The grandfather clock in the Grand Hall struck seven. The heavy chime echoed through the Veynar manor, signaling the start of the evening meal. It was a formal affair, a tradition the Duke upheld with military precision.
But for the second time that day, one chair remained empty.
Aiden's seat, tucked away at the cold end of the mahogany table, was a glaring void.
"Still hiding?" Kaelen sneered, swirling a dark vintage in his glass. "I suppose if I had touched the Aurelium stone and produced the magical equivalent of a damp matchstick, I'd lock myself away too. It's been hours. Has he even eaten lunch?"
Julian, the fourth son, let out a dry chuckle. "Father, the boy is clearly grieving his lack of talent. Perhaps we should let him wallow. It's better he stays in his room than brings his 'F-Rank' gloom to the dinner table."
Duke Valerius didn't look up from his steak, but the air around him grew heavy. The silence lasted a beat too long.
"Martha," the Duke barked.
A timid maid scurried forward, bowing so low her forehead nearly touched the floor. "Y-yes, Your Grace?"
"Go to the west wing. Fetch my son. Tell him that a Veynar does not miss a meal out of self-pity. If he cannot lead, he will at least show up."
"Immediately, Your Grace!"
Five minutes passed. Then ten. The soup grew cold. The Duke's grip on his silver fork tightened until the metal began to groan.
Suddenly, the doors burst open. Martha was breathless, her face pale. "He's... he's not there, Your Grace! The bed is made. The room is empty. I've checked the library, the gardens, the washrooms... Young Master Aiden is gone!"
The Duke stood up, his chair screeching against the marble. "Searching begins now. Every guard. Every servant. If he has run away to the city, I want him back before the moon reaches its peak. A Talentless son is a shame; a missing son is a scandal."
....
The Attic: T-Minus 60 Minutes
High above the panic, in the dust-choked silence of the forgotten attic, Aiden Veynar was dead to the world.
The [Deep Slumber] status effect was absolute. His small chest rose and fell in a rhythmic, helpless slumber. In the darkness of his mind, the System was humming a low, digital tune, flickering through old data logs to pass the time.
[Seven hours down. One to go. Honestly, this is the most productive he's been all day. No screaming about vengeance, no trying to explode his own heart... just peaceful, quiet—]
[...Wait.]
A ripple disturbed the stagnant mana of the attic.
[Warning: Physical Presence Detected. Unknown entity entering the 'Privacy Zone.']
The System tried to pulse a scan, but the screen glitched with static.
[Error: Perception Skills at 0%. Status Check: Unavailable. Resource 'Observe' is currently locked by Host's consciousness. Checking backup sensors... Analysis: Target is... uh... really, really shiny?]
Floorboards that hadn't felt the weight of a foot in a century didn't even creak.
A man stepped into the pale moonlight filtering through the attic slats. He looked like he had stepped out of a bard's ballad. He was perhaps twenty, with hair the color of spun gold and facial features so symmetrical they seemed sculpted by a god. His noble attire was impeccable—midnight blue silk trimmed with silver thread that pulsed with an internal light.
The man looked around the dusty ruins, his gaze landing on the small boy curled up on the floor.
[System Note: Okay, I can't read his stats, but the air is vibrating. My internal barometer says this guy is a 7th Class Magician. For context, Boss, that's 'Level City-Flattener.' If he decides to poke you, we are officially deleted.]
The stranger walked toward Aiden. He didn't look like a kidnapper, nor did he look like an assassin. There was a strange, haunting familiarity in his eyes—a mix of pity and something far more terrifying: recognition.
He knelt beside the sleeping boy. His hand, slender and glowing with a faint hum of high-level mana, reached out and brushed a stray hair from Aiden's forehead.
"So," the man whispered, his voice like velvet over a blade. "This is where you where. A dusty corner of a failing house."
Aiden didn't stir. The [Deep Slumber] was a prison of his own System's making.
[Hey! Stranger! Personal space!] the System flashed a red box that only it could see. [Host, wake up! We have a 7th Class intruder! He's touching the face! He's touching the face!]
The man smiled—a beautiful, cold expression. He slid his arms under Aiden's small frame, lifting him with an ease that suggested the boy weighed nothing at all.
He didn't head for the secret stairs. He didn't head for the door. He walked toward the solid stone wall of the attic, the mana around him beginning to distort space itself.
And with a silent ripple of air, the attic was empty. Only a small indentation in the dust remained where the boy had been.
[...Oh, we are so fired,] the System muttered as the countdown hit 59 minutes.