Claude's urge to just ignore Lloyd and move on with his life was almost overwhelming. But of course, the universe had other plans for him—as always.
Almost immediately after Roy tilted his head toward the window like some predatory owl sensing movement, a knock came at the door.
"Young Master Elyas, your brother has arrived. Your parents are expecting you to greet him," a maid announced in a tone far too cheerful for Claude's liking.
Claude resisted the urge to groan aloud.
'Am I really this cursed? What kind of cosmic joke is this? The guy arrives two days early—two days—right after I realize he might be dangerous. Convenient.'
With a mental sigh, Claude reluctantly placed the documents aside, gathered his composure like a man headed for execution, and stood up. He got dressed, freshened his appearance, and headed out into the lavish, maze-like corridors of the estate, Roy stalking behind him like a murder shadow in fancy clothes.
His outfit had changed yet again—because apparently, noble life wasn't complete unless you had a different outfit for every breath you took.
The halls were as pristine as ever, bathed in the warm golden light of late afternoon filtering through tall arched windows, casting elegant reflections across polished marble floors and carved oak paneling. The air smelled faintly of aged wood and lavender oil, courtesy of the obsessive cleaning rituals this household clearly endorsed.
But soon enough… he saw him.
'Damn it…'
Standing in the center of the entrance hall was a young man, probably around 180 centimeters tall. His skin practically glowed, polished and flawless like he was carved from divine ore. His silver hair shimmered in the light, cascading in elegant waves, while his sharp, icy blue eyes held a quiet intensity that made Claude's stomach twist. He looked like the kind of person who stepped out of a heroic legend—if the legend also happened to model for royal paintings on the side.
Claude's gaze flicked to Clyde, who was lurking a bit further off, wearing his usual unhinged grin.
Still, he forced a smile and walked toward Lloyd.
"Elyas! Your brother arrived earlier than expected!" Howard called cheerfully, clearly far more delighted than the situation warranted.
Claude bowed slightly, putting on his softest, most fragile smile.
"Welcome back, Elder Brother. I'm elated to hear you've arrived safely and early."
He made sure to shiver every few seconds like a leaf in a storm, really selling the fragile act.
Lloyd stepped closer, his sharp eyes locking onto Claude's face.
"Raise your head," he said coolly.
Claude obeyed, suppressing every instinct that screamed at him to bolt.
"You did good, Brother," Lloyd added, placing a hand on Claude's shoulder.
"T-thank you…" Claude mumbled.
It wasn't the touch or the words that unnerved him... it was the tone. The kindness felt mechanical, rehearsed. Almost like Lloyd had studied "how to behave like a brother" from a dusty etiquette book.
'Is this just for show? Putting on a brotherly performance because his parents are watching?'
He wasn't letting his guard down. Not even slightly. Especially not with Roy breathing at his back like a judgmental gargoyle.
"Let's go to the dining room," Howard declared. "We've prepared a grand banquet for Lloyd's return!"
He was glowing with pride. Claude didn't buy it. There was definitely more to Howard's joy than just his golden boy showing up early.
'I better find out what's behind that idiotic grin.'
Then the aroma of food hit Claude like a divine uppercut as he walked. Spices, roasted meats, buttery bread. It all blended into an intoxicating cloud that practically made him float down the corridor.
He was seated beside Lloyd, who sat near Howard, and Matilda watched over the table like a silent queen.
Claude, however, had bigger concerns than awkward family dynamics.
'Where do I even begin?' he thought, staring at the ridiculous spread in front of him. Roasted meats glistening with honey glaze, perfectly baked pastries, fruit arranged like artwork… it was a culinary cathedral, and Claude was a devoted worshipper.
He tried to eat "politely," whatever that meant, mimicking the robotic hand movements of the other nobles. He found most of it performative nonsense, but whatever, if playing dress-up at the dinner table kept him alive, he'd play along.
As he chewed through yet another bite of heaven, the conversation finally steered toward something worthwhile.
"You told me you finally reached the third step?" Howard asked, a glint in his eye.
Claude perked up and immediately slowed his chewing.
"Yes, Father. I finally did it. It was hard at first because I didn't know what to do, but when I finally understood the advice you sent me, I succeeded," Lloyd said.
'I was right! Steps must be the levels of your Aetheris power… and Rank must be the potential cap. And here I thought I'd be stuck in the dark forever. Almost makes up for not having any clue what my own powers even do.'
"That's spectacular news!" Howard beamed. "I take it you've finally reached the level where you're able to summon silver?"
Lloyd's expression grew more serious.
"No, Father… I didn't get the ability to summon it. But I did gain the power to turn anything I touch into silver."
Claude blinked.
'Oh fantastic. Money machine over here just has to touch things to print wealth. Meanwhile, I have the power to be forgettable. Yay me.'
Still, the implications were massive. Each step brought a new function, a new twist to one's Aetheris.
Now the question was: how the hell was Claude supposed to "ascend" when he didn't even understand his base ability?
"What about you, Elyas? How's your progress going?" Lloyd asked, attempting what might pass for inclusion.
'Oh no, he didn't. Mister Silver God here's about to rub it in. I've been locked in a prison cell eating rats, you pompous tower of hair gel!'
Before Claude could come up with a polite lie, Matilda stepped in like a guardian angel.
"Lloyd! Your brother has been on the outskirts, alone in a prison cell! He couldn't possibly have made any progress in that time. Be mindful of his circumstances."
Lloyd paused.
"You're right, Mother," he said with a stiff nod, then turned to Claude. "I'm sorry for being rude, Brother."
Claude narrowed his eyes slightly. Something about Lloyd's tone and it wasn't guilt. It wasn't warmth. It was calculated, like everything else about him.
"It's fine…" Claude replied with manufactured meekness.
—
Later that evening, Claude finally made it back to his quarters, collapsing onto his bed like a puppet with cut strings. But his mind was far from rested. It was buzzing with new information and paranoia.