* * *
It was a bright spring day, with flower petals fluttering gently on the breeze.
In an elegant mansion surrounded by a carefully tended emerald garden—
Inside the grand estate adorned with precious artworks and sculptures, a beautiful young man with pale platinum-blond hair and soft lavender eyes walked quietly, heading somewhere.
His appearance was as radiant and fresh as the spring scenery outside the window.
Yet, his eyes told a different story.
Despite his youthful looks—he seemed barely out of his teens—his gaze was dry and hollow enough to send a chill down one’s spine.
The young man followed the house’s butler, who walked ahead at a calm, steady pace.
Though dressed plainly, no different from a commoner, his upright posture and graceful steps gave the impression of noble blood.
After walking for a while, the two stopped in front of a large door.
The family crest was delicately engraved into the wooden panels.
Standing before it, the middle-aged butler spoke in a polite, respectful voice.
“Master, may we enter?”
“Come in, Renfield.”
A gentle voice answered from beyond the door—kind yet dignified.
With permission granted, the butler, Renfield, carefully opened the door and stepped inside.
Beyond it lay the study where the mansion’s owner handled his affairs.
As befitting the study of such a grand estate, the room was exquisitely decorated.
Each piece of furniture, each painting on the wall, was a masterpiece crafted by the hands of a true artisan.
Yet, in this room, none of those treasures could hold one’s gaze for long.
“I’ve brought the Guide scheduled to arrive today.”
“Ah, was that today?”
The reason was the man seated at the desk, who outshone everything else in the room.
He possessed a beauty so noble it seemed painted by the hand of a god.
Even the way he subtly adjusted his posture upon their arrival was elegant enough to seem like a scene from a painting.
His radiant silver hair shimmered under the sunlight, and his vivid blue eyes looked as though they held the clear sky itself.
“Apologies, it completely slipped my mind.”
He was Arhan Evernell, the head of House Evernell—one of the Empire’s Four Great Ducal Houses, a powerful and respected Arete with exceptional telekinesis and barrier abilities, and a man who had earned great achievements in many fields.
“So you must be…”
Arhan’s sky-blue eyes met the young man’s pale violet ones.
In that fleeting moment when their gazes locked, the cold, detached look in the young man’s eyes wavered—just slightly.
A surge of deep, overwhelming emotion washed over him like a crashing wave.
It was unwelcome, so the young man quickly lowered his head, breaking the gaze.
Hiding feelings was always easier than dealing with them.
“I suppose you’re the Guide assigned to me for the next month.”
Aretes and Guides—those blessed by the gods, bestowed with rare powers.
Aretes used their various supernatural abilities to fight against the monstrous creatures that emerged from phenomena called “Rifts.”
Guides, on the other hand, existed to stabilize those Aretes, helping them maintain their mental and physical balance.
The Rifts—fissures that tore through space like cracks in glass—could open anywhere: in the sky, on the ground, at any moment.
From them spilled grotesque monsters that inflicted massive damage on the world.
No one knew why they occurred, where they would appear, or when.
And the task of battling the monsters from these unpredictable Rifts fell solely to the Aretes.
But Aretes had one fatal weakness—the more they used their powers, the more their mental and physical stability deteriorated.
Pushed too far, they could lose control entirely and even die.
That’s why Guides were essential.
They calmed the Aretes’ minds, prevented them from losing control, and helped them recover their balance.
That was the role of a Guide—and the young man standing before Arhan, with his pale blond hair, was one such Guide.
“It’s an honor to meet you, Your Grace.”
“Likewise. I’m glad you’re here.”
He had come to serve as Arhan’s Guide—the most powerful Arete in the Empire.
Even if only for a brief period of one month.
“You look quite young. May I ask how old you are?”
His voice was warm and friendly.
Almost too kind for someone of his status, especially when speaking to a Guide of humble origins.
The young man, still with his head lowered, replied in a calm but cold voice devoid of emotion.
“I’m twenty.”
“My, so young. You’re the first Guide I’ve met who’s eleven years younger than me.”
Despite his kind tone, it was clear Arhan knew nothing about the young man before him.
Even if it was only for a month, he would still be responsible for Arhan’s stability as his Guide.
“And your name…?”
“Rael.”
The young man stated his surname first, then hesitated for a moment before giving his full name.
“Euston Rael.”
The moment that name—Euston—left his lips, Arhan’s gentle smile froze.
A crack appeared on the previously serene, composed face.
The warm, clear blue eyes instantly turned cold as ice.
Rael lifted his gaze slightly, just enough to catch Arhan’s reaction—then quickly dropped his head again.
He had expected this… and yet, the hurt still hit hard.
He could feel the butler beside him becoming awkward, sensing the tension in the air.
Overwhelmed by emotions too complex to describe, Rael spoke in a soft, apologetic tone.
“I’m sorry, Your Grace.”
“…What for, Rael?”
“My name. I assumed it must have upset you.”
But instead of softening, Arhan’s expression grew even darker.
Clearly, something about Rael’s response had further offended him.
His voice was noticeably colder, his tone sharp.
“And why would you think that?”
Rael hesitated again, glancing up cautiously as he answered.
“Because… it’s the same name as the notorious former Duke of Rosendale. I thought… perhaps it brought you displeasure…”
“Rael.”
That, too, was the wrong answer.
The cold blue of Arhan’s eyes flared with anger.
The fury that simmered behind his sharpened gaze was all the more intense for how quiet it was.
Even with his head bowed, Rael could clearly imagine the expression on Arhan’s face by now.
Thud.
The chair scraped back.
Arhan rose from his seat.
The sound of his approaching footsteps echoed ominously across the study, making Rael instinctively tense.
“Let me teach you one important rule—”
Arhan stepped in close, right up to the young man’s face, placed a hand lightly on his shoulder, and spoke in a tone laced with warning.
His once-gentle manner had turned cold in an instant.
The grip on the shoulder wasn’t particularly strong, and yet, the pain that flared up felt sharp and intense.
No—perhaps what hurt wasn’t the shoulder at all, but the heart, torn apart again and again by that gaze.
“Here, in the Duchy of Evernell—especially in my presence,”
“……”
“Speaking of the late Duke Rosendale is forbidden.”
A fresh jolt of pain surged.
He had grown used to it by now, but that didn’t mean it ever dulled.
So it wasn’t the body that hurt, but the heart after all.
“You may leave for today.”
‘Ah… so I really am that detestable to you. Do you still hate me so deeply, despise me so utterly, that you can’t even bear to hear my name?’
“…Yes. I apologize for the offense.”
The young man’s voice answered flatly, almost indifferent—but his eyelids trembled faintly.
His fists were clenched so tightly they had gone pale, and his delicate lips, bitten hard enough to bleed, were stained red.
Euston Rael. Or perhaps… Eusten Rosendale.
Those two names—similar in sound, yet carrying meanings as far apart as heaven and earth—echoed in his mind.
hutting his eyes tightly, the young man concealed the storm raging inside him.
Because the man Arhan so openly loathed—the former head of House Rosendale, who died a year ago—was none other than himself.
* * *
