My Family in the Novel?

Chapter 196: New roles

From the earliest memories of my childhood, perfection seemed to be the guiding theme of my life.

While other children were immersed in playful activities and the simplicity of their youth, I found myself secluded in my room, delving into subjects that typically only hopeful adults would dream of comprehending.

Intelligence, skills, beauty, power – the list seemed endless, and I was bestowed with every conceivable advantage.

Born into the most prestigious family in the empire, the Tellus, our lineage held a position of unparalleled trust.

We were the empire's esteemed sword, our honor and authority second only to the emperor himself, surpassing even the other members of the royal families.

Such heights of prestige came with their own set of privileges and responsibilities.

However, despite the grandeur and significance of my family's standing, most of my days were plagued with a persistent sense of boredom.

Attempts to engage in activities or acquire new knowledge were thwarted by my quick mastery, achieving near-perfection with almost effortless ease.

Even when my private tutor presented the vast history of the empire, I absorbed it all within a single day, my perfect memory leaving no room for errors or oversights.

In the realm of magic, where spells were intricate dances of power and precision, I found myself mastering the art effortlessly.

Under my teacher's guidance, the mysteries of spells unraveled within mere minutes, and sometimes seconds.

Not only did I comprehend their intricacies swiftly, but I also had the uncanny ability to reproduce them, often producing outcomes that surpassed the original spells in their elegance and potency.

My mana reserve, a wellspring of magical energy, surpassed even some of the most renowned mages within our esteemed family.

As the heir to the Tellus lineage, my sense of judgment was hailed as impactful, akin to that of my father, the esteemed duke himself.

On the surface, I should have reveled in gratitude and contentment for the abundance of gifts and privileges bestowed upon me.

Yet, despite the accolades and riches, a profound sense of boredom crept into my life, like a silent shadow casting a pall over my existence.

Then came the turning point on a rainy day, an event that shattered the monotony of my perfect but dull existence.

My father, the duke, returned home with a revelation that sent ripples through our aristocratic family — he introduced a young boy as his son.

The announcement threw the entire household into a state of chaos and confusion.

The boy was scrawny, his frame delicate and thin, with black hair and eyes that mirrored my ashen silver hues.

The only distinction lay in the fact that his eyes appeared natural, whereas mine bore the mark of the excess mana coursing through my veins.

If not for this magical anomaly, I would have shared the same clear eyes as my mother.

What captured everyone's attention, however, was that he carried the Vulter name, the very name I held.

Although he looked ordinary, there was an air of mystery surrounding this newfound sibling.

Having a younger sibling wasn't an entirely novel concept for me, as I already had a little sister and brother before his arrival.

The duchess, my acting mother at the time and Liam's and Aria's biological mother, reacted vehemently to the news of his presence, fuming with anger that led her to permit my other siblings to bully him.

In turn, my father and I chose to ignore his existence, swept up in the dynamics that the aristocratic world often dictated.

In those initial days, I remained oblivious to the significance he would come to hold in my life.

He was just another addition to the family, a detail lost in the grand tapestry of our noble lineage.

One particular day, etched vividly in my memory, changed everything.

I found myself alone, grappling with the pain and burden that my body endured.

The stress of days had left me bedridden, a condition I kept hidden from the rest of my family.

It was during this vulnerable moment that he, the newly added brother, became the unexpected solace in my solitude.

Back then, my mother's fury had cast a shadow on him, and even my father and I had chosen to overlook his existence. However, on that day, he was the only one who sought me out.

As someone perceived as perfect, I anticipated that no one would notice my struggle. Yet, there he was, displaying a level of compassion that caught me off guard.

"Big sis, are you okay?" he inquired, his words carrying a genuine concern that resonated with me.

Despite his own battered face and body, marked with whip scars from the bullying he endured, he extended an offering—a single piece of cake that he likely pilfered from the chefs.

"Why a cake?" I questioned, perplexed by his choice.

"I heard that sweets help in healing the mind, so..." he trailed off, his response revealing a kindness that defied the harsh circumstances he faced.

In the wake of that day, my understanding of him deepened with each passing moment, and the haze that once clouded my days began to dissipate.

He became my guiding light, illuminating a path that had previously seemed obscure. In him, I found solace, companionship, and a sense of purpose that had eluded me before.

He was the only one I could be truthful with.

Truly, he was the best thing that had ever happened to me, a beacon of hope in the midst of the aristocratic facade that often concealed the truth beneath layers of opulence and pretense.

Yet, amidst our growing bond, there remained a secret that weighed heavily on my heart—a secret that even he himself was unaware of.

He wasn't my father's biological son.

The exact circumstances surrounding his arrival into our family remained shrouded in mystery, but to me, it presented an opportunity—a chance to shape his destiny, to guide him away from the bleak future that seemed to loom ominously on the horizon.

As the kind sister that I aspired to be, I vowed to shield him from the darkness that threatened to engulf him.

My decision to claim him as my own, to ensure his welfare and future, was met with approval from my father.

Growing up together, I devoted myself to defending Adrian with all the power I possessed. Despite my best efforts, there were moments when I couldn't shield him from the harsh realities that awaited him whenever I was absent. His suffering became an unbearable weight, and it seemed that my mere presence became a burden to him.

My hope had always been to see the good in my father, to believe that the apathy he displayed was merely a result of his position as the duke, especially considering Adrian wasn't his biological son.

I convinced myself that this was a natural course of action, that a distant and stoic demeanor was to be expected.

All the fatherly acts he displayed toward Adrian, I knew deep down, were nothing more than pretenses.

Even during the times when I visited Adrian after he had fallen unconscious, a glimmer of hope persisted within me that my father cared, that somewhere beneath his stoic exterior, there existed a paternal concern for the young man he had brought into our family.

Yet, time and again, my aspirations were met with disappointment, and I found myself grappling with the stark reality of my father's apathy.

Despite the facade, I remained content as long as Adrian received the respect and acknowledgment he rightfully deserved.

My only desire was for him to be treated as a human being, to be recognized for the hero he had become. The shift in my father's attitude, however, shattered the fragile peace I had managed to find.

In a moment of unexpected intensity, my father demanded information with a phrase that felt like a cruel jab to the heart. "Lilliana Vulter Tellus... tell me everything you know about that 'thing.'"

'That thing?'

The words echoed in my mind, and a surge of anger and confusion enveloped me.

Wasn't Adrian his son? Hadn't he grown into a hero, accomplishing feats that would make any father proud? What more did this man want for him to acknowledge his worth?

…..

"I believe using the word 'thing' for a hero is rather disrespectful, don't you think so, Your Grace?" I asserted, breaking the oppressive silence that lingered in the room.

My words seemed to strike a chord, evident in the slight twitch of his brow, though his perfect poker face remained intact.

He nodded in acknowledgment but chose to disregard my comment, urging me to proceed.

"If you are asking me about Adrian, then there is nothing more I can tell you that is different from the usual reports I've been giving you"

I stated, meeting his expectant gaze.

The intensity of his stare hinted at an unspoken demand for crucial information about Adrian. It left me wondering – why did it seem like he was now afraid of Adrian?

The change in my father's attitude toward Adrian had become apparent since my return from travels.

Although I was unaware of the specifics of the incident that triggered this transformation, it was undeniable that my father's apathy toward Adrian had transformed into something far more ominous – fear.

'I'm glad I prevented Aria from coming here'

"I see," he remarked, tapping his finger across his desk. Time stretched on, and the clocks ticked away, yet he showed no intention of letting me rise from my kneeling position. I silently appreciated my decision not to bring Aria into this confrontation.

Finally, he rose and presented something before me—an ornate sword with a distinctive blue steel. Recognition flickered in my eyes; this was the family sword, a treasured heirloom passed down through generations and reserved for the patriarchs and matriarchs of our noble lineage.

"Your Grace?" I questioned, my eyes fixated on the sword, fully aware of its significance.

"I will be gone for a while. I want you to lead the house while I am away," he declared, his words hanging in the air as he began to make his way toward the door.

"Where are you going, Your Grace?" I inquired, seeking clarity.

"There is no need for you to know" came his cold response before he left.

As I stood there, holding the family sword, disbelief coursed through me, replaced by a surge of anger.

….

"So, what are your thoughts about him, Isabella?" The inquiry hung in the air as Isabella gracefully settled into a chair, delicately sipping her tea.

Her contemplative expression revealed that she was carefully considering her impression of Adrian.

Ever since the revelation and prophecy of the goddess, Isabella was eager to uncover the essence of the proclaimed hero.

However, the reality she encountered was a stark departure from her expectations.

Despite bearing the title and possessing the qualifications to be a hero, Adrian's nature was a complex tapestry of contradictions.

The moment Isabella met him, a palpable unease settled within her.

There was something in him—something deep, something dark, and something inherently different from the typical image of a hero.

The contrast between the expected and the reality she encountered intrigued and unnerved her.

Isabella, having been blessed by the goddess of love and bestowed with the role of an apostle, had lost her physical sight but gained a heightened perception beyond the realm of vision.

While her eyes could no longer see, her other senses thrived. Years of dedicated practice and mastery of her divine abilities had heightened her senses, transforming her into an adept practitioner of divine arts.

The divinity within her emanated as a distinct aura, providing a constant source of energy for her heightened perceptions.

She could hear more keenly, feel more deeply, taste more acutely, and even sense the energies around her. It was through this intricate interplay of senses that Isabella gauged the true nature of those she encountered.

As Isabella sipped her tea, the unease she felt in Adrian's presence resonated within her.

Her divinity of love granted her the unique ability to feel the true nature of a person, to sense the essence of their soul.

In Adrian, she detected something that contradicted the conventional image of heroism.

It was a depth, a darkness, an essence that set him apart from the expected archetype of a savior.

"He's dangerous...."

The Pope, nodded in acknowledgment.

His keen eyes locked onto the reports spread before him, intelligence gathered by his network of spies.