Upon attaining the title of master, Aurelius was gifted his own home. An enviable achievement but masters were as numerous in the Grand Hall as nobles were in Summer Spire. His home couldn’t compare to the expansive estate given to Kierra, but no one could scoff at it. He didn’t need the space, being a single man, and he preferred the location, closer to the Center Hall than the Grand Market.

He was given a little consideration by being given a house at the end of the street, where the yard was a little bigger, maintained by his students. However, he allowed no one inside. Several expensive enchantments made sure of it, along with a reputation rarely spoken of out of fear of having the wind steal their words.

Moonlight reflected off his silver robe as he dropped onto the front porch of the modest two-story home. A hand grabbed the rope next to the door, giving it a light tug. The chime of his doorbell faintly touched his ears. What no observer could see was that he also put his mana into the rope, briefly deactivating the wards protecting his home before opening the door.

The layout of the house was unusual in that it had no rooms. The entirety of the first floor was open, the different areas informally sectioned off by half-walls and counters. In the center of the living space was a spiral staircase, leading to a similar space on the second floor.

The house was designed by another air affinity caster, along with most of the defensive enchantments on the house. A retired hunter, the previous occupant designed his home to be an advantageous battleground. Walls stymied an air caster the most so he’d knocked down as many as he could. Aurelius couldn’t imagine a scenario where he’d have to defend his home. Mainly, he liked the open space for his practice.

With a quick spell, he blew up the stairs, his feet sinking into the plush carpet of the second floor as he canceled his levitation for the first time that day.

While the first floor was loosely divided into several spaces, the second floor was divided starkly in two. The right side was a bedroom, modestly decorated with a minimum of furniture and a large bed, a mixture of silver and blue bed dressings making it resemble a slice of a summer sky stolen from the heavens.

The left side resembled a museum exhibit. Along the walls were two long display cases made with specialty glass that could resist a direct blow from anyone but the strongest physical casters. Between them were wooden pedestals with glass covers. They all displayed artifacts, crumbling from the ravages of time, a mix of weapons, tapestries, simple tools, and fading art. They shared a theme, depicting scenes of nature along with humanoid shapes who had distinctive long ears.

On the far wall was the centerpiece. Illuminated by two everglowing magic lights was a large portrait. A woman sat in a plush, golden chair, her hands folded in her lap. A simple silver dress made her cream-colored skin seem as pale as moonlight. Long silver hair fell down her back and spilled over her shoulders. She faced the artist with a serene smile, projecting a powerful gaze Aurelius could feel the weight of hundreds of years later.

He carefully padded over to it. A hand came up, his fingers hesitating just before touching the fragile painting. “Can’t you share some advice for your descendant? At this rate, the Silvari Clan will fall to ruin.”

Aurelius didn’t casually share his last name, a tradition he’d inherited. A precaution his forefathers needed to take as an alliance with their southern neighbors would not have gone over well with the old Harvest nobles still sore from the Great War.

The original patriarch of the Silvari Clan had met his would-be wife by pure coincidence. A young knight forced to retire from an injury that crippled his leg, he did good works for other unfortunate people, helping those injured in similar ways, leaving them unable to find work.

During his journeys, a woman stumbled into him. Her limbs were twisted grotesquely, her face horribly scarred, and her skinny body was covered in rags. A repulsive figure that made every other on the street steer away. The patriarch’s own men wanted to drive the woman off but, a man of endless compassion, the patriarch brought the woman home. He had the servants bathe her, feed her, and massage her painful limbs. When she was comfortable as she could be, he talked to her and found the woman was not at all what she seemed.

She was not a human, but an elf from the Twilight Province. A criminal cursed and sent away from her people. A talented mender who couldn’t heal her own body as her magic was consumed fighting off a poison that rotted her from the inside. She told the patriarch everything and then begged for death. Banished from her home, trapped in a broken body, surrounded by enemies, she had nothing to live for.

The patriarch refused. He nursed the woman every day, her body and her hope. During the day, he scoured the continent for every alchemical reagent he could get his hands on, spending enough gold to build a small city. At night, he took her into the city and educated her about the human kingdom, enjoying her company under the cover of darkness. It took years for the elf to create a cure for the poison in her body. Years more for her to heal. Only then, when she was free to go as she pleased, did the patriarch ask for her hand in marriage. Olma Silvari agreed, marrying the patriarch in secret.

From then on, the Errents, a family name Aurelius showed no respect for, had begun to produce mages of exceptional power with startling frequency. The sons were strong, their daughters beautiful. At the height of their power, they could rival the old houses, including both the James and the Rosefields. And perhaps, their ears were a little longer than normal, and came to a sharper point.