Marcus remained perfectly still beside the glass-topped table, allowing the weight of his previous words to settle into the silence of the office.
His eyes grew distant, mentally sifting through dusty archives and ancient kingdom chronicles he had studied over the years.
When he finally spoke, his voice carried the quiet reverence of a historian.
"According to the records that are still available to the public, the Ravenshade family has existed in Eryndor for approximately forty generations."
Roland looked up from behind his desk.
"Forty?"
Marcus nodded.
"Yes, sir."
"Based on the surviving genealogical records, historians estimate that the current generation walking our streets today is the fortieth."
He paused, allowing the magnitude of the statement to settle.
"Considering the span of time from around the year 700 to our present day in the early 1500s, the average length of each generation is roughly twenty years."
"A continuous, unbroken bloodline for nearly eight centuries."
Roland folded his arms across his chest, the leather of his uniform creaking softly.
"So this family has maintained its bloodline for almost eight hundred years..."
"And it is still continuing," Marcus replied.
"The current generation has not reached its end yet."
He slowly turned toward the window.
"Very few noble houses can trace their lineage with such consistency."
"Even fewer have managed to preserve both their noble title and political influence throughout so many centuries."
Roland let out a low whistle.
"Eight centuries..."
He slowly shook his head.
"Whether the stories surrounding them are true or not... a family surviving forty generations without losing its place in history is impressive enough."
Marcus raised a single finger.
"Although..."
"There is another family whose recorded lineage is even older."
Roland's curiosity returned.
"Older than the Ravenshades?"
"House Silverwindcrest."
"Their surviving records suggest that their bloodline has endured for nearly one thousand years."
Roland's eyebrows rose.
"A thousand years?"
"That is correct, sir."
Marcus walked toward one of the tall oak bookshelves lining the office wall, clasping his hands behind his back.
"Unlike the Ravenshades, whose early history is riddled with missing manuscripts and unanswered questions, House Silverwindcrest has preserved a far more complete genealogy."
"They have served the Crown faithfully for centuries, passing their title from one generation to the next with remarkable consistency."
He paused.
"If the Ravenshades are feared and respected for their enduring strength..."
"...then the Silverwindcrests are admired for their unparalleled longevity."
Roland leaned back in his chair, thoughtfully tracing a finger across the polished armrest.
"So one family has nearly eight centuries of recorded history..."
"And the other almost a thousand."
Marcus inclined his head.
"They are among the oldest noble houses in all of Eryndor."
"Their names have appeared in the kingdom's chronicles for generations beyond counting."
"Empires have risen."
"Kings have died."
"Wars have reshaped the borders."
"Yet through the relentless passage of time..."
"...those two names have endured."
The office fell silent.
Only the steady ticking of the clock echoed through the room.
---
Marcus remained standing near the window, gazing out over the bustling streets of Grimsford.
"It is accepted as fact that the Ravenshades are natives of Eryndor."
"Yet there is one strange detail that royal historians have never been able to explain."
Roland leaned forward.
"What is it?"
Marcus slowly turned toward him.
"In all of Eryndor, naturally red hair is almost nonexistent."
He paused.
"Except among the Ravenshades."
"Their crimson hair has appeared in every recorded generation."
"It is a trait unique to their bloodline."
Roland frowned.
"And no one knows why?"
Marcus shook his head.
"No one."
"There are countless theories."
"Some claim it is the blessing of an ancient god."
"Others call it a curse."
"But none have ever been proven."
He walked back toward the center of the office.
"To understand this, you must first understand an ancient title."
"The LaMen."
Roland repeated the unfamiliar name.
"The LaMen?"
Marcus nodded.
"It was a title given to people born with naturally red hair."
"Since the Ravenshades possess crimson hair, they are recognized as LaMen."
He raised a finger.
"But remember this."
"A Ravenshade can always be called a LaMen."
"But a LaMen cannot simply be called a Ravenshade."
"The LaMen were once a broader people."
"The Ravenshades eventually became their most powerful surviving bloodline."
Roland silently committed the explanation to memory.
---
Marcus's voice gradually grew heavier.
"If we trace House Ravenshade's history back to its earliest surviving records..."
"It begins with a man named Aldric Ravenshade."
Roland asked,
"A politician?"
Marcus immediately corrected him.
"A warrior."
"A man remembered not for speeches..."
"...but for the weight of his sword."
"He fought during the Ashen Crusade."
The office seemed to grow colder.
Even Roland, despite being a foreigner, had heard fragments of that infamous war.
Marcus continued.
"The Ashen Crusade was fought between the people of Eryndor and the Western kingdoms."
"It lasted for years."
"Entire towns burned."
"Fields became wastelands."
"Thousands died."
He drew a slow breath.
"In the end..."
"Eryndor emerged victorious."
"The Western armies were driven from the kingdom and forced to abandon their occupation."
Roland nodded silently.
Marcus lowered his voice.
"But victory was not guaranteed."
"At the height of the war..."
"House Silverwindcrest had nearly collapsed."
"Many of their greatest heirs had already been killed."
"The few who remained lacked both the military strength and political authority to unite the kingdom."
"The people lost hope."
"So did many noble houses."
"They surrendered."
"They abandoned the battlefield."
Marcus looked directly into Roland's eyes.
"But the LaMen did not."
"When hope disappeared..."
"They took up their weapons."
"They stood where others had fallen."
"They continued fighting."
"Not for titles."
"Not for wealth."
"But because someone had to."
His voice became almost solemn.
"And through unimaginable sacrifice..."
"...they helped lead Eryndor to victory."
The silence that followed felt almost sacred.
---
After several moments, Marcus finally spoke again.
"Following the war, the Crown rewarded those who remained."
"The strategic western ports, once controlled by the invaders, were granted to House Ravenshade."
"They have remained under Ravenshade stewardship ever since."
He looked toward the portraits of Grimsford's former officers.
"But the reward came at an unbearable price."
"Aldric Ravenshade lost many of his brothers."
"He lost his closest companions."
"Countless Ravenshades fell."
"So did thousands of other LaMen."
Roland slowly leaned back into his chair.
The pieces finally fit together.
The wealth.
The influence.
The unwavering control over the ports.
"So..."
"The ports were never merely a reward."
Marcus nodded once.
"No, sir."
"They became a memorial."
"A reminder of the crimson blood spilled to reclaim them."
He returned his gaze to the city beyond the window.
"And perhaps..."
"...that is exactly why the Ravenshades have protected those ports so fiercely for the last eight hundred years."
The late afternoon sun had fully retreated behind the stone spires of Grimsford, leaving the police captain's office bathed in the amber glow of gas lamps.
Marcus Hale remained by the window, a living encyclopedia of Eryndor's darkest and brightest days. Captain Roland Voss sat perfectly still, completely captivated by the sweeping history of the city he had sworn to protect.
"Aldric Ravenshade did not fall in the Ashen Crusade," Marcus continued, his voice steady. "He survived the mud, the blood, and the ash. Recognizing that his bloodline—the LaMen—had been decimated to the brink of extinction, he dedicated the rest of his life to securing their future."
Marcus turned away from the window. "He took three wives. Through them, he fathered eight children. He ruled his lands, guarded the ports, and eventually died peacefully in his sleep at the remarkable age of ninety-two. A warlord who finally found his rest."
Roland slowly exhaled. "A hard life. But a successful one."
"Indeed," Marcus agreed. "But his death marked the beginning of a grim era for the kingdom."
"Between the years 800 and 900," Marcus said, his tone growing distinctly colder, "Eryndor plunged into what historians call the Century of Shadows. It was the absolute peak of criminal decay."
Roland, a man who had dedicated his life to law enforcement, leaned forward. "What caused it?"
"A lack of structure," Marcus explained. "Following the wars, the kingdom had expanded, but its institutions had not. There were no grand educational facilities. Knowledge was hoarded by private tutors and greedy aristocrats. The common people were left in the dark."
He began to pace slowly across the rug. "Worse still, the laws were incredibly weak. Enforcement was scattered. Because of this, the streets belonged to the ruthless. Robbery, murder, kidnapping, and unspeakable assaults became daily occurrences. The local guards were either too terrified to intervene or too corrupt to care. Eryndor was rotting from the inside out."
"And the Ravenshades?" Roland asked. "Did they do nothing?"
"For a time, they protected their own territories and the ports. They were warriors, not lawmakers," Marcus replied. "Until the seventh generation."
Marcus stopped pacing and looked directly at the captain. "Everything changed with Sigurd Ravenshade."
"Another warrior?"
"No," Marcus shook his head. "Sigurd was different. He was the seventh generation descendant of Aldric, but he had no love for the battlefield. He was a scholar. In fact, he is universally recognized as the most highly educated person to have ever existed among the LaMen."
Marcus's eyes gleamed with a deep, historical respect. "Sigurd looked at the rotting, crime-infested streets of Eryndor and realized that swords could not cut away the ignorance poisoning the kingdom. Society needed a foundation. It needed light."
In the year 919, Sigurd Ravenshade opened the legendary, bottomless vaults of his family. He did not build fortresses or raise armies. Instead, he poured his staggering wealth into the minds of the people."
Roland listened, entirely absorbed.
"He constructed public educational institutes across every single district in Eryndor. And right here, in the capital city, he built his masterpiece."
Marcus gestured out the window, vaguely pointing toward the center of the city.
"The Grimsford Academy."
Even as a foreigner, Roland recognized the name. The Academy was world-renowned, a sprawling campus of magnificent architecture that dwarfed even the royal palace in sheer size.
"It wasn't just a school," Marcus emphasized. "It was a monument to human potential. The Grimsford Academy gathered every subject ever conceived on the planet into one place. Practical trades, physical sports, heavy academics, martial arts—everything."
Marcus paused, clarifying a crucial detail. "It also became the premier institute for Spirit Arts. Many commoners mistakenly call it 'magic,' but as you know, it is the precise, disciplined manipulation of internal and external energy. Sigurd brought the greatest masters from across the continents to teach it."
"And the cost of tuition?" Roland asked, knowing how expensive elite academies could be.
"Nothing," Marcus smiled faintly. "Absolutely free. Not just for the citizens of Eryndor, but for anyone, from any corner of the world, who possessed the will to learn. Sigurd covered it all."
"He built hospitals as well," Marcus added. "Massive wards of healing where the poor could be treated without spending a single copper coin."
Roland shook his head in awe. "A single family funded all of that? The logistics alone..."
"He did not do it entirely alone," Marcus corrected. "Sigurd had a vital ally. The King of Eryndor himself: Sievert Folkmar Ragmund Silverwindcrest."
Roland's eyebrows shot up. "The two ancient houses worked together."
"Exactly. King Sievert recognized Sigurd's genius. He matched the Ravenshade funds with the royal treasury and provided the absolute authority of the Crown to ensure the Academy and the hospitals were built without political interference."
Marcus walked slowly back to the glass-topped table, placing his hands firmly upon it. His calm demeanor shifted, replaced by the grim severity of a hardened officer.
"But education and medicine were only half the cure," Marcus said, his voice dropping low. "To save the kingdom, Sigurd and King Sievert knew they had to eradicate the disease of crime. So, together, they authored a new legal code. They called it The People's Law."
Roland felt a chill run down his spine. The way Marcus said it carried a heavy, bloody weight.
"It was the strongest, most uncompromising, and most brutal legal doctrine ever written," Marcus stated.
"How brutal?" Roland asked quietly.
"Under The People's Law, the concept of a 'light sentence' was abolished," Marcus explained, his eyes locking onto Roland's. "For crimes like robbery, grand theft, or kidnapping... the punishment was immediate, inescapable lifetime imprisonment. No parole. No royal pardons. You died in the dark."
Roland swallowed hard. By modern standards, it was extraordinarily harsh.
"But for the unforgivable crimes," Marcus continued, his voice devoid of any mercy. "Murder and rape. The punishment was designed not just to kill the guilty, but to permanently terrify anyone who might consider following in their footsteps."
Marcus recounted the historical texts he had memorized years ago.
"The guilty were not granted a swift execution. They were dragged into the public squares. There, the executioners applied concentrated acids, course salts, and crushed chillies to open wounds. They were subjected to controlled burns with fire, ensuring the agony lasted for hours in front of massive crowds. Only when the crowd had thoroughly witnessed the absolute price of taking a life or violating another... were the guilty finally hung by the neck until dead."
A heavy, suffocating silence filled the captain's office.
Roland stared at his lieutenant, the horrific imagery painting itself vividly in his mind. "My god," the captain whispered. "That is... barbaric."
"It was," Marcus agreed without hesitation. "But you must understand the era, Captain. Eryndor was drowning in blood. The criminals feared nothing."
Marcus stood perfectly straight, looking at the portraits of the old officers on the wall.
"After The People's Law was established... the crime rate didn't just lower. It plummeted into the abyss. The streets of Grimsford, once rivers of violence, became the safest in the known world. Sigurd Ravenshade and King Sievert Silverwindcrest used absolute terror to purchase absolute peace."
Roland leaned back into his chair, running a hand over his face. He thought of young Kael Ravenshade again—the calm, polite, aristocratic boy with the crimson hair.
Behind those polite eyes lay the bloodline of Aldric the Warlord, and Sigurd the Iron Scholar. A family that built the very foundation of the kingdom with boundless generosity in one hand, and unimaginable brutality in the other.
In the years that followed, the bond between House Ravenshade and House Silverwindcrest deepened, growing into a friendship built upon unwavering trust and mutual respect.