Snow had fallen upon the Blathazar estate in a hush of silver silence. The manor, a vast shadow of stone and spire, loomed against the winter night like the ribcage of a sleeping beast. Frost clung to the iron gates and glass-lanterns flickered dimly in the corridors, giving the halls their usual cathedral gloom.
Jaeson Blathazar walked those halls as if he were a ghost.
The youngest of five, the forgotten child of a great house.
To others he was nothing more than another quiet student of the Hoccardus Academy of Arcane Arts—eighteen, reserved, far too calm for his age. To his family, he was a presence so faint that it scarcely drew notice. And Jaeson preferred it that way.
He had returned home for the winter holidays, though "home" was a generous word. The manor was less a home and more a museum of pride. His father, Lord Caldrin Blathazar, was an Eight-Star Wizard, respected within the Empire's Council of Mages, though far from its inner circle. His mother, Lady Merisa Blathazar, had once been a renowned sorceress herself—charming, ambitious, and, if rumors held true, far more calculating than her husband ever realized.
As for his siblings—two brothers and two sisters—they had long scattered into their own pursuits: military, politics, alchemy, and society. The Blathazars, each driven by personal ambition, had no time for the quiet boy who spoke little and smiled never.
And Jaeson? He had no interest in being seen.
He wandered that night through the sleeping manor, his footsteps whispering over the marble floor. The clock struck midnight, the chime echoing through the empty corridors like the heartbeat of the house itself. He passed portraits of his ancestors, their painted eyes seeming to follow him, judging him as they had judged every Blathazar child before.
Outside, the snow had stopped, but the sky was still pale with moonlight. Jaeson stepped into the back corridor, one that led toward the gardens—a place his mother used to hold tea gatherings and whisper gossip with noble guests.
That was when he saw it.
A flicker of movement beyond the frosted window.
Two figures walking in the moonlit garden, moving between the sculpted walls of trees.
One was unmistakably his mother—her silver hair and emerald gown glimmering faintly even in the dark.
The other was a man.
A frown touched Jaeson's lips. He had seen that gait before—stiff, cautious, not belonging to any servant. And the way his mother leaned close as they walked…
Quietly, he unlatched the door and stepped out. The cold bit his skin but he ignored it, gliding over the snow like a shadow.
They moved toward the old warehouse behind the manor, a place once used to store magical reagents and artifacts—now abandoned. Jaeson followed, silent as a cat. His breath made no sound; his aura, no ripple.
He pressed close to the wooden wall when they entered. Through a gap between the planks, he watched them.
Inside, two lanterns burned low. His mother's voice came first—low, urgent.
"…He's been watching me again. Caldrin suspects something."
The man answered, "Then we must act quickly. The Duke's envoy won't wait forever."
Jaeson's brows furrowed. The Duke's envoy? What business could his mother have with the Duke's court—especially behind his father's back?
He leaned closer, but before he could catch the rest—
[Warning: Detection risk. Stay cautious.]
The voice rang cold and mechanical inside his mind.
A tone only he could hear.
He froze.
The System.
It had been with him since his first breath in this world—an echo of his former existence. The goddess who had sent him here had believed he would be born empty, stripped of power, his memories lost to rebirth.
But the goddess was mistaken.
Jaeson remembered everything.
Every moment of the old world. Every betrayal. Every promise.
Including hers.
He straightened, his crimson eyes narrowing faintly. "Detection risk, hm?" he murmured under his breath. "So the game begins early."
The System's tone softened, neutral.
[Advise: Maintain distance. Divine interference probability—low.]
Jaeson smirked faintly. "Ah, just buzz off."
He turned his gaze back toward the warehouse door. His mother's voice carried again—now trembling, angry, desperate.
"…If he ever finds out, everything will end! He'll destroy us!"
The man's reply was colder. "Then we make sure he doesn't."
Jaeson's eyes glimmered faintly in the moonlight.
The goddess had said this world needed saving.
But what he saw, even within his own family, was rot.
The corner of his lips curved—not in amusement, but in quiet contempt.
Perhaps, he thought, some things never change. Even in new worlds, corruption finds its way home.