An elegant motorcar lacquered in deep navy rolled into the snow-covered estate, its narrow tires leaving crisp lines along the meticulously cleared path.
The garden lay bare with the onset of winter, its dormant hedges and frozen birdbaths wearing the snow like ornamentation, giving the place an austere kind of beauty.
The vehicle pulled to a stop before a sprawling marble fountain, its centerpiece locked in ice. Beyond it stood the Melvire manor, lofty and refined, its façade bathed in the pale light of a winter sun. A line of maids stood waiting in twin columns, each a cog in the unspoken machinery of welcome.
A butler, dressed in a finely pressed suit with not a crease out of place, stepped forward and opened the passenger door. Giving a polite nod of thanks, Sol emerged from the car, his boots meeting the ground with careful steps.
Immediately, the rows of maids offered deep bows from both sides, their synchrony as immaculate as their uniforms. Sol acknowledged them with a subtle inclination of his head, then adjusted the collar draped over his shoulder, smoothing the fabric into place with a quiet flick.
His gaze wandered ahead and fell on another car parked neatly off to the side, with a tower of luggage being unloaded from it. He figured that one of his brothers must have arrived before him.
Redirecting his focus, Sol made his way toward the entrance, along with an attendant trailing closely behind. The familiar air of the manor washed over him the minute he walked through the door, evoking a wave of nostalgia.
His polished shoes clinked loudly against the marble floor, his own reflection following him along the shiny surface, fractured only by the inlaid patterns of tiles. The corridor stretched long before him, lined with artistry that spoke of wealth meant to be witnessed and admired.
Passing by the sitting area near the massive staircase, Sol suddenly paused in his tracks when he spotted a familiar figure. His younger brother, Loren, was lounging on a velvet sofa with maids hovering around him. Silky blond hair fell over his face in careless waves, but the man was too engrossed in reading a magazine to even care.
"Glad to see you here, Loren," Sol greeted him. But as expected, he was ignored.
It could be said that Loren's moods swirled like winds over ice, seemingly directionless, yet cold enough to sting when least expected. Whether one could find warmth or frost depended on nothing in particular.
Sol easily shrugged it off and continued up the wide staircase, one hand gliding along the bannister. He'd only reached the midway point when a sudden shove jostled his shoulder.
"Uh–"
He let out a startled breath, his hand instinctively gripping the railing as he turned to look. The person standing two steps above was none other than the youngest Melvire, Inou–now fully grown but the haughtiness in his features had not dulled with time.
"Why were you standing there like a statue?" Inou drawled, eyes narrowing in contempt as he stared at the confused figure below.
Sol could only stare at him in disbelief, knowing better than to respond. Nothing he said would help his case, as Inou would twist his words around and use them to bite back. His little brother was an expert in that regard.
"Hm? Your mouth doesn't work?" Inou commented with a lackluster smirk. It was more of a jab than a genuine question…typical.
Sol drew a deep sigh. He wasn't in the mood to quarrel as soon as he reached home.
"You can go along your way now," he muttered, wanting the hot-headed brother to leave him alone and go his merry way.
But of course, things never went according to his wishes. In fact, it was always the opposite.
"Oh, I will," Inou replied with a hiss of disdain. "I don't need your permission to begin with."
He stood with rehearsed poise, hands clasped behind his back like a soldier posturing above a lesser rank, narrowing his gaze as it scanned Sol with something between contempt and interest. "Still, I have to wonder where you were heading. Clearly, this isn't the way to your room."
"I was on my way to meet Father."
The word struck harder than it should have as Inou knitted his brow. "Who are you calling 'Father'?" he asked with a calm menace, jaw clenching as if grinding down something foul.
Who else? was what Sol really wanted to say. But he held his tongue and swallowed the words down.
Inou's tirade wasn't over. "You do know that you and the servant behind you are no different, right?" he chided in a snarky manner, before adding, "In fact, I'd say he has more right to walk these halls than you ever will.
Sol just listened, with no clear emotion on his face. He understood better than anyone exactly where he stood in this house and didn't need a prickly guy to remind him daily.
Meanwhile, Inou continued to stare him down, not taking his gaze away for even a second. He watched him with a kind of twisted satisfaction, waiting to see a crack.
"What? Are you playing dumb again?" he said with mocking cheer, the corners of his mouth twitching upward.
Sol could only sigh deeply as he met the gaze firmly. "Can't you just act more like an adult and leave your childish tendencies in the past?" he pleaded.
There was silence in the heavy air, like an invisible wall wedged between the two.
"Just because we picked you up from the trash, you think you can talk down to me?" Inou commented, his voice strangely calm despite the darkened color of his grey eyes.
"It's because you al-"
He didn't get the chance to finish his sentence. Without any time to comprehend the situation, he watched as Inou descended the last few steps in a fraction of a second and shoving him square in the chest.
Sol's balance shattered in a blink, his body reeling backward. All he could do was flail his arms in the air, searching for something to grab onto as the staircase stretched below him like a descent into disaster.
No doubt, he expected the worst to follow. But instead, he hit something firm behind his back, stopping him from falling further.
The scent of icy woods reached him, making Sol stretch his neck to glance up. A pair of indifferent grey eyes stared down at him, almost bored. "Are you okay?"
It was Kaisen, the eldest of the siblings, looking immaculate as always.
His jet-black hair was swept back with a natural flow, his tailored suit pristine down to the last cufflink. One might call him the picture-perfect embodiment of the Melvire family.