Claude was seated in an armchair that exuded genteel comfort. Its soft cushions gently cradling his frame. He was currently within a guest room of the manor.
Its walls were lined with shelves filled with leather-bound books and fine porcelain trinkets, illuminated by the warm ambience of the flickering hearth.
Dark wood panelling framed the room, while heavy velvet curtains were draped over the tall windows.
Standing beside Claude was Evelyn. Who, unlike before, pressed her gaze against the fine rug that covered the polished floor. Maintaining an uneasy silence.
'So, this is the Sir Walter she mentioned?' Claude thought, observing the figure standing before him with quiet interest.
The man before him, Sir Walter, was a gentleman with an aged complexion—his silver hair combed back with precise neatness.
He wore a formal black suit, his waistcoat, a shade darker than his jacket, clung tightly to his narrow frame. A gold-rimmed monocle hung precariously from his left eye, accentuating the frown that seemed to eternally mar his gaze.
"Master Claude," Sir Walter said. His fingers adjusted the monocle, whilst his gaze remained intent upon Claude. "I have come bearing unfortunate news. Master Edmund passed away in recent days following an accident during his weekly horse-riding practice. Your father wishes for you to return to the manor."
Claude's thoughts stilled. The name Master Edmund echoed in his mind and triggered a flood of memories—fleeting scenes, faces, names, emotions—all rushing in with a sense of unreality.
He was momentarily lost in the maze of his recollections before realisation struck him like a cold gust. 'So... this Edmund is my older brother...'
He soon began to grasp at the knowledge hidden within the depths of his mind. Baron Talbot had three sons: Henry, Edmund, and Claude.
Henry and Claude were sired by the Baron's first wife, who died shortly after giving birth to Claude. Following her death, the Baron married his mistress, who had given birth to Edmund as his second wife.
Henry, the eldest, had died young, succumbing to a debilitating illness, leaving Edmund to inherit his place. Following this, Claude had been sent away to live in the remote home in the farthest reaches of the barony—kept at a distance so as not to disrupt Edmund's succession.
And, yet here Walter was. Bringing back the same boy they had thrown away all those years ago.
Claude could feel a rising sense of irony simmering within him. 'Oh, how the endless wheel of fate ceaselessly turns—such a pity that the original owner of this body did not live to witness it.'
"Master Claude," Walter continued, twirling his long, silvery moustache, "a guest should not be met with their host's silence. I thought you would know better."
Evelyn, who had been watching the exchange carefully, immediately spoke up. "Sir, Master Claude has just recovered from an illness. Let alone speaking to you, he should be resting—"
"Insolent!" Sir Walter snapped, his voice turning sharp. "How dare a mere maid speak back to her betters? Master Claude, you should discipline your servants. This behaviour is unbecoming of a servant in the Talbot household."
Hearing the exchange, Claude let out a faint sigh. As memories surged within him, the original Claude's behaviour became clearer to him.
Behaviour belonging to an unpredictable, moody young man who desperately sought to distance himself from a father whom he thought was responsible for the loss of his mother.
"Walter," he said, propping up his chin with a hand. "Cease your prattling. It is unbecoming of a servant to speak so freely in their master's presence."
Claude's words caused their air to briefly still, forcing the other two persons in the room to glance at him. One had a gaze filled with relief, whilst the other had flames threatening to spill out of their eyes.
For a moment, Sir Walter's face flushed crimson, his veins pulsing beneath his skin. His eyes narrowed, gleaming dangerously beneath his monocle, but he chose to say nothing, as though biting back the words that crawled up his tongue.
Claude turned his focus inward, away from the rising tension in the room. His mind churning. 'I have no interest in these petty family affairs. I've got far more important things to focus on.'
He raised his head slightly, catching Sir Walter's gaze. "Please return to my father and tell him that I have just recovered from an illness and will require several weeks of rest." His words offered no clear indication of whether he intended to return.
'…in a few weeks, I will either be dead from the limitations of this body, or I will have found a solution and left this place behind.' Claude's unspoken thoughts sounded from within his head.
Walter's lips twisted into a thin line, but he didn't argue. Instead, he spat, "Very well. But I've brought Sir Alfred along with me. He was instructed by your father to give you some basic Vitalis training. Surely, you would not want to decline your father's well-wishes."
Claude's mind paused at the unfamiliar word, Vitalis. A ripple of confusion passed through him—no memories accompanying it.
"So be it," Claude said. "Evelyn, let Sir Alfred settle into one of the spare rooms of the manor."
Evelyn hesitated, glancing between Claude and the incensed Sir Walter before sighing and nodding. With a reluctant movement, she turned to leave, but Claude's voice called her back.
"Oh, Evelyn," he said. "Would you also mind showing Sir Walter the way out?"
A smile, small and fleeting, tugged at Evelyn's lips as she heard his words. "Of course, Master Claude." She turned to Walter. "This way, Sir Walter."
As the pair exited, the room fell quiet again. Claude sank deeper into his chair, his thoughts clouded with the unfamiliar term Vitalis.
Why had this term never appeared in the host's memories?
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Sleep, eat, practice spells in secret, then sleep again. That had been Claude's monotonous routine for the past week. Still, despite his best efforts, his condition continued to worsen with each passing day.
Evelyn carefully lifted the spoon to Claude's lips, her hands trembling as she brought the broth to his parched mouth. He barely had the strength to respond, but he still managed to swallow.
The thin liquid warmed his throat, though it did little to soothe the ache that poisoned his body.
"I've sent so many letters, Master," she murmured, her voice quivering. "I don't know what else to do. The Baron hasn't responded to any of my messages, and I've been trying to reach a doctor in the town, but..." She trailed off, biting her lip, hesitating for a moment before shaking her head. "I know you're not well, and... and I can't just sit here and wait for nothing. I'll send another letter. I'll go to town myself if I have to."
Silence.
It was the only answer she received. Yet, the swallowing of food from Claude was enough to assure that perhaps it was not yet too late.
Meanwhile, Claude's gaze wandered to the ceiling as he processed her words. His thoughts, muddled with fever and exhaustion, stumbled over the inconsistencies he found in his memories.
From his understanding, Baron Talbot only had Claude as his last living heir. Perhaps there were some illegitimate children scattered about, but Claude deemed that unlikely.
His vague understanding of his stepmother from his memories indicated that should these bastards exist, they were probably forced to drink some poisoned wine.
So why would the Baron forgo sending help to his now-only child?
Unless…
He already had.
Cough!
A violent, hacking cough suddenly wracked his body, causing the bed to shake under the force of it. His hand trembled as he glanced at his palm, the scarlet streaks of blood staining his skin in vivid contrast to the pale, sickly colour of his fingertips. He clenched his fist. 'Dammit! This body may not hold up any longer...'
"Master Claude!" Evelyn's panicked voice cut through the haze of his thoughts, her hand already reaching for a handkerchief, dabbing it at the corner of his mouth to catch the blood that dripped from it.
Her expression was one of alarm. "Oh, what are we to do? We have no one else in the manor who can help us, and the main residence hasn't responded to the urgent letters I sent."
Evelyn had been the only one sent to tend to Claude after he was placed in the remote manor.
As his father's unfavoured son, no one else was considered worth the expense of travel. Sending a single servant to look after him was already a test of Baron Talbot's patience.
"Evelyn," Claude said, his voice hoarse. He took a slow breath. "What has Mr. Alfred been doing since he arrived here?"
"Mr. Alfred?" Evelyn paused, her brow furrowing as she considered. "Oh, yes... Mr. Alfred. He's mainly been staying in his room. Though he does take the occasional stroll through the town. But... Master, you need rest. Let him focus on his work. Perhaps—"
"Can you call him in here?" Claude cut her off, his tone firm despite the fatigue pulling at him.
"What?! Why? Master, you should rest; perhaps you could then recover—" Evelyn's words trailed off as she saw the resolve in his eyes.
She hesitated, biting her lip. Evelyn knew she could no longer deceive herself. Claude was likely beyond saving. But still, she nodded in reluctant agreement.
"Very well," she said softly. She gave him a final, lingering look before rising from her seat and leaving the room.
Minutes passed, though they felt like hours. Claude sat still, his mind adrift, mulling over the strange word Vitalis, which had been floating at the edges of his thoughts ever since Walter mentioned it.
But before he could continue his musings, a soft knock at the door interrupted his reverie.
Knock-knock!
"Come in," Claude replied, his voice soft yet steady.
The door creaked open, and in stepped a man with an almost aristocratic air. He was middle-aged, his face weathered, dirty blonde hair, though slightly unkempt, adorned his scalp.
His deep blue eyes observed Claude with a mix of curiosity and a touch of pity.
Alfred's attire consisted of a dark brown frock coat, fitted and structured with wide lapels. The coat's high-low tailcoat design and polished buttons gave it a dignified atmosphere.
A black top hat perched proudly atop his head completed the ensemble.
"Good afternoon, Master Claude," Alfred greeted him with a slight bow. "As I'm sure you know, my name is Alfred. I have been sent by Lord Talbot to tutor you."
Claude gave a weak wave of his hand. "Cough! Please. No need for all that formality," he said. "I heard you were supposed to teach me... regarding Vitalis?"
Alfred raised an eyebrow. "You truly don't know about Vitalis?" He asked a hint of surprise in his tone. "Ah, yes. I forgot about... your situation," he muttered more to himself than Claude.
"Well, then," Alfred said, his eyes staring at the frail figure on the bed. "I suppose a demonstration is in order. After all, actions speak louder than words."
With a mischievous wink, Alfred took a step back, his fingers snapping crisply. "Close your eyes for a moment, if you would."
A soft click rang out from his fingers, and in the instant that followed, a wave of golden light erupted in the room, engulfing everything in its brilliant glow.
Claude's eyes instinctively squeezed shut as the light washed over him. The radiance was warm, almost comforting, but its intensity made it impossible to bear for long.
After what seemed like an eternity, the light finally began to fade.
Slowly, Claude opened his eyes.
His breath caught in his throat.
Where once there had only been the two of them, now the room was teeming with golden constructs—some shaped like pigeons, others like deer, and still others like bears. Each construct glowed with the same brilliant golden energy, their forms translucent yet material.
Claude's eyes narrowed as he took in the surreal scene. The constructs moved with an effortless grace, swirling and gliding through the room like snowflakes caught in a gentle winter breeze.
His heart quickened. Vitalis—whatever it was—was clearly no simple force. This world before him seemed to hold possibilities far beyond his initial understanding.
Perhaps there was more to be gained in the world than he had initially thought.