The library of the Jardin Paisible mansion was a place of silent, dusty grandeur. It was the second largest room in the house, surpassed only by the grand hallway. Nearly forty towering shelves of books lined the walls, filled with ancient lore, medical texts, diaries of their parents, sketchbooks of their mother, and forgotten histories. Sunlight streamed through tall windows, illuminating dust motes that danced like ghosts.
Johan and Joseph sat opposite each other at a heavy mahogany table in the centre of the room. The air was still, save for the faint scent of old paper and ink—the smell of accumulated knowledge and secrets. Johan leaned forward, his expression solemn as if he were about to deliver judgment rather than guidance.
"Listen carefully, Joseph. There are rules you must follow if you are to understand your heritage and power," Johan began, his voice carrying the weight of absolute authority.
Joseph straightened in his chair, sensing the gravity of what was about to be shared.
"First rule: Don't say anything about this to your sister. Jennifer cares about your safety more than anything in this world. She would never, never, ever allow you to use your powers if she knew the risks."
Joseph nodded slowly, absorbing the weight of the secret he was being asked to keep. The image of Jennifer's face flashed in his mind—her protective gaze, her willingness to sacrifice everything.
"Second rule: At your age, you must not use a high level of mana too frequently. It stunts your physical growth," Johan continued, his words measured and precise. "If you use a high level of mana every day, a hundred years from now, your body will still look like that of a fifteen-year-old. However, regardless of whether you use mana or not, mages have a limit—our bodies will never physically appear older than thirty. Because mana is the life source of all our cells. If it flows to our constantly, our cell never dies."
The implication hung in the air: immortality came with a price.
Johan paused, clearing his throat before continuing. He was moving into more delicate territory, and he knew it.
"Third rule: If you ever wish to marry, do not choose a mortal human. They are fragile, and our bloodlines are incompatible; you cannot have a child together. Furthermore, as a Lord, you are essentially immortal unless someone takes your life. Ordinary mages can live to be nearly a thousand years old, but mortals fade in the blink of an eye."
Joseph's face instantly turned a bright, vivid shade of red. He looked down at the table, overcome by shame and embarrassment. His ears burned.
"Brother... why are you starting a topic like marriage?" he asked quietly, his voice strained.
Johan looked at him, perfectly deadpan, as if this were the most logical conversation in the world. "What topic? This isn't a suggestion, Joseph. It is a rule."
"I know, but it's far too early for that," Joseph muttered, still unable to look up from the wooden surface of the table.
"You act as if I'm arranging a wedding for you tomorrow," Johan said with a small huff, his expression softening slightly. "Listen, I'm not Aunt Nina. I'm just telling you the reality. The rules of our world, not of society's choosing."
Joseph took a breath and tried to steady himself, forcing the heat from his face. "Sorry... please, continue."
"Good. If you have any questions at all, you can ask me now," Johan said, his tone shifting to something more encouraging. "Better to understand now than to make mistakes later."
Joseph leaned in, his curiosity finally overriding his embarrassment. Despite his shame, his mind was hungry for answers—real answers about who he was, what he was, what his existence meant.
"What is Mana, exactly? What is the true meaning of it?" he asked.
"Mana..." Johan sighed, looking at his own hands as if the answer were written there in his lines and veins. "The name itself doesn't matter much. The word comes from ancient scriptures, and it translates roughly to 'spiritual energy.' However, as our understanding of genetics and metaphysics improved, mages discovered the biological reality: it is a fundamental part of our blood and our inheritance."
He looked up, his eyes meeting Joseph's directly.
"It is the fuel of our existence. You can call it whatever you want: magic, power, energy. But most of the mages call it Mana. It flows through us like blood, like breath, like consciousness itself. When you use Mana, you are using part of your soul, your essence, your being."
"I see," Joseph said, nodding slowly. "And what about the Orders? Why were they formed?"
Johan's gaze sharpened considerably.
"Listen closely, Joseph. To understand the origin of the Orders, you must first understand the origin of the Lords."
Joseph's expression became intensely focused. He sat perfectly still, sensing that he was finally about to receive the answers he had been searching for since that day in the hospital.
"At the very beginning, when there was nothingness, God created one sun and three worlds," Johan began, his voice taking on a storyteller's cadence—the tone of someone recounting ancient, sacred knowledge.
"God also created the energy required to keep these worlds alive, giving them the purpose to generate and sustain Mana. From that energy, the races were born: Mortal humans, Immortal humans, and mages."
Johan gestured to the ancient books surrounding them, their leather spines worn by centuries of use.
"To lead the worlds and fulfil his purpose, God finally created four Great Lords: the Lord of Consciousness, the Lord of Life, the Lord of Soul, and the Lord of Destruction."
The names hung in the air like incantations, each one carrying weight and power.
"However, the Lord of Destruction grew resentful," Johan continued, his voice darkening. "He opposed God and the nature of his creation. He looked at the three worlds and saw only suffering, only struggle, only the endless cycle of birth and death. In response to his rebellion, God cursed him. As new power grew from that cursed Lord, he was transformed into something far more terrible—the Lord of Darkness."
Joseph listened, mesmerised, hanging on every word.
"In his revenge, the Dark Lord spread his curse to the other innocent races. Corruption flowed from him like poison, infecting everything it touched. To save the three worlds from total corruption and destruction, the other three Lords united their strength and defeated him. The event is known as the First Great War. But even in defeat, the Dark Lord's cursed energy remained, lingering within the worlds like a poison, like a stain that could never be fully washed away."
Johan's expression grew more solemn.
"To maintain the divine purpose and to cure the races of this lingering curse, the Lord of Life formed a specialised fraction of his army, naming it an 'Order.' Seeing the wisdom in this, the other two Lords followed suit and created their own Orders. Three Orders, born from three Lords, dedicated to maintaining balance and fighting the lingering darkness."
Johan looked at Joseph pointedly, making sure he understood the gravity of what he was hearing.
"This is how our world was shaped, and why the struggle continues to this day. We are not fighting for conquest or glory. We are fighting to maintain the divine purpose—to keep the worlds alive and free from the corruption that would consume them."
Joseph leaned forward, his mind racing. "But where was the Lord of Knowledge that I was? Why am I separate from these three?"
Johan leaned back, a heavy shadow crossing his features. The question Joseph had asked was the crux of the matter—the secret that defined his entire existence.
"After the three Lords died—after the wars of the ages and the struggles of millennia—their original armies and orders disbanded," Johan said quietly. "But to prevent chaos and maintain the balance, our mother created a new order: the New World Order. It was designed to combine the strengths and remnants of the three main orders into one unified force, bringing together the knowledge and power of all three to create something greater."
He paused, letting Joseph absorb this.
"Before that happened, however, some vessels of the Dark Lord managed to splinter off and form their own twisted Orders," Johan continued, his voice dropping lower. "They rejected the divine purpose and embraced the darkness instead. The man who attacked you in the school? Jevier? He belonged to one of those Dark Orders. And there are others like him—many others, scattered across the three worlds, all driven by the same hunger for power and corruption."
The weight of the revelation crashed down on Joseph like a physical force. He stared at the ancient texts before him, feeling a sudden, crushing sense of depression settling over him.
The legacy of his father. The burden of immortality. The shadow of dark orders is hunting him. The knowledge that he was not just Joseph Bennet, a fifteen-year-old boy with loving siblings—he was the Lord of Knowledge, reincarnated and destined for a conflict that had no end in sight.
It was all too much to process in a single morning.
"Okay, that's enough for today," Joseph said quietly, his voice devoid of its earlier spark of curiosity. The weight had become too heavy.
He closed all the books with a series of dull thuds, his movements slow and mechanical. Without another word, he stood up and left the library, retreating to his room to be alone with his thoughts. He needed to process what he had learned, to grapple with the truth of his existence in solitude.
Soon after, Johan also exited the library, exhaling a long, weary breath. Teaching about his heritage was exhausting—not because of the information itself, but because of what it represented. He made his way to the grand hallway, where the mansion's reception area was located.
Jennifer was sitting there in a high-backed chair, presiding over the reception desk like a sentinel. At Jardin Paisible, patients had to schedule their appointments in person or by telephone. Jennifer had taken to managing this task herself, ensuring that Johan's schedule remained organised and that their work continued uninterrupted.
Johan approached her, shifting into a more relaxed mood to mask the intensity of the library session. He leaned against the reception desk casually, as if the weight of godly knowledge hadn't just been transferred to his younger brother.
"Oi! Do I have any new appointments?" he asked, his tone light.
Jennifer looked up, offering him a warm smile. "The next appointment isn't until 4:00 PM. You can rest for a while now."
"Good," Johan muttered, though his eyes were clearly tired—not from physical exertion, but from the emotional weight of what he had just shared.
Jennifer studied him carefully, reading the exhaustion in his expression. She knew something had happened in the library. She knew Johan was trying to awaken Joseph's power, to teach him about his heritage.
But she said nothing. Not yet.
Suddenly, the sound of heavy wheels and clopping hooves broke the silence of the afternoon.
A carriage came to a halt directly in front of the mansion's gate, the sound echoing through the grounds. The coachman called out to the children playing nearby, his voice carrying through the open air with practised authority.
"Is this Jardin Paisible mansion?"
"Doctor! Somebody is at the gate!" one of the children shouted, running toward the mansion.
Johan straightened up immediately, his professional demeanour sliding into place like armour. "Yeah, yeah! Coming!"
He started running toward the gate with practised speed.
Jennifer watched him go, her smile fading into a look of quiet disappointment and concern. She remained seated at the reception desk, but her mind was churning with unspoken thoughts.
Johan, I know what you're doing. I know you're trying to reawaken Joseph's power, to teach him about his true nature, she said silently in her mind, her gaze fixed on his retreating form. But I will never risk Joseph's life. He is my Joseph. He deserves to be a child, even if only for a little while longer.
At the gate, Johan reached the driver and nodded respectfully. "Sir, it is Jardin Paisible. How can I help you?"
The carriage man looked back at his passengers through the small window of the coach. "Sir, this is your destination."
The carriage's door opened, and Richard leaned out, flashing a cheerful smile that seemed utterly out of place.
"Hey Johan…! I've come here after a very long time!"
The moment Johan saw Richard's face, his expression flatlined completely. Every trace of warmth, every hint of welcome, vanished instantly. Without saying a single word, Johan reached out and slammed the carriage door shut right in Richard's face.
THUNK.
Richard's surprised grunt echoed from inside the carriage.
Johan turned to the coachman, wearing a sugar-sweet, artificial smile that could have cut glass. "Excuse me sir, please take him far away from here. I will give you double the payment."
The coachman—a seasoned veteran of city transport who had seen every trick in the book—didn't miss a beat. His own smile matched Johan's in pure, unadulterated greed.
"50 Aether," he said simply.
Johan reached into his pocket and pulled out coins, counting out more than requested. "Here is 60 Aether. Go. Now."
The carriage man snapped the reins with practised efficiency, and the carriage immediately began to lurch away, the horses responding instantly to the command.
"Johan! Wait! I came here for help!" Richard's muffled voice called out from inside the moving coach, a note of desperation creeping into his tone. He was sitting back on the bench, gingerly holding his nose, looking utterly pathetic with his head bandaged from the previous night's chaos and his pride thoroughly wounded.
Inside the carriage, Kaeli—Richard's companion—burst into a fit of loud, hysterical laughter.
"Ha! Ha! Ha! If I were in his place, I would also do that!" Kaeli gasped between fits of laughter, tears streaming down his face.
Theo was sitting across from them, trying to be more polite and composed, but he couldn't help it. His shoulders shook with suppressed laughter, his hand pressed firmly over his mouth to stifle the sound.
Richard looked at the two of them; his expression was hopeful.
Richard stuck his head out the window desperately. "Hey, where are you taking us?" he called to the driver.
"Mister coachman, can you take us back?" Theo pleaded, his composure finally breaking completely. "Please, I think Dr. Johan might actually listen if we approach this differently."
"No, little boy," the driver chuckled, pocketing Johan's coins with obvious satisfaction. "I have a double payment to keep you away. But... if I were to get a little more..."
He trailed off, the implication clear: his loyalty was entirely a matter of payment.
Richard let out an exhausted, defeated sigh. His entire body seemed to deflate with resignation. He had come to ask for help, for aid in a larger conflict that was about to consume them all. Instead, he was being physically ejected from the mansion.
"Okay, fine. I will give you triple," Richard said, his voice hollow.
The coachman's eyes lit up with greed.
"Turn back!" the coachman called to the horses, yanking the reins hard.
The carriage turned back toward the mansion, lumbering along the street like some reluctant beast returning to the scene of its own humiliation.