Two maids flanked him, carefully keeping their distance while still offering support should he need it. They spoke in hushed whispers to each other, clearly stunned by the young master's return and his changed condition. The blindfold, the blood-stained clothes, the strange child who claimed to be his daughter—it was scandal and mystery rolled into one.
"Young master," one finally ventured, "we've maintained your chambers exactly as you left them. Would you... would you like us to describe where everything is placed?"
"That won't be necessary," Lucian replied. His host's memories provided a perfect mental map of the room—the four-poster bed against the eastern wall, the writing desk beneath the window that overlooked the gardens, the bookshelf filled with tomes on druidic lore and imperial history. "I remember everything."
They arrived at his chambers, and the maids opened the heavy oak door, releasing another wave of familiar scents—the cedar chest where he kept his clothes, the ink he preferred for his studies, the faint trace of the herbal sachets his mother insisted on placing in every room to "cleanse the air." It was all exactly as it should be, frozen in time since his disappearance.
"The bath will be prepared shortly, young master," one of the maids said, her voice still tinged with awe. "Lady Seraphina has ordered a light meal to be brought up as well."
"Thank you," Lucian said, his tone dismissive. "Aurora will stay with me."
The maids exchanged glances but didn't argue. They curtsied and withdrew, closing the door behind them.
As soon as they were alone, Aurora dropped her childlike demeanor, wandering around the room with casual interest, running her fingers along the spines of books and examining the various trinkets and artifacts scattered across the shelves.
"So this is where little Lucian grew up," she mused. "Quite the privileged life, wasn't it?"
Lucian moved to the window, his fingers finding the latch from memory and pushing it open to let in the fresh forest air. "The Marcellus family is minor nobility at best," he replied. "But yes, a comfortable life."
"And now you've returned, the prodigal son," Aurora said with a hint of amusement. "Blind, bloodied, and with a demon child in tow. I'm sure that's exactly how they imagined your homecoming."
Lucian smiled thinly. "It serves our purpose. The more dramatic the return, the less they'll question the details."
"Speaking of details," Aurora said, her voice dropping lower, "those restraints around your neck and wrists... I haven't seen you remove them before and I can't feel any mana coming from them, but I can at least say the material they used in creating them is top notch. Are they cursed on you?"
Lucian turned his gaze to her, then ran his hands to his throat, fingers tracing the cold metal of the collar. "No," he agreed. "They weren't. Let's just say they are on me as a form of reminder." The reason why he still had these collars and cuffs around his neck, legs, and hands was because he wanted to understand the concept of true power—he wanted to keep them as a reminder on his form to survive.
"What do you plan to do now?" Aurora asked.
Lucian sat on the edge of the bed, feeling the familiar softness of the mattress, another memory that wasn't truly his. "For now, I'll focus on the immediate goal: my awakening. The rest will come in time."
A knock at the door interrupted their conversation. Aurora immediately shifted back into her childlike persona, skipping to Lucian's side as he called, "Enter."
Servants entered with a copper tub, followed by others carrying steaming buckets of water. They worked efficiently, setting everything up while carefully avoiding staring at their young master. Once the bath was prepared, they brought in trays of food—fresh bread, sliced fruits, and a light soup that filled the room with the aroma of herbs and chicken.
"Will there be anything else, young master?" the head servant asked.
"No," Lucian replied. "Thank you."
While he was thinking of certain things, Aurora suddenly said, "You know, you are quite appreciative."
He looked at her while thinking, 'She didn't kill me throughout the whole travel and hasn't killed me yet. Probably her interest in me has risen. I just have to use it to my own advantage.'
When they were gone, he turned to Aurora before saying, "I keep everything in your hands to help me." Aurora looked at him before nodding.
Aurora helped Lucian remove his blood-stained clothes, her movements practical and without sentimentality. Though in the form of a child, there was nothing childlike in her efficiency.
"Your mother will want answers," she observed as Lucian lowered himself into the bath. "What will you tell her?"
"A version of the truth," Lucian replied, letting the warm water soothe his tired body. "Captivity. Experimentation. A daring escape. All things that actually happened, just... rearranged to suit our narrative."
"And me? Your 'daughter'?"
Lucian considered this. "A fellow captive's child, orphaned during our escape. I took responsibility for her out of honor and compassion—a story that paints me as noble while explaining your presence."
Aurora laughed softly. "The noble young lord with a heart of gold. How very touching."
"It's a role they'll expect me to play," Lucian said. "The dutiful son, the protective father, the traumatized victim seeking to reclaim his life. Familiar tropes make people comfortable. They see what they expect to see."
"And beneath it all?" Aurora asked, genuinely curious.
Lucian was silent for a moment, considering the question. "Beneath it all is purpose," he finally said. "But I need to be able to control this family and everyone in it without pointing out the obvious key."
"And what do you have in mind?" Aurora asked.
He turned his gaze to her before saying, "I don't have a plan set out yet. I just need to use this whole ordeal as a way."
Aurora made a thinking sound before saying, "Why don't you go for seduction? I can tell you are not someone that concerns himself with morals or bothers himself with ideas as long as the door is open. If you want to control a woman without making it too obvious, it's through her heart. Your mother might be easy, but I don't see your sister being easy due to the resentment she had toward you. But no one is incapable of love, well, except you. I don't know what you said they did to you at the facility you were held in, but you are too broken to be capable of love or any positive emotions. So the best option will be seduction—you're going to have to seduce both Seraphina and Celeste, making them both your women. You can play it low; I will assist when needed. And when your aunt returns, we can go for her, and in no time, your family will be under your control."
He just kept his gaze on her. After a while, he asked, "You're suggesting seduction and immoral acts. Is it tied to your race as a demon succubus?"
She stared at him, then giggled. "I am honestly surprised you can tell what demon I am. Even that little centaur girl couldn't tell—all she could tell was me just being a demon. Nor could she tell what lineage of demon I was. And like you said, I am a succubus. I love immoral art and forbidden desires; it's my nature. You can't blame me, okay? So what do you think about the idea?"
He stayed quiet for a moment before saying, "Well, it's going to be nothing new. I've only got two months before I awaken, so I will have to make the best of it. One month for each of them, while my aunt will have to be after the awakening."
Aurora nodded. "Fair enough."
Another knock at the door signaled the return of the servants to remove the bath water. Lucian finished quickly, and Aurora helped him into the fresh clothes that had been laid out—simple but elegant attire befitting a young noble at home.
Before they could continue their earlier discussion, a more authoritative knock came at the door. Without waiting for a response, it swung open, and Lucian smelled his mother's distinctive perfume.
"I've given you time to rest," Seraphina said, her voice gentle but firm. "But now, my son, I need answers. Where have you been these past two years? What happened to your eyes, your hair? And this child..." Her voice softened with uncertainty. "You must understand my confusion."
Lucian turned toward his mother's voice, his expression carefully composed. "Of course, Mother. You deserve the truth."
And so he began the tale he had crafted—a blend of actual events and calculated fiction, designed to explain his absence without revealing his true nature. As he spoke, he felt his mother's emotions shift from confusion to horror to grief, and finally to a steely resolve.