the previous King’s advisor many decades ago.” Eiddil contemplated.

“Since they rule Citadel, and we aren’t allies, wouldn’t that make grandfather a traitor for working with them?” Isten asked.

“No, not exactly,” Eiddil guffawed. “It’s a bit more complicated than that if it were true. Ascensionists follow Ascenionism, which is a cross between a philosophy, ideology, and a form of spiritualism. It is a way of thinking, way of governing, but also a way of being. So, it is up to the individual in how they use it, and the forms it might take.”

Isten paused for a moment, contemplating what Eiddil meant.

“I’m not quite sure what you mean?” Isten scratched his chin.

“Well, think of it this way. If father was an Ascenstionist, he isn’t necessarily a traitor to Cymorth. He could support it as a philosophy or a form of spiritualism, as something he personally carries out, but opposes it as an ideology. Bear in mind, Ascenionists support the idea that humans should seek to transcend the human condition. To be as strong as possible. To forge oneself, to better oneself, with everything that occurs in life - both good and bad.” Eiddil explained carefully.

“Do you mean that someone can support Ascensionist ideas of continuously becoming stronger, say in Cymorth, but not be a traitor because they don’t support the Ascensionists in Citadel?” Isten inquired.

“Yes, exactly. People can support it as a philosophy but oppose it as a political ideology.” Eiddil nodded his head.

They started to slow down, stopping before Isten’s room. It was tucked away towards the southeast of the manor, a great walk away from the entrance of the house. They opened its carved oak door, and a cold draft blew against Isten, causing him to shiver. The glass window was slightly ajar letting in the winter cold.

Despite the cold and some frost on the windowpane, the room was in pristine condition. A four-posted bed was positioned towards one of the walls, away from the open window. An embroidered silk canopy and curtains decorated the bed frame.

Opposite the bed, an elegantly engraved oak desk stood against the wall, a candle and some ornaments sat on top of it. Next to it, a wardrobe was positioned to finalise the room’s renaissance aesthetic.

It contained clothes that Isten had never seen before, recently purchased for his arrival. Eiddil picked out some clothes for Isten and handed them to him. Isten looked at them but was still interested in their previous conversation.

“I was taught that Citadel’s government is made from councillors, and that all their councillors and elites are Ascensionists. How can they rule if they don’t have a king that makes decisions for them?” Isten asked, fingering the clothes in his hands.

“They have an internally elected president, who is sort of like their king. However, they don’t succeed based on family rites, it’s off support from within the councillors.” Eiddil explained, then smirked. “And they don’t rule properly without a king, well not effectively. Factionalism is rife within Citadel, and it slows down their government. Their president can’t make decisions without communicating to them first, ha! Thank God for our King, chosen by divine rite, for we function properly.”

“I thought so!” Isten smiled jovially. “Monarchies are the only true, effective governing system.”

“Exactly,” Eiddil nodded. “Now, your bathhouse is just down the corridor, and the staircase. Once you reach the bottom, it is through the twin doors. Once finished, ring the bell and your steward will come to notify me.”

“Thank you, Uncle.” Isten responded, leaving the room and following Eiddil’s directions.

He descended the spiralled staircase and entered the twin doors. A wave of hot mist blew over him and disrupted his vision like fog. He pushed past it and he was presented with an unearthly vision that he would find hard to ever forget.

The bathhouse was lit by moonlight, which flowed in ethereally through the stained-glass atrium. As he walked around the marble patio, a torch or candle attached to a granite sconce would dance light on his face.

He reached hands out to touch at the white marble fountains of humans and animals. His hands would get wet from time to time as warm water poured over them, flowing into a basin below. Just a little distance away, there was a line of sculptured women that held vases, and aqua water cascaded down like an artificial waterfall.

Isten turned away from the scenery and walked inside the changing room. He carefully undressed himself, storing his clothes within a cabinet. He felt a cold draft touch his back, knifing him from behind. He saw that it came from an open-air vent, though he wasn’t sure what it was for.

He slowly stepped down marble stairs, descending into a cerulean pool, which welcomed him into its warm embrace. Under its depths, he gently hugged his knees, enjoying the water while staring to the ceiling.

He saw pillars and columns which held an atrium in place from the patio, though a hazy fog of steam blurred it. He slowly fell into thought.

‘Wow! I am finally here, in Pentref! It’s amazing, I never thought it would be so different! It really makes me not want to return to the countryside again, it’s far too boring.’

‘Though, why did they have to send us away? Why does Cymorth have Aristocrat’s Exclusion? Couldn’t they just let us grow up in Pentref?’ Isten inwardly moaned to himself, cursing the injustice of Cymorth’s traditions.

He, as well as many children, he suspected, resented the policy which separated children from their parents. It seemed from his conversation with Eiddil that some adults did as well.

‘Even though Cymorth’s politics might be cutthroat, surely children aren’t endangered by it. Adults, particularly aristocrats, should have a sense of honour, pride, and decorum that prevents them from killing children in the name of their vendettas. Aristocrats should act with a gentlemen’s agreement, else what is there to being a noble?’ He internally debated with himself.

‘Right, they were probably being too vigilant in protecting their children, suspecting the worst in others.’ Isten came to an optimistic conclusion as he couldn’t rationalise anything worse.

Isten relaxed in the pool for a while longer, taking his mind away from politics. However, he knew that he was not to loiter in it for too long as his family awaited his return for the celebratory meal.

After cleaning himself, he got out of the pool and dried himself in the changing room. He quickly dressed himself and before he left the room, he looked at himself in the mirror for the first time in more than a fortnight.

Isten had wavy dark brown hair that fell to his shoulders. His eyes were coffee brown, and his skin had the lily-white hue that the Cymorthian nobility valued so highly.

He now wore a broad black hat, a white linen shirt under a sashed black and gold doublet, and black breeches with tall narrow boots. These were the clothes that his parents had prepared him to wear for the meal, and they were following the current fashion trend in Pentref.

He left the changing room and rang the bell to alert Trulliad and Eiddil. Shortly after, he heard a knock on the twin oak doors signalling that Isten should leave the bathhouse.

Isten opened the doors and found Trulliad and Eiddil waiting outside for him. He hadn’t seen Trulliad since he greeted his parents before his walk around the family estate.

“You look very charming, master Isten.” Trulliad complimented.

“Indeed, he does. He’s turned into a man while he’s been away, hasn’t he?” Eiddil commented. “Come, your parents are waiting for you.”

Eiddil led the way while Trulliad hung behind, following them to the dining room. He walked over to Isten and whispered into his ear.

“Remember Isten, this is a formal meal. How you present yourself will make a long lasting-impression on them. Your behaviour and attitude must be perfect tonight.” Trulliad winked at Isten.

They finally reached a bronze door, which had brilliant metallic designs on it. Trulliad opened for Isten and Eiddil.

Isten peered into the dining room and saw that his parents were already seated at the table alongside Malus. Eiddil quickly took his position next to Malus, while Isten awkwardly sat at the across from his father.