An Eldritch Legacy: Sin & Sacrilege-Chapter 24: The Willow Garden...

Later that morning...

The count moved through the dark, unfeeling halls of his manor.

He glided past the walls like a silent ghost, his gaze measured, his stride perfect, his form prim and proper—exactly as one would expect from a young man groomed for nobility.

Everything that had transpired earlier that day now seemed nonexistent.

He wore a long cloak of midnight blue, accented with muted bronze highlights—an ensemble that was both grounded and commanding. The cloak, made of sturdy wool, was fastened with bronze clasps. Beneath it, he wore a leather vest over a simple linen shirt, the sleeves rolled up. Practical trousers and knee-high boots completed the look, designed for both riding and walking. A sash around his waist, adorned with small pouches, held essential travel items.

His hair, still as messy as it had been after his bath, did nothing to detract from his appearance. Instead, it lent a rugged charm to his cold, refined features. His pale lips complemented the dark gray undertones of his skin.

His path led him to a small, almost hidden garden behind the manor—an oasis of cold, refreshing elegance. Krael inhaled deeply, taking in the crisp, icy air that lingered throughout the space. The light of the Great Pillar had yet to warm the day, and he preferred it this way.

This single breath of cold air allowed his mind to settle, releasing the thoughts that had plagued him all morning.

Now, he had to plan.

But first, he had to eat.

He moved past an intricately designed fountain, sculpted into the image of a winged being holding a moon in her slender left palm, while her right hand rested against her chest, where her heart would be. Water cascaded from her head, mimicking flowing hair, creating the illusion of movement. It streamed down to her feet, which were positioned artistically to make her appear as if she were floating or standing atop the water's surface. The seamless integration of the water and sculpture gave the entire scene a divine, almost ethereal, quality.

Yet, Krael paid it no mind.

Instead, he spoke to the empty air.

"Have my meal served, Alder."

An apparition materialized a step behind him, as if it had been there all along.

Alder bowed. "At once, young master."

Then, he vanished once more.

Not once did Krael turn to acknowledge him.

His journey continued until he reached a short table made of white oak. It had a delicate, jade-like appearance, yet lacked any of jade's softness. Instead, it bore a rough beauty, solid and enduring.

The table was set for two, with chairs positioned opposite one another—also crafted from the same white oak. Their pale elegance contrasted starkly with the towering ebony willow tree that loomed above, casting rare shade over the space.

This tree did not match the serene aura of the garden.

It was ominous, dark, and unnatural.

Its bark, though white like marble, did not carry the regal quality of marble. Instead, it evoked the unsettling imagery of bone—simple yet unyielding. The grooves spiraling along its length gave it an eerie, mesmerizing beauty.

Most striking of all were its leaves.

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Black as the abyss, they carried no hint of color, save for the glowing veins of red-white that pulsed within them. This glow radiated like smoldering embers, as if the leaves were being seared from within.

As Krael approached, the tree swayed in almost sentient response—despite the absence of wind—emitting soft, chime-like sounds as its leaves drifted down in slow, measured spirals.

This tree, which he had named Eiser, had not always been here.

It was, in a way, his brother.

It had sprouted when his mother became pregnant with him and grew alongside him while he was still in her womb. His parents, as he had been told by Alder's predecessor, had never understood how it came to be. Yet, despite its strange origins, they could never bring themselves to remove it. It was beautiful, and the fact that it had grown alongside their unborn child had granted it a place within their home.

The day Krael was born, the tree had towered over the garden. As he grew, so did it—expanding with him, its presence an unshakable constant.

He had always felt a connection to this tree, and so, he had always preferred to take his meals beneath its weeping canopy.

When he had once asked that, being about it, he had received no answer.

He had not asked again.

Now, as if on cue, Alder returned—this time with a tray of food and a pot of more tea. A subtle herbal aroma, tinged with a hint of spice, filled the air.

This time was a different tea he had made, Krael quietly noticed, as his soul hungered for the food Adler made.

The young butler quietly set the table, his movements precise and practiced.

Krael observed him for a moment before sitting down, directing his attention to the meal before him.

Alder was not an ordinary butler.

He was a Pathwalker—a rare one at that. Though he appeared young in both body and soul, his talent was unparalleled.

He had awakened all his Dominions.

Most Pathwalkers only ever awakened a handful. Even the existence of the Veiled Dominions—the Dominion of Body, the Dominion of Blood, the Dominion of Paths, the Dominion of Weaponry, the Dominion of Nature & Name, and the Dominion of the Oath Keepers—was not widely understood. They were not as enigmatic as the Grand Dominions, but they were far from common and more subject to the unknown.

Yet, Alder possessed them all.

And more.

He had also awakened the three Grand Dominions—the most mysterious Dominion of Soul, the subtle and strange Dominion of Aether, and the even more vague and less straightforward Dominion of Talent.

Even Krael, with all his knowledge, did not fully comprehend Alder's depths. The ravings never spoke of his butler. Not even they dared to whisper his truths.

And so, Alder remained a mystery Krael could not help but be curious about.

No one outside of Krael knew of Alder's true abilities. Yet, even in ignorance, noble houses sought to claim him—to steal him away from under Krael's nose. If not for his talent, then for his prospective bloodline, which would likely promise a lineage of unfathomable power, if their guesses were to be truthful.

Many did not care about his current status. To them, sacrificing a little of their reputation in the hopes of securing such a potent breed was a gamble worth taking.

And that was just with mere speculation.

If the full truth ever came to light, even the Emperor himself would descend.

Alder remained impassive as he finished setting the table. His deep wheat-caramel complexion contrasted against his dark, neatly tied hair. He was as handsome as ever, though his presence was muted beneath his master's shadow.

At last, he spoke.

"Is it to your liking, Master?"

His voice was rich like earth and soothing like a gentle stream.

Krael answered measuredly, his gaze still assessing the young butler. "It is, Alder. You have outdone yourself."

The words were simple. Detached.

Yet, for a fleeting moment, Alder's usually unwavering composure faltered.

Praise from the young count was rare—so rare that even Alder, for all his strength, found himself momentarily shaken.

Was this shock?

Or was it happiness?

Even he was uncertain.