My Family in the Novel?

Hidden behind the snowy mountainous path of stony peaks, a valley blanketed in pristine snow unfolded beneath the celestial canopy.

At the valley's heart stood a towering white tree, its crystal-like leaves catching the passing sunlight and sparkling in an ethereal dance.

Beneath the colossal tree, a city emerged, its fortifications crafted from pure ice, with trees reminiscent of the celestial white tree but possessing a distinct charm of their own.

In the heart of this frozen wonderland lay a castle, a solitary figure standing at its pinnacle.

A lone bot stood at the castle's summit, gazing upon the city sprawled beneath him—a city he would one day rule.

"Rolo…" he spoke, and a small crow alighted on his outstretched hand. Clutched in the bird's feet was a letter, a missive that bore news or perhaps a burden.

The boy's brow furrowed as he examined the contents of the small letter. An exhale of a heavy sigh escaped him, and with a resigned gesture, he released the crow into the crisp mountain air.

"You may rest now…," he uttered, and the crow dissipated into thin air, returning to its ethereal form.

The boy rose slowly, unfolding the letter with a certain anticipation.

However, upon absorbing its contents, his expression shifted. The crumpling sound echoed as he crushed the parchment in his grasp.

"Sova," he called out, summoning a man who promptly appeared by his side, genuflecting before him and awaiting his command.

The atmosphere around the boy had changed, a storm brewing in his eyes as he contemplated the implications of the letter's message.

"Man the gates and prepare the army," the boy commanded, his tone cutting through the frosty air of the snowy citadel.

Sova, a loyal figure by the boy's side, regarded him with a nod, acknowledging the weight carried in the young ruler's words.

"As you wish, your majesty," he replied, understanding that such orders were not given lightly. There was a solemn gravity to the situation—one that demanded immediate action.

The boy, despite his outward appearance of youth, bore a maturity that exceeded his physical years.

The age etched upon his face was not a reflection of the calendar but a testament to the burdens he carried.

Dark circles beneath his eyes spoke of countless sleepless nights, and the deep-rooted darkness within hinted at a soul worn by the weight of responsibilities.

"Is this truly your answer, Mavis?" the boy mumbled to himself as he cast a final gaze upon the city below.

Despite the stoic exterior, an inner conflict raged within him—an emotional turmoil that threatened to consume the innocence that should have flourished within his youthful eyes.

Slowly descending down the roof snowflakes began to cover his body as frost seeped into every step he took.

…..

Inside the opulent chamber, a sense of anticipation hung thick in the air. Duke Tellus and Aria, his daughter, had been waiting for what seemed an eternity.

The grandeur of the room couldn't mask the restlessness that permeated the atmosphere.

The priest, an emissary of the holy nation, had instructed them to remain patient until they received the pope's permission.

Respecting the sacred protocols, the Duke had dutifully complied, and yet the prolonged wait began to test even his patience.

The servants, positioned a cautious distance away from the Duke, felt the waves of his irritability wash over them, leaving them intimidated.

"Are they deliberately prolonging this to provoke him?" Aria pondered, her gaze flickering between the idle servants and her father.

Hours had elapsed since their arrival, and the prolonged wait felt more like a strategic move rather than a mere consequence of bureaucratic delays.

The Duke's restrained frustration was palpable, simmering beneath the surface.

The aura of authority that surrounded him made it clear to everyone in the room that his patience was wearing thin. Despite the growing tension, the Duke refrained from causing a scene.

Maintaining his dignity as a Duke of the Lumenian Empire took precedence, but the gnawing uncertainty of the situation gnawed at the edges of his composure.

The delay, now stretching to almost five hours, raised suspicions about the true motives behind this extended wait.

The Duke, while maintaining his composure, couldn't conceal the growing frustration beneath the façade of dignity.

The disrespect shown by the holy nation was evident. The meticulously planned meeting, scheduled well in advance, left no room for excuses regarding the prolonged delay.

Aria, too, shared her father's impatience, yearning to meet Adrian and unravel the mysteries surrounding his sudden recall to the empire.

The opening door was a harbinger of change, and the Duke's glare softened as he turned towards the unexpected guest.

The tone shifted as a wizened figure entered, his words carrying an air of feigned apology.

The Duke's scowl dissipated as he regarded the newcomer, recognizing the importance of maintaining diplomatic etiquette.

"Hoho… sorry for my late arrival, Duke. A lot of unexpected adjustments had to be made to ensure our meeting proceeds as civilized as possible," the old man greeted, his words laced with a veiled acknowledgment of the calculated delay.

Aria, though tempted to voice her frustration, bit back her words as she witnessed her father slightly bowing in response.

"I, Duke Frederick Tellus, greet the Supreme Pontiff. It is an honor," the Duke stated with measured formality before raising his head once more.

Aria's mind raced as she identified the old man before her. The title 'Supreme Pontiff' echoed in her thoughts, confirming his role as the highest authority in the holy nation—the Pope.

The unexpected presence left Aria bewildered; the meeting was supposed to take place in a different room.

The puzzling circumstances only deepened as she contemplated the Pope's unanticipated entrance.

The Pope, with a gentle smile playing upon his lips, raised his hands in a calming gesture, inviting the Duke and Aria to take their seats.

"Please, please settle down and take a seat. It was my fault to begin with. To think that an old man like me made the Duke of Tellus and the Emperor's sword wait like this, I am truly sorry. Pressing matters at hand took more of my time than expected," he expressed, his words carrying an air of apparent contrition.

As the Pope slowly took a seat himself, the sincerity of his apology seemed to be contradicted by a subtle sarcasm that underscored his tone.

It was as if he acknowledged his tardiness with a certain nonchalance, implying, 'Haha, sorry, I had some important stuff I had to do, you see… What, you're the Duke? So what?'

The layered sarcasm painted the Pope as a shrewd and cunning figure, unapologetic about testing the waters with the lone wolf and exerting his dominance.

The Duke, maintaining a stoic gaze, looked at the Pope for a few silent seconds before nodding.

"It is fine…," he replied succinctly.

Despite the brevity of his response, the tension in the room remained palpable, an unspoken acknowledgment of the power dynamics at play between the Duke and the wily old Pope. The chessboard was set, and the game was about to begin.

The Duke observed the Pope's arrival, noting the unexpected change in location.

The reasons behind the alteration remained unknown, but the Duke, fueled by his urgency to conclude the mission, brushed aside his curiosity for the time being.

With palms silently clenched, he fixed his gaze upon the Pope, intending to cut through the layers of formality and get straight to the purpose that brought him here.

"Adrian Vulter Tellus, my son. I think it's about time for him to return home..." The Duke's voice resonated with an unmistakable gravity, the weight of a father's concern etched in his words.

The Pope, ever enigmatic with his benevolent smile, met the Duke's gaze with eyes half-closed, his response veiled in diplomatic ambiguity.

"I believe the notion of what you would call home for a revered hero is up for debate, Duke..."

The exchange, though spoken in measured tones, felt akin to two dragons engaged in a subtle yet fierce confrontation, their words carrying unspoken tensions and the weight of unyielding pride.

Aria, seated between the two influential figures, watched the scene unfold with a mixture of weariness and nervous anticipation.

The question lingered in her mind – why was she even allowed to be present in this crucial discussion?

She couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy towards the servants who had swiftly exited the room upon the Pope's entrance.

The Duke and the Pope, absorbed in their exchange, seemed to overlook her presence.

…..

After our usual dinner together, I promptly retreated to my room for some much-needed rest.

It became apparent that the girls were having a girls' night in their room, with Elena staying behind in Louise and Ana's room.

The teasing throughout dinner, particularly directed at Louise regarding our date, hinted at an imminent grilling session.

Louise's panicked expressions in response to the playful banter managed to bring a chuckle to my lips.

As I opened the door to my room and stepped into the corridor, I peeled off the white coat I had been wearing all day.

Ensuring privacy, I inscribed runes on my door and double-checked that it was securely locked.

My attention turned to my hands, and I decided to test something out.

Slightly opening up my sister's authority, I created a small portal in my hands, from which a white mask emerged.

The golden lighting that seemed to sparkle around the mask caught my eye, but as expected, attempting to summon anything with divinity or unknown origins here proved futile.

The goddess's caution regarding Loki's mana signature became increasingly evident.

It seemed that even within the confines of this space, certain barriers remained in place, restricting the use of powers associated with entities that she considers a threat.

Sighing, I loosened my clothes and sank onto the bed. Thoughts of orchestrating the downfall of this kingdom could wait; my priority was to tidy up the place before my guest arrived.

After pondering strategies, a few hours passed, and then a knock echoed through my door.

Knock...! Knock...!

Observing that the rune I inscribed was still intact, I snapped my fingers, and the door swung open on its own accord.

A tapping sound followed, and there she stood – Isabella, a nun adorned in a gothic black outfit with matching black gloves and a black blindfold.

"I-I came…" she stammered, nervously scanning my room.

"Good job," I said, offering her a reassuring smile. The trembling anxiety and fear evident in her body language were quite a spectacle.

As I walked forward, approaching her, she instinctively took a step back. My arms reached out, closing the door behind her.

"Take a seat... don't worry, I just wish to talk," I said, attempting to reassure her.

However, skepticism lingered in her eyes, and she nervously nodded, unsure about my true intentions.

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