IT HIT ME LIKE A BRICK!

"Father was right, it smells horrible in here," One of them said.

The twins, identical in almost every way, stood side by side, their presence striking against the opulent backdrop of Ravan's room.

At thirteen years old, they were the very image of youthful aristocracy, their red hair—just like their father's—gleaming with a fiery intensity.

The rich hue of their hair fell in neat waves, framing their pale faces with an almost ethereal glow.

Their outfits were meticulously crafted, each detail a testament to their royal status. Both wore black designer ensembles that exuded sophistication.

One twin had a sleek, tailored shirt that accentuated his lean frame, while the other sported a long, elegant coat over his shirt, giving him an air of authority beyond his years.

Their expressions were mirrored, both sets of sharp, discerning eyes sweeping across the room with an unmistakable look of disdain.

The opulence and grandeur of Ravan's room seemed lost on them; instead, their faces betrayed a shared sense of disgust, as if the very air was distasteful.

Despite their young age, they carried themselves with a regal bearing, their every movement measured and precise, underscoring the weight of their lineage and the high expectations placed upon them.

"I would rather sleep with the horses," the other said mockingly but also carrying a tone of sarcasm.

Besides being the eldest, Rhett and Ryker still regarded Ravan with no respect in the slightest.

'Bastards,' Ravan thought as he just remained quiet not giving them attention.

'If I talk back they won't leave me alone, best to keep quiet.'

Seeing that their taunts had no effect on Ravan, one of them whipped his hand and conjured a water ball and chucked it at Ravan.

As the water made contact with Ravan's face, making him wet yet again, the twins left laughing histerically.

Ravan let out a sigh and continued with the task in hand.

...

Finally finishing up, Ravan looked in the mirror to make sure he was ready.

A boy with black hair, blue eyes stared back at him.

His eyes were just like his late mother and everytime he looks in the mirror, it reminded him of her.

"I'm glad I didn't have Loren dress me today; I'm tired of her seeing my body every morning," Ravan thought.

Loren did admire the young master's physique. Even though Ravan knew the young maid desired him, he couldn't care less.

'She's just not my type to be honest.'

With that thought Ravan had left and was heading to take his first meal of the day or rather snack.

Making his way to the kitchen where the maids were busy preparing various dishes, Ravan observed the bustling scene.

One maid was carefully chopping vegetables, another was stirring a pot of stew, and a third was baking pastries that filled the air with a delicious aroma.

The clatter of pots and the sizzle of cooking filled the room as they worked.

Ravan silently walked over to the counter, where a fresh loaf of bread had just been sliced.

Without saying a word, he grabbed a piece of bread, the maids glanced at him but continued with their tasks, accustomed to his quiet presence.

Ravan stepped out of the kitchen, munching on the bread as he went.

"Good morning, young master..."

"Good morning, young Zenith..."

"Hello, master Ravan..."

"..."

Despite the warm greetings from the present maids, Ravan's attention remained elsewhere, as if the words spoken to him were mere whispers in the wind.

Each cheerful hello and polite inquiry seemed to evaporate into the air, unnoticed by the young boy.

With a nonchalant air, he simply continued his solitary task, biting into the soft, light brown bread without acknowledging the attempts to engage him in conversation.

Feeling like he had been a bit harsh, Ravan let out a slight response.

"Mmh...I'm doing good."

To the maids, it was something and better than nothing. Ravan's habit of not talking to anyone was like a piercing arrow to the heart if one talked to him and received no response in return.

'I should go meet father, he must be waiting sick,' Ravan said to himself as he hurried to the Mansion's entrance.

As always, two guards were stationed at the entrance and his imposing father was at the centre waiting impatiently.

Ravan expected a scolding but his father just looked at him with eyes that seemed to be piercing his very soul.

Zahirr, the head of the House of Zenith, one of the prestigious families in the continent signaled the guards to open the gate.

'Oh, is the old man finally taking me to the market? I should probably purchase a few books on our way.'

Ravan walked through the open gate, as he stretched looking at the far distance he had a loud clank.

'Huh?'

He looked back to see the guards locking the gate as his father made way back into the mansion.

"Ravan, all your good for right now is rotting away in the fire Chambers, banging at metal and forging swords for atleast those who are Talented..."

"Someone will be coming to pick you, and after that I don't want to ever see your face around here," Zahirr said without even looking back at his own son.

His father's words echoed in his head and were still stuck on replay, Ravan dropped to the ground his eyes widening.

"Eh?...".