Ancient parchment. Harsh furniture polish.
The afternoon sun filtered in through windows positioned too high for comfort, bathing the room in an unnatural haze of dust motes swirling through beams of pure golden light.
The boy lingered near the doorway. Beside him, Lia had seated herself confidently next to her father's desk, taking possession without waiting for explicit invitation. Her chin propped up on delicate white-knuckled fingers.
No invitation was offered. The study remained cold and aloof.
He had expected that much.
The lord of the household was seated at the vast desk, which towered over them. Gray crept steadily upwards within his black hair like winter holding fast against springtime thaw. An angular hook of nose threw long shadows across the ridge of his cheekbone. Between his legs rested the polished shaft of a wooden cane, its handle carved into ornate swirls that spiraled towards an apex of carved leaves and petals. Intense black eyes burned brightly despite constant weariness; whenever they alighted on anything, the weight of observation made his spine tense.
Those eyes slid sideways to rest on him. They saw everything.
Waganaki's fingers circled idly across the polished surface of an orb made of blackened crystal. The orb lay resting on the velvet cushion of a padded tray on the desk. It seemed to consume whatever light struck it rather than reflect; a nightmarish star suspended inside glass.
It hadn't attracted the boy's attention at first. Now, he found himself unable to look away.
"You have never had a mana test performed upon you," said Waganaki matter-of-factly.
"I am confused." The confusion in his voice was obvious.
"This sphere contains mana-receptive stones," explained Waganaki smoothly. "They detect any trace of mana and react according to its magnitude. Step forward. Place your hands upon it."
The command hung heavy in the silence.
"What will happen to me?"
"Absolutely nothing." The old man spoke dryly. "It merely tests."
Tentatively, the boy approached the desk. He raised his palms, pressing them gently against the orb.
Absolutely nothing happened. The black stone remained dark. Empty.
The sphere didn't flicker, glow, or even tremble in reaction to his hands' approach. Time slowed in the oppressive stillness of the room. Gazing down into the glass surface, the boy stared into distorted reflections that were unmistakably his own—and unchanged.
Then the room grew colder.
Fabric ceased its steady progress across Waganaki's desk. Lia's intense gaze flickered away from the book she was perusing to lock eyes with the dead sphere. Even her fingers paused, hanging frozen in mid-air.
Black eyes tightened in warning, narrowing in irritation.
"Do not move your hands," Waganaki commanded curtly. Devoid of pretense now.
The boy kept his palms pressed flat against the glass obediently. Still, there were no changes.
The old man wiped vigorously at the glass with a silk towel.
"And why would there be?" he murmured. "You have absolutely no mana."
He spoke as if to himself. There was no hope of understanding written on his pinched face.
"Some people," he continued quietly, "are born utterly without mana. Rarely ever occurs. Life itself rejects anyone who lacks mana; it simply cannot sustain life. Infants seldom live beyond infancy."
His lips parted slightly to reveal his teeth. The cloth in his hands stilled over the sphere.
"But you live."
The boy swallowed thickly. Numbness settled into his chest.
"What does that mean?"
"It means precisely what it sounds like."
He laid the towel aside, pressing his hands together sharply on top of his desk.
"My daughter chose to bring you here, despite reservations."
No apology was made for her actions; instead, Waganaki fixed her with a cold glare. She merely returned the stare, completely calm.
Reluctantly breaking their deadlock, the lord picked up a leather-bound file folder from a deeply-set drawer in the desk. The leather bindings showed wear and tear. Clearly, this was a compilation gathered over years, but Waganaki kept both palms flat over the cover's surface.
"I have prepared accordingly. Until you have healed completely from your injuries received upon the streets, you will live here. Once I am satisfied with your recovery, we shall discuss your future."
The future? Was there really such certainty?
"And what shall happen once I recover fully?"
"You will become neither servant nor guest—but perhaps something like that in between."
His eyes narrowed fractionally as he fixed his gaze on the boy.
"A trial period."
"As such, you shall receive accommodations, nourishment, and education. As compensation, you must behave respectfully while in this house and satisfy my requirements."
"Such as?"
His answer came before Waganaki had spoken aloud.
Doors scraped loudly as they opened inward.
Beside him, Lia's head tilted ever-so-slightly. The flash of shock vanished instantly, leaving behind calm detachment.
A large figure strode into the room. Easily towering above any servants they had encountered thus far, the newcomer wore plain black clothing tailored to accommodate the bulk of powerful shoulders. Yellow hair cropped neatly fell to frame his face, catching sunlight streaming through the high windows to glint off the metal of a sword-hilt at his hip. Piercing black eyes regarded him intensely.
"The education will be provided personally by this man." Waganaki did not give a choice. "Ryota."
The swordsman bowed his head fractionally. Unblinking eyes never left his face.
"At dawn every day."
"For what purpose?"
"To evaluate you properly. To discover whether you truly deserve to be associated with my daughter or not."
Again, the elder held up a silencing hand and picked up his quill, dipping it briefly into ink.
"Our discussion ends here." He stabbed the feather irritably. "Escort him to his rooms. Ensure he receives sustenance and preparation."
With a single sharp motion of his hand, Waganaki dismissed the two young people. Only then did the swordmaster turn his eyes away and incline his head towards the boy. Without waiting for any response, Lia gave the barest nod to indicate permission.
Turning swiftly on his heels, the swordsman stalked out of the doorway without further hesitation.
"Follow me," he growled roughly.
Without further ado, the boy obeyed.