Chapter 3: Engulfed
Inside one of the lavish rooms in the Marcellus manor, a lone figure stood by a tall window, his small frame outlined by the golden rays of the late afternoon sun. Noah's gaze was fixed on the garden below, where a few maids tended to the flower beds. Their movements were measured and deliberate, and yet, to him, it all felt like part of an intricate play—each person knowing their role, their place, and the rules they lived by. Rules he was still struggling to understand.
The room itself was a picture of elegance, its walls adorned with intricate floral patterns and soft drapes cascading from the ceiling to the polished wooden floors. A large bed, dressed in fine silk sheets, dominated the space, while a faint scent of lavender lingered in the air. The vastness of it all was overwhelming, yet oddly hollow, like a stage set up for someone else's life.
Noah didn't move from his spot. He simply stared, his crimson eyes following the rhythmic movements of the maids below, but his thoughts wandered elsewhere—to the slums he had called home just a week ago.
His family—if they could even be called that—occupied his mind more than he cared to admit. Were they living well now? Were they eating properly? He pictured his uncle Gregor, his stern face softened slightly by the thought that Noah's departure might have lessened the household's burden.
Hugh and Martin, his cousins, had always been rough with him, their laughter often at his expense.
And yet, amidst the chaos of that household, there had been one figure who had shown him kindness: Mira. His uncle's wife had been the only one to shield him, her soft-spoken words and stolen moments of care a rare comfort in an otherwise harsh world.
Noah's thoughts weren't bitter, nor were they vengeful. He wondered if the money left behind by John Marcellus had been enough to provide them with a better life. If nothing else, he hoped it had been enough to fill their plates and keep the household running, even if Gregor would likely squander it on cards and drink.
Noah's small, calloused hands pressed firmly against the windowpane, the icy surface biting into his skin and spreading a faint chill up his arms. The sensation made him pause for a moment, as though the coldness was grounding him in the present—a stark contrast to the warmth of the sunlight flooding the picturesque garden outside. His crimson eyes, wide with a quiet wonder, lingered on the neatly trimmed hedges and vibrant blossoms swaying gently in the breeze. The soft sunlight kissed the dewy grass, casting golden hues across the scene.
"It's so pretty," he murmured to himself, his voice barely above a whisper, carrying the same timid softness that had become second nature to him.
The tranquil stillness of the room shattered as the heavy oak door creaked open without warning. An older maid stepped in, her movements purposeful, her demeanor dripping with arrogance. She held herself with a poise that suggested authority, her nose slightly upturned as though she carried the weight of the household's hierarchy on her shoulders. She didn't bother to knock—an act that blatantly disregarded the fact that Noah was now a Marcellus, albeit newly arrived. Her crisp, starched uniform, adorned with subtle embroidery at the collar and cuffs, set her apart from the other servants toiling in the garden below. It was clear she ranked above them, and her sharp gaze swept over Noah with an air of disdain, barely hiding her thoughts.
"Master Noah," the maid announced, her voice clipped as she came to a deliberate pause, her disapproving eyes fixed on him. "It is already time for your lesson."
She let the words hang in the air before continuing, her tone sharpened with thinly veiled condescension. "Even though it has already been a week, you still aren't diligent enough to be in the study room before the clock strikes two."
Noah flinched at her words, his hands slipping from the windowpane as if caught doing something wrong. He couldn't find a response—any attempt to defend himself would only invite further rebuke. Instead, he lowered his head, his crimson eyes fixed on the ornate rug beneath his feet.
The maid clicked her tongue in disdain, her eyes scanning Noah from head to toe, a look of obvious judgment in her gaze. Noah, feeling the weight of her scrutinizing stare, clenched the hem of his shirt, his fingers digging into the fabric as he stood frozen in place.
"How will you attend the academy in this state?" she continued, her tone condescending, as if every word was meant to remind him of his inferiority.
"You have barely two years left to be trained properly. Please, don't drag the Marcellus name through the mud."
Her words stung, but Noah remained silent, his head lowered in obedience. The maid, unbothered by his lack of response, turned sharply, expecting him to follow her lead without further protest.
Noah followed closely behind the maid as they stepped out of the room, making their way down the heavily lavish hallway. The floors were made of polished marble, its smooth, cold surface reflecting the soft glow of the chandeliers above. Each step Noah took seemed to echo in the vast, quiet space, amplifying the feeling of isolation he had come to know. The hallway was lined with intricate paintings in gold frames, capturing scenes of noble ancestors in their regal splendor. Noah's eyes flitted from one painting to the next, his heart sinking as he looked at the proud faces frozen in time.
Besides Noah's own soft footsteps and the maid's brisk strides, there were other footsteps—firm and deliberate—coming from the opposite end of the long hallway. The sound was distinct, powerful, and carried with it an undeniable air of authority.
The maid, normally full of arrogance, stiffened at the sound, her posture suddenly rigid. She cast a fleeting glance down the hall, clearly aware of who was approaching. Noah, too, felt the shift in the atmosphere. He didn't need to see the approaching figures to know that their presence commanded attention.
Noah's gaze remained fixed on the marble floor, his head lowered in a subtle attempt to shield himself from the growing tension. From the shadows that stretched across the smooth surface of the hallway, he could make out three distinct figures moving toward him and the maid.
The first voice to break the silence was one that Noah had grown used to—warm and somewhat exuberant, though full of affection.
"Isn't this Noah? What a lovely surprise!" John Marcellus exclaimed as he quickly moved toward his nephew.
Noah flinched at the approach, but before he could react, John swept him up in an affectionate hug.
Despite the awkwardness of the moment, Noah could sense the affection in his uncle's embrace.
When John finally released him, Noah didn't lift his eyes to meet the others standing nearby. He felt the weight of their gazes, despite his attempt to remain small.
Lucian stood with a sly, knowing smile, his eyes glinting with curiosity. His expression was unreadable, but the way he studied Noah suggested an undercurrent of calculation.
Jane stood with her arms crossed, her stance cold and unimpressed. Her crimson eyes glinted with a clear judgment, though her expression remained carefully neutral.
Noah stayed still, swallowing his unease. The contrast between his uncle's warmth and the cool, evaluating stares from Lucian and Jane made his heart race, and he couldn't help but feel out of place.
"Are you going for your lessons? I guess you are adjusting well," John commented, his voice light and warm as he looked at Noah.
Noah hesitated for a moment, his eyes flickering to the ground as the weight of his uncle's gaze made him feel even more out of place. He swallowed hard before replying.
"Y-yes, Master Marcellus," he stuttered, his nerves getting the better of him.
John's smile widened, and he chuckled softly.
"Why the formalities? Just refer to me as Uncle John," he said warmly, stepping closer to Noah and placing a hand gently on his shoulder. The gesture was meant to comfort, but to Noah, it only made him feel more out of place, more aware of how different he was from the family around him.
Noah's heart skipped a beat at the touch. He couldn't meet his uncle's eyes, his gaze fixed firmly on the floor as he tried to hide his discomfort.
"Th-thank you… Uncle John," he said quietly, his voice a little steadier but still betraying his nerves.
John gave Noah a friendly pat on the back before stepping back with a satisfied nod.
"Good. I'm glad you're adjusting," he said, his voice still light. "If you ever need anything, just let me know. I'm always here to help."
With that, John turned and began walking down the hallway. Lucian, always by his side, followed with his usual sly smile, while Jane gave Noah one last glance—her eyes cold and calculating, her arms still crossed as she stood a little apart from the others.
Jane didn't say anything as she walked away, but her gaze lingered on Noah, her expression unreadable.
The sound of their footsteps gradually faded, leaving him standing still in the lavish hallway.
The maid, who had been standing by silently the entire time, finally cleared her throat, drawing Noah's attention back to her. She hadn't moved, still standing stiffly at attention. Her gaze flickered from Noah to the direction John, Lucian, and Jane had gone, a subtle sneer tugging at the corner of her lips.
"Go on," the maid finally said, her tone cold and commanding. "Your lessons aren't going to wait."
Noah nodded quickly, his eyes darting to the ground once more. Without another word, he followed her down the hallway, the weight of the mansion pressing down on him with each step.