Mages Requiem

Charles' grip on his cane tightened slightly. So, it was true. Cecelia had abandoned this boy—this prodigy—to rot in obscurity while raising his weaker twin as the family's golden child. A flicker of rage simmered beneath the surface, but Charles kept his expression calm, calculating.

"And how..."

He asked slowly.

"Did you come by those homunculi?"

Liam's eyes darkened slightly, and a grim smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"They originally belonged to William Stryker."

He said.

"He and his Klan friends thought it was wise to wipe out the family that adopted me."

Charles said nothing, watching the boy carefully.

"They've been dealt with..."

Liam's voice was flat and final.

"For their insult to me."

Charles' lips curled into a thin smile. The boy's casual admission of murder was not only refreshing—it was reassuring. Ruthlessness, after all, was a necessary trait in the Bourbon family.

"Good."

Charles murmured approvingly.

The old man had lived long enough to know a dangerous prodigy when he saw one, and Liam was a veritable storm waiting to be harnessed—or quelled. If the boy bore any trace of the ruthlessness he'd just hinted at, the Bourbon family might have finally found the weapon it had needed for years. But weapons, Charles knew, needed careful handling.

His wife, Colette, still clung to the boy, mistaking him for Adrian Noah, their missing great-grandson.

"You've grown so tall, my dear."

She murmured warmly, brushing her hand along his shoulder as if trying to convince herself he was real.

"And you look just like—"

"Not Adrian."

Charles interrupted, his voice sharp enough to make Colette pull back.

"This one is the other twin Liam Noah, the son Cecelia threw away."

Colette blinked, her surprise momentarily breaking through her genteel demeanor.

"Cecelia's boy? He's the lost one?"

"Yes."

Charles said dryly, ignoring the subtle spike of tension in the room.

"And if I'm not mistaken, it seems our granddaughter made a terrible error in choosing which of her twins to keep. She threw away the son who's an A-Rank mage, while the twin she kept, the so-called future slayer of the resurrected Demon King, is barely a D-Rank mage."

Colette's lips tightened at the implication. Charles gave her a pointed look—this was not the time to indulge in misplaced sentimentality. If the boy had survived his parent's lunacy and shattered his wards as a mere greeting, then the Bourbon family had a rare gem on their hands. Whether that gem could be polished or shattered was yet to be seen.

"Come."

Charles gestured toward the boy with his cane, still keenly aware of the dull ache in his side.

"Let's talk in the study. I trust you're old enough to handle both business and tea?"

Liam gave a small, knowing smile.

"I suppose I'll manage."

Charles noted the boy's poise—too measured, too polished for someone who'd grown up with non-magicals.

'Guess those failure's of magic blood were teaching him proper noble etiquette.'

The thought unsettled him, but he masked it well.

As the trio walked toward the study, Charles's eyes drifted to the homunculi silently following behind Liam. They were eerily efficient, their expressions blank, but the slightest shift of their bodies suggested lethal precision. Even as soulless beings, they moved with purpose, like weapons ready to be drawn.

Charles felt a strange mixture of excitement and foreboding settle over him. If this boy was half as dangerous as he appeared, the Bourbon family's future might finally take a turn for the better.

"You've kept them well-maintained and loyal."

Charles remarked, his tone casual but probing.

"That's not easy. Most high-class homunculi turn on their master's if they sense weakness."

"I don't show weakness."

Liam said flatly.

"And they don't get the chance to betray me."

Colette threw a glance at her husband, but Charles gave the boy a thin, approving smile.

'Good. Ruthlessness is a start.'

Once inside the study, Charles lowered himself into his chair with a groan, the adrenaline now wearing thin as the familiar pains returned. Liam sat across from him, folding his tall frame into the chair with a grace that belied his size.

Lily reappeared with a tray of tea and delicate pastries, setting it on the low table between them. The other house fairies buzzed about, ensuring the room was in perfect order before vanishing into the walls.

Charles poured two cups of tea himself—an old habit from the war days.

"Sugar?"

He asked, though the question was more about gauging Liam's habits than politeness.

"One cube."

Liam replied without hesitation, his gaze never leaving the old man's. Charles dropped the sugar into the boy's cup with a soft clink, pleased with how easily the boy met his gaze.

As they sipped their tea, Charles leaned back and studied Liam more closely.

"You say Stryker and the Klan attacked the family that took you in. And you dealt with them?"

Liam's jaw tightened, though his expression remained composed. "

Yes. Thoroughly."

"And how many of them were there?"

"Enough..."

Liam said, setting his cup down with care.

"Enough to learn the consequences of crossing me."

Charles chuckled, though it was a dry, brittle sound.

"You'll fit in well here, boy."

Liam tilted his head slightly.

"I didn't come to fit in, Grandfather. I came to determine if this family is the kind worth being a part of, unlike the one who deemed me worth abandoning."

The words were sharp, but not emotional. They were a challenge—a test to see if the old man would flinch.

Charles smiled thinly.

"Abandonment is just another word for opportunity, boy. What matters is what you did with it."

Liam gave a slow, deliberate nod, his cold blue eyes gleaming with something that made Charles's heart quicken. Ambition.

"So."

Charles said, setting his tea aside.

"What do you intend to do now that you've found us, and your parents?"

Liam leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees.

"What's broken can be mended. But not everything deserves to be."

Charles's grin widened ever so slightly.

'Yes, he'll do nicely.'

"Then let's make sure you're fixing the right things."

Charles murmured, his voice low and conspiratorial.

"And breaking the ones that need it."

Liam smiled, though it didn't reach his eyes.

"I couldn't agree more."

And with that, the game between the Old Lion and the Young Cub began.

-------------

Annabelle Bourbon, the last true daughter of the most ancient and royal house of Bourbon, entered her grandfather's summer estate with a bemused smile playing on her lips. The grandeur of the manor greeted her like an old friend, with its sprawling gardens and towering oak trees casting long shadows across the cobbled path.

Though she was no stranger to luxury, this place carried a particular magic—a mixture of nostalgia and old-world power that made her chest tighten, despite herself.

Her grandmother's invitation had been unusually cryptic, hinting at a surprise. Annabelle's curiosity, tempered by years of aristocratic poise, kept her smile intact as she strolled inside, brushing a stray curl of her raven hair over her shoulder.

Even here, deep in the countryside, Annabelle was careful with appearances. If she was going to receive a surprise from her grandmother Colette, she intended to do it looking her best.

"What could Grandmother be scheming this time?"

She wondered, stepping into the grand hall, her blue eyes glinting with amusement. Colette Bourbon was known for her eccentric surprises, most of them designed to amuse herself while keeping the rest of the family on their toes.

There had been an uncharacteristic sparkle in her grandmother's eye when she extended the invitation in her video call—something that left Annabelle both intrigued and wary.

She allowed herself a soft chuckle.

'Whatever it is, I'll be ready for it.'

As she moved deeper into the house, her heels clicking softly against the marble floor, the warmth of the familiar surroundings began to settle in. The air was thick with the scent of aged wood, old books, and the faintest trace of jasmine—her grandmother's signature perfume.

But her pleasant reverie shattered like glass the moment a wave of raw magic surged through the estate.

Annabelle's laughter was cut short when a sudden pulse of magic surged through the manor. The pulse of energy was immense, spreading through the manor like a violent gust of wind. Her skin prickled, and an unsettling chill snaked down her spine.

Her instincts kicked in, and she reached for her wand without a second thought. It slid into her hand like an old companion, humming with readiness as she murmured a diagnostic spell under her breath. A thin trail of shimmering light drifted from her wand and danced in the air, giving her the answers she sought—though the information made her stomach twist.

Her stomach dropped. Annabelle cast a diagnostic spell, her wand tip glowing with pale blue light. The results hit her like a slap to the face—the old protective wards, some of which had been placed by her ancestors generations ago, were gone. The only protection left now was a fresh, unfamiliar ward.

"Lily!"

Annabelle hissed.

The head house fairy appeared in an instant, materializing in a puff of soft, silvery smoke. She gave a deep bow, her large, bright eyes gleaming with the magic that was now saturating the air.

"Yes, Lady Bourbon?"

The fairy asked, her small voice cheerful despite the tension crackling around them.

"What happened to the wards? And where is Lord Bourbon?"

Annabelle demanded, her voice sharp with urgency.

Lily clasped her tiny hands together, a dreamy almost intoxicated smile look crossing her face.

"Lord Master Bourbon is with the Young Master."

She murmured, her voice almost reverent.

"The one who took the wards down."

Annabelle's mind reeled. The young Master Bourbon? Her grandfather had no son—none that she knew of.

"Explain yourself, Lily."

She said coldly.

"Who exactly is this... Young Master?"

Annabelle demanded, her voice sharp.

Lily swayed, intoxicated by the lingering magic that pulsed through the walls.

"He wears the family ring."

She whispered.

"And the house fairies… obey him completely. They're in the basement right now, fixing what the young Master broke."

Annabelle dismissed the fairy with a flick of her hand, her mind racing. She needed to see this for herself. If someone had wormed their way into her family's legacy—if they thought they could waltz in and claim the Bourbon name with no consequence—then she would tear him apart with her bare hands.

Quietly, Annabelle crept toward the basement, where the runic workshop lay. The deeper she descended, the more oppressive the magic became. It clung to her skin like oil, cold and ancient, making her shiver with equal parts dread and… exhilaration. She hated how it called to her, stirring something deep within, like a long-forgotten memory she hadn't known she was missing.

At the base of the stairs, she could hear the low rumble of her grandfather's voice echoing through the stone chamber.

"Exactly correct."

Charles said, his voice booming.

"Not just four. Four sets of four. They're powerful magical numbers, boy, powerful numbers associated with completeness, for religious reasons."

"That's why the lines are aligned like that."

A younger voice replied, one that made Annabelle's heart skip a beat. It was so familiar—too familiar.

"I thought they were just decorative."

"Of course, they aren't just decorative!"

Charles barked.

"We are Bourbons, boy. Nothing we do is just for show. We create beauty and power as one—purpose and perfection. Form and function, entwined."

Annabelle rounded the final corner and stepped into the dimly lit basement. She froze in place, her gaze locking onto the young man standing beside her grandfather.

He was tall, with sharp features and cold blue eyes that glinted in the low light. His dark hair curled slightly at the edges, giving him an air of casual disarray.

But what made Annabelle's heart lurch in disbelief was the unmistakable resemblance to her grandfather's young portrait, he looked like he could have been Charles. He carried himself with the easy confidence of someone who knew exactly where he stood.

Her grandfather's voice boomed through the room again.

"Go on, then—place your hand on the runes. Let's see if you've learned anything."

Annabelle's heart pounded as the young man stepped forward, his hand hovering over a complex set of glowing runes. It was a Shredding Curse Ward—one of the most dangerous wards in the Bourbon family arsenal, designed to tear apart anyone who dared cross it without permission.

She opened her mouth to protest, but before she could speak, the young man pressed his hand against the runes.

Annabelle felt the air shift as his magic poured out, filling the room. It was unlike anything she'd ever felt—cold and raw, dark and ancient. The power coiled around her, suffocating yet thrilling, as if it had been drawn from the deepest wells of forgotten magic. It wasn't just power—it was control, and it spread through the runes like wildfire, bringing the ward to life with a hum of deadly energy.

Annabelle gasped, goosebumps rising along her arms. This wasn't the magic of an amateur or a fraud. It was the magic of someone who belonged.

The young man withdrew his hand, and the ward remained intact, glowing softly with latent power. He turned to Charles with a small, satisfied smile.

"There. That should hold."

Charles clapped him on the shoulder, clearly pleased.

"Well done, boy. Well done indeed."

He turned toward Annabelle, a grin spreading across his weathered face.

"And here she is—Annabelle, meet Liam Noah. Your cousin Cecilia's other twin son. The one she threw away like yesterday's rubbish."

Annabelle blinked, stunned into silence. Liam Noah…? Her breath caught in her throat. Cecilia's son? That couldn't be right. She said he died. But a why? A son with power like this?

The young man—her nephew—gave her a slight nod, his expression unreadable.

Liam gave her a small, polite smile, though there was something dangerous lurking behind his eyes.

"It's… a pleasure."

He said smoothly, with a tilt of his head, though there was a flicker of something cold in his eyes.

"I've heard so much about you."

Annabelle tightened her grip on her wand, still reeling from the realization. If what her grandfather said was true, this boy—no, man—was part of the family. A nephew she hadn't known existed.

She forced a tight smile.

"Likewise."

But inside, her thoughts swirled with a mix of suspicion, curiosity, and something she wasn't quite ready to name.