An Eldritch Legacy: Sin & Sacrilege-Chapter 16: The Butler....

Adler stood at an impressive height of seven and a half feet, and to say he towered over the young count was an understatement. It almost seemed as if he stood within his own sky while the young Count was anchored to the earth.

Yet, despite his imposing stature, Adler's presence in the young count's presence was muted—like a shadow, silent and strong. Even when he spoke in his deep, authoritative voice, it carried an underlying humility befitting someone of his station.

He always wore a soft smile, and one could sense the unbridled worship that filled his eyes whenever he addressed his young lord.

Adler was a twenty-year-old man—or something else entirely. Whether he was truly Clayborn remained a mystery for the future.

His form was large and broad, built like an army general, with enough muscle to wrestle giants. Yet, despite his sheer presence, he never seemed to impose upon his surroundings so long as he stood beside the young count.

He possessed a devilish handsomeness that could make even the most seasoned nuns blush and question their vows. Among the most handsome men in Astrea, he stood at the upper end of the scale, yet a hint of danger set him apart into a category of his own.

And yet, he never outshone his young count. Whenever he stood before him, it was as though he deliberately dimmed his own brilliance to allow his master to shine ever more brightly.

Adler had impressive black hair, usually tied into a man bun, but today, the ordeal he had just finished left him no time for formality. It hung loosely against his caramel-brown skin, disappearing seamlessly into his black uniform.

His eyes, much like the rest of him, were striking—an impressive shade of white. Whenever he left his master's side, they shimmered with the splendor of crystal flames. But at the moment, they were muted into a dull shade, still no less captivating.

His eyes seemed to harbor countless secrets, yet his unwavering devotion to the young count was evident for all to see.

His jawline was sharp and well-defined. His black uniform was immaculate, and he wore black leather gloves, every motion exuding professionalism. His experience was undeniable to anyone who beheld him.

Many noble houses who had seen him had been impressed by his bearing. Some sought to enlist him into their service, believing his potential was wasted on the young and—by their estimation—unworthy Count Maesta.

His power was astonishing, and speculation ran rampant about the extent of his talents. Some daring houses even sent marriage proposals, hoping to integrate his lineage into their own.

But Adler was fiercely loyal. He spoke to no one other than his master, and even then, only with the young count's explicit approval. To him, the rest of the world was simply unworthy of his time and attention.

Though this earned him no small amount of resentment, it also deepened the mystery surrounding him.

Adler had been the one to come to the young count's rescue just before he fainted, slaughtering the beasts as if they were nothing more than paper in the wind.

Yet, not a single scratch marred him. The only sign of his relentless dance with death was the slightly disheveled fit of his uniform.

He saw the way his master's eyes glazed in subtle euphoria at the lingering scent of bloodlust in the air. He almost smiled—but held it back, lest his master accuse him of mockery.

"Lord Maesta," he called out. "I have prepared your meal. Shall we wait for first light?"

Adler awaited confirmation from the young count.

Still, he received no response. But the slight tilt of the young count's head was all he needed, and with a single swift motion, he disappeared.

The young count remained silent for quite some time, as if ensuring Adler had truly gone.

Then, and only then, did he scoff.

"Tsk."

"If you already knew what was to be done, why did you first come here? To show off in front of me?"

"It seems I have been too magnanimous towards your theatrics."

"But soon, I will wipe that smug smile off your face."

Krael continued to watch as the darkness, at some point, had gone still. Even the distant sounds of chains had ceased.

It grew fainter and fainter until only the stillness of her fading grace remained.

The darkness lamented in silence for the children it had lost this year. A sorrowful cry filled the air—one only Krael and a few others could hear.

It was heartbroken and yet helpless.

And it would have to leave until the next surge.

Krael felt a twinge of melancholy at the events unfolding now, knowing he would not be able to hide beneath her veil for some time. But he forced himself to push the thought aside.

The rain of blood had also seemingly disappeared, leaving behind only the final remnants of a gruesome year.

Before him stood a simple table, made of wood so black that it might have been invisible had it not been for the emerging orange glow flickering from all around and nowhere at once.

On this table rested a set of silverware, a pot, an exquisite cup, and freshly baked steaming bread— the color of night, with white powdered sugar coating it like thhe fabled stars in the night sky, ready to be paired with whatever Adler had prepared.

Just as he was about to ask, a chair was pulled out for him.

It was made of the same dark wood as the table, with velvet-white cushions that screamed of luxury.

Without a word, Krael sat. His seat was pushed forward, positioning him before his meal.

And seemingly out of nowhere, Adler reappeared. This time, he was even more composed—his long black hair neatly tied into a man bun, his all-black butler's uniform immaculate, and his tight-fitting leather gloves snug on his hands.

He stood to the left of the young count, ready to serve.

Without needing instruction, Adler gave a low bow and poured a bright red liquid into the cup. It hovered on the edge of what could almost be mistaken for Clayborn blood, bubbling with heat and faint swirls of amber.

Yet, its aroma told another tale.

It carried the freshness of budding flowers and the coolness of winter grass, yet the overwhelming heat laced within it overpowered all other scents—while simultaneously enhancing them. The only way Krael could describe it was as a temptation. A sweet allure laced with underlying danger.

And just as Adler served the young count his strange tea, the distant wails of the mourning and the burdened began to rise from the depths of the city.

"Ahhh... Nothing beats having tea while watching the emergence of first light, accompanied by the wails of the mourning and the burdened."

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"Nothing does, Lord Maesta," Adler replied, his voice as soothing as ever yet laced with a mysterious sharpness.

The young Count had changed again... His personas had awakened