Mr. Yeller came from the back with two black tailcoats floating behind him. Its color is black but peering closer, one could see intricate ebony hems on its surface. Its needlework is precise, a byproduct of a true tailoring artisan. The tailcoats floated towards Maxwell and Deidrick and laid down on their bodies. First was the Braie that covered their privates, then the undercoats and socks. The equally dark pants followed then the tailcoat itself. A pair of Irises blossomed from the front pocket, fresh pickings from the garden out back. Finally, a pair of shoes of black leather. Something about them makes Maxwell think that the leather came from a creature unknown to him. Its texture was like that of tanned cowhide, but like their tailcoats, looking closer made him see an ultra-fine snake-skin-like pattern on the surface. Looking in the mirror, they look like bespoke gentlemen awaiting dinner at the finest restaurants. In a way, Maxwell looks like a younger version of his father - minus the stern yet tired grey eyes.
---
The following days passed by in an instant. And before he knew it, Maxwell's 8th birthday had come at last. By morning, every staff member of the manor is busy making preparations. Dozens of pigs and cows are slaughtered and are now roasting ever so gently by a blazing pit. He may be the celebrant, but Maxwell did his best to help the staff. He gave the chef some recipes beforehand. He hoped that they could get it right.
By midday, a lone carriage with the Vanderbilt insignia stopped in front of the house. A tall young man with overflowing golden hair came out of the carriage. He has this sword sheathed in a scabbard by his left, and a small tome hanging by a chain on his right. He is a spellsword judging by his armaments, if not, for the blood-red upon white attire that they have. Maxwell recognized him as his eldest brother, Matthias Vanderbilt. This would be his first time meeting another relative other than his father. He only recognized him because his portrait hangs beside Maxwell in the family tree.
The doors opened and Matthias threw himself for a hug. "Dear oh dear, how you've grown little Max. You could barely walk last time I saw you."
Whoa. Matthias may not look like it, but Maxwell felt overwhelming strength underneath those frail crimson attire. "Please, let me down."
Matthias laughed. "Little brother is old enough to play games, eh? Worry not, I'll ignore your wishes and we'll play during our stay. By the way, do you know where Midden is?" Midden is a distant relative who handles the manor's forge. He is a blacksmith who cuts hair for the family. Maxwell pointed out back where Midden is helping in setting up the decorations. "Thanks. This hair of mine is in dire need of a cut."
Following Matthias was another brother, still older than Maxwell. Deidrick talked about him once over a shared dinner. Mizik Vanderbilt is a promising scholar from Desti Academy, a prestigious university in the North. He is currently on a scholarly expedition on a mysterious ruin in the east while also undergoing Combat Mage training. Combat Mages are like spellswords, but with more emphasis on the spells rather than the swords.
Mizik Vanderbilt came inside the manor while reading a thick tome at hand. His thick dark robes fluttered in the air. When he passed by Maxwell, he raised one of his dark brows and said his greetings before going his way.
Finally, Alexander came with a letter at hand. There is a wolf emblazoned on its sealing wax. It seems that Lady Benefett and Moriah Vanderbilt, Maxwell's mother and younger sister, won’t be able to attend the celebration. Demacles, the region where they are staying for a change of scenery, is besieged by civil war. Worry not for they are safe. Lord Blackwatch of the Pentecostal Knights has taken them under his care. They are well provided and guarded by the most elite mages and knights in the region.
Other guests would soon come after. They are ushered to the grand hall where they are given time to acquaint themselves with each other. Maxwell stands by the door where he greeted every passing guest. It isn't a part of his job he did it anyway, much to the delight of the guest. But while doing so, Alexander called to Maxwell. Marquess Deidrick is summoning him.
---
"Hmmm…" Deidrick stroked his beard. The mountain ranges are now invisible against the backdrop of the night sky, and yet, he still looked at them as if they were still there.
Beside Maxwell, Mizik is listening to their older brother who has now cut his golden locks short. The hair at the sides is cut even shorter, revealing its darker tone. "I've received a report from the capital that a group of assassins was hired to conduct their businesses in this region. We have no exact knowledge of who they are and what their capabilities are. But just this morning before we got here, we found their abandoned camp just by Ulmar woods."
"That's near," Maxwell said. That is where he and Gilliard conduct some of their magic practices.
"Spot on, brother." Matthias finger-gunned Maxwell followed by a click of his tongue, "At the least, there are three of them. Two women and a large male beastkin. The species we suspect is a wolf or a mixed-race. We've already alerted the guards of their presence."
Mizik butted in, "I've placed wards around the manor grounds to act as a firewall against uninvited guests. But it seems one of them is well-versed in breaking barriers."
"I apologize for this dear brother, but I suggest that we postpone the celebrations."
Deidrick placed down his glass of liquor, "No. It is a great disrespect to our established guests to delay the celebrations when they are already here. And if we delay the celebration, they can and will attack again at a later date. If we are to apprehend these low-life scums, we are to do this now."
"As you say father," Matthias said.
"And besides, we have a shield against this danger. Maxwell, show them your status window."
When the two saw the status screen, the ever-standing proud Matthias nearly fell over. For the first time since coming here, Mizik has averted his gaze and the eyes behind those glasses stared as wide as saucepans.
---
The celebrations went as usual, if not for the three mysterious figures waiting at the glass ceiling above. Gilliard taught Maxwell an advanced wind spell that allows him to detect living beings. Mixed with the heat vision he learned from the books, he could see the enemies waiting above them. Maxwell kept the charade of having normal celebrations. He mingled with the guests, especially those who are of the same age as him. Of course, the kids of lower rank acted humble in his presence. Then some barely hid the boastfulness in their voice. Like Lucian, the fifth son of the Margrave of Cervantes. He acted all high and mighty, calling the celebration lame. He boasted that he can provide a more entertaining event with more decadent foods. That was until he took a bite of a sloppy joe sandwich, one of the recipes Maxwell taught the chef. Oh, the look on his face. He was a mess after the first bite. Maxwell even saw him fight another noble's kid for the last piece of sandwich, even though more are coming from the kitchen.
"So, how was the food?" Maxwell asked, a thinly-veiled smirk on his face.
The brown-haired pudgy brat looked at Maxwell, confused as to whether he'll agree that the food is delicious, thus hurting his pride, or make an obvious lie to hurt his honor. He took the final bite of the sloppy joe before retreating back to his father's grace.
Maxwell is baffled as to why the brat thinks he has the right to be that boastful. A marquess and a margrave may have different names but they essentially are of the same rank. If anything, Maxwell has the higher ground since he is the third son while Lucian is the fifth. His older brothers will get a piece of the pie, and he'll only have the crumbles when the plate gets to him.
Finally, the lights of the room dimmed. Maxwell was summoned to the stage with his father.
"A toast!" Marquess Deidrick raised his goblet. "For the blessing my son received in the Marking Ceremony."
Maxwell walked near the edge of the stage and summoned a head-sized orb of flame from the palm of his hand. The audience stood, bewildered and amazed. Their eyes shone like starlight as they stared at the strongest source of light. One by one, applause filled the room. Never had the nobles of the room seen such intense magic for a kid who just received his blessings. Most kids his age could only produce a single tiny spark. And doing that causes them to feel weak afterward. But Maxwell is holding the orb of flame for more than ten seconds now, and the orb of flame is only ever getting stronger.
Lucian who was only able to make a small gust of wind that moved a single page of a book scoffed it off as some charlatan trick. There must be someone in the room helping him make that flame.
Maxwell smothered the flames with another hand, which earned another round of applause.
"A toast, for my son's 8th birthday. A toast to his good health!"
The guests raised their goblets and cheered. All of them drank their wines and relished in its deep decadent taste. Maxwell sighed. He wished that he'd get older already to drink wine. He tried to take a sip just a few minutes before but that damn Matthias snatched it away. "You may have the power to rival this country but I doubt that you can handle alcohol yet, little brother. Have some juice instead."
When the cheers died down, so did the lights. All the magic crystal lights popped one by one, turning their shards into pure energy. A blanket of darkness dawned over the room. Those who are blessed by Pytherious chanted their hymns then held their hands in the air, filling the room with pillars of flame.
Amongst the crowd, three cloaked figures rose upon their landing. Silence filled the room, dreading for these uninvited guests. The beastkin snarled, low growls announcing his beastly presence. The winged woman in front lowered his hood. The woman is lust personified. She has this lavender-colored hair and shade darker skin. She looks like she's a burning seductress in this sea of flame. She was beautiful, yes. Except for a deep scar that runs diagonally across her face with one eye grey and blind.
"You will pay for your sins, Vanderbilt." The unhooded woman unsheathed her dagger and launched herself high in the air, her blade aimed at Deidrick. The other two launched themselves, as well. Each aiming for a different sibling, all except for Maxwell.