Family

Standing outside his own home, Aaron looked at the door carved with his family crest, the wooden trellis heavy with grapevines, the rows of flower beds beside it, and the small, clear pool. Yet he was in no hurry to go in.

He was eighteen in this life. He could feel boundless energy coursing through his body, a vitality that had made not only his flesh young but his spirit passionate and driven again. Still, counting both lives, Aaron had lived fifty years.

Fifty years of life, as fleeting as a dream.

He understood this feeling. Since awakening Slaanesh's power, he understood it especially well.

Stranded far from home, a person would remember everything good about it. He would dream of childhood, of the stories his grandparents had never finished telling beneath the big tree at the village entrance, of his younger self and the adults who had once been strong and full of life.

He would remember the scenery of home and the warmth of family.

At times like this, people often grew timid as they neared home. They instinctively wanted to repay their families and their hometowns. It was part tender homesickness, part vanity at the thought of returning in triumph.

That was why some people said they would work themselves to the bone out in the world and refuse to come back until they had made something of themselves.

Looking at the door, the thin curl of smoke rising from the chimney, and hearing Aunt Mellie's unmistakably loud voice, Aaron could not help smiling.

Aaron and the servants were not the only ones living in Sallyan House. After both his parents had died in battle, his aunt's whole family had moved in.

That family consisted of Aunt Mellie, Uncle Lothair, his cousin Robert, and his younger cousin Yuta. None of them belonged to the Sallyan family.

Yet whenever Aaron thought of them living in his home, warmth rose in his chest.

He still remembered how Aunt Mellie had taken him to raise hell at the palace after both his parents died at Tifanton during the Time of Troubles.

The king's decree had already come down.

Aaron was exceptionally permitted to inherit the title of Viscount Sallyan for one additional generation, along with Sallyan House, and his name was put forward as a candidate for the Purple Dragon Knights!

Sounded good, didn't it?

But Aaron had been a minor!

He had no fief! No actual post!

In other words, apart from his parents' death benefits, Aaron had no income at all. All he had was an empty Viscount's title.

Had Cormyr ever seen a great noble in such an awkward position?

Aunt Mellie had personally taken Aaron to Suzail's royal palace to make a scene. The fierce middle-aged woman had thrown herself down in front of the Royal Court, rolled across the ground, and cursed the royal family for its injustice, drawing the attention of half the palace.

Aaron remembered the sight to this day.

The kingdom's finance minister, Olinick, had grown fed up with the crazy woman. Pointing a finger in Mellie's face, he sneered, "If you need money, you can go entertain men at a tavern and support that nephew of yours!"

Aunt Mellie shot back, "Fine! I'll go entertain men. Will you come see me? If you don't, I'll tell every single person who comes into the tavern about this! Minister Olinick told me to entertain men! Minister Olinick told the sister of a Knight who died for his country to entertain men in a tavern so she could feed that Knight's poor underage son! Come on! Say yes right now, and I'll find a tavern tomorrow!"

Aaron still remembered how Olinick's face had gone green. The finance minister opened his mouth for a long time, but in the end, he could not accept Aunt Mellie's terms.

Dozens of nobles and guards in the Royal Court were watching, not to mention the citizens outside!

And that was how Aaron had secured his fixed stipend of eight hundred gold lions a year as Viscount Sallyan: his aunt had taken him to roll around on the ground in front of the royal court!

Besides, Aaron did not have fond memories of his parents.

His father had been a soldier through and through, a career soldier. To him, Aaron had seemed less like a son than a recruit he could not dismiss, one who never met his standards. When Aaron remembered his father, he recalled little praise. Mostly, there had been arguments, curses, insults, and physical punishment. His father had been like a drill instructor from hell, with impossibly high standards, doing everything he could to mold Aaron into the son he wanted.

Unfortunately, the Aaron of those days could not meet that standard.

Naturally, being called a good-for-nothing, a disgrace, or less intelligent than the pigs in a sty had been among his father's mildest reprimands.

Taking a few hard punches had become routine, too.

He understood his father's state of mind. The family had been stripped of its title and fief, and even its name was in danger. Manuel had reached the limit of his own potential, and being a Purple Dragon Knights captain was not enough to restore the family's glory. He had had no choice but to place all his hopes on Aaron.

But that did not mean Aaron liked being hit and humiliated.

So he would run away.

Where did he go? To his aunt's house.

His aunt lived in a slightly better part of the lower city. Uncle Lothair was a Horse Master in Suzail, responsible for the mounts of noble Knights. The position carried little status and paid modestly, enough for a barely respectable life. His aunt always took in sewing to help with expenses, and only Lothair and Robert could afford to eat white bread.

Aaron went there often. His aunt's family gave him what little white bread they had and ate barley bread themselves.

As a child, Aaron had not understood the difference. When he grew older, he realized why Robert, three years his senior, had always looked less than pleased to see him.

It made him feel rather embarrassed.

But his aunt and uncle never changed. Whenever Aaron appeared, they saved the white bread for him and ate the barley bread, which was noticeably harder and tougher to chew.

One scene remained vivid in Aaron's mind. He was still little. It was winter, and heavy snow had blanketed the city, turning the royal capital beside the Dragonmere white. Bruised in several places, he had trudged through the snow to his aunt's door. Warmth rose from the roof. His aunt and uncle, drying hides and making salted meat for winter by the doorway, had smiled as soon as they saw him and beckoned him inside to eat white bread.

The last Sallyan stood with his hands on his hips, remembering. He could faintly hear his aunt criticizing the baker's bread again.

Either it was underbaked and still tasted raw, or it was a little scorched and spoiled the texture. She cared a great deal about such things in daily life.

More than once, the baker had complained to Aaron that his aunt was far too hard to please.

The familiar words, the familiar surroundings—standing at the door, Aaron could no longer hold it in.

He smiled.

Aaron took out his key and went in. The aging hardwood floor creaked beneath his feet. The heavy carpet had faded in places, but everything was spotless. The entryway was not particularly spacious, only six or seven people wide. Paintings and calligraphy covered the walls, with handicrafts arranged on either side. Porcelain imported from the Far East stood in a glass cabinet nearby, while directly ahead stood a full suit of a Knight's plate armor.

It was an extraordinarily rare, enchanted suit of full plate made from red dragon scales and adamantium. Without exceptional combat techniques to help them, wielders of nonmagical weapons could hack at its wearer all they liked and never leave a scratch. It also granted its wearer strong resistance to a dragon's frightful presence and to fire damage.

The wearer could also unleash a dragon's frightful presence once, after which the ability took twenty-four hours to recover.

It was one of the Sallyan family's heirlooms.

"You have no right to wear this armor, you worthless boy! Of course, neither do I! I'm worthless too!"

His father's words still echoed in Aaron's ears.

The old Aaron might never have dared touch the heirloom in his entire life. Now, he did not much care. I'm the last Sallyan. It belongs to me, and I'll do whatever I want with it.

Still, this was not a suit of plate armor just anyone could put on. Besides requiring great strength, it demanded that its wearer withstand the dragon's frightful presence imbued in it.

Anyone who failed would be thrown clear halfway through putting it on. Getting away with broken arms or legs would count as lucky.

Aaron truly could not wear it yet. If Manuel had been able to, he would not have fallen in battle so easily.

Beyond the entryway lay the main hall, bright and orderly. A large accordion hung on the wall. The doors and windows were solid and finely made, while the curtains were woven from luxurious fabrics. Their vivid colors still glowed in the afternoon light. Bright tapestries covered the walls, their pale backgrounds filled with flowers and patterns.

At the center of the wall hung an unfurled scroll in a gold frame.

"Upon this land, I shall stand proud

Until I have lost everything, sir.

For no matter whom I meet, no matter what may come,

Where I stand, Cormyr stands!"

—Duar Obarskyr, King of Cormyr

The parchment was quite old, and even the words written in special ink had faded a little with the passing centuries.

The scroll was a treasure no amount of money could buy. King Duar had written it with his own hand more than nine hundred years ago.

Beside it hung another piece in a silver frame.

"Courage! Duty! Honor!"

—Presented by Azoun IV, King of Cormyr

This was the Sallyan family motto. After Aaron's father died in battle, the former king had written it out himself and sent it to them.

As for the piles of rare treasures, antiques, paintings, calligraphy, and keepsakes accumulated over centuries, none were worth as much as those three things. There was no need to dwell on them.

This was also why Aaron thought he might be able to pay for a miracle. He estimated that asking Lady Silverstar to perform one would cost twenty to twenty-five thousand gold lions, an astronomical sum for an ordinary person.

For instance, a night watchman outside earned thirteen gold coins a month. He would have to work every day for 130 to 160 years without spending a coin on food or drink to pay for a single miracle.

Likewise, a skilled blacksmith—not a master, and unable to forge enchanted weapons—earned an average of thirty gold lions a month. He would need to work more than fifty-five years, without food, drink, Sundays, or holidays, to pay that enormous sum.

But if Aaron sold the mansion, his heirloom ring, the red dragon-scale adamantium plate armor, and everything his family had passed down over the centuries, he reckoned he could raise twelve to fifteen thousand gold lions. That should be enough to pay half up front.

As for the rest?

He could pay it back slowly. What else could he do?

But Lady Silverstar had not charged him.

Even the goddess Selûne had not asked him for money.

Aaron turned his gaze to the small shrine to Selûne in the hall. A second wave of warmth rose within him. Since coming to the Realms, he had suffered a terrible calamity, but he had also felt the kindness this world had to offer.

The Sallyan family dated back nine hundred years. Their ancestor Lyondolf had begun venerating the Lady of Silver as the family's patron goddess roughly seven hundred years ago. According to the story, her warning during a battle had saved his forces from being wiped out in an ambush by evil lycanthropes.

The old Aaron had been somewhat doubtful about his family's faith.

Now, only one thought filled his mind:

Grandfather! Father! Faith in the Lady of Silver really works!

Aaron went to the shrine and reverently knelt on one knee.

"Oh? Aaron, you're back!" Just then, a shrill woman's voice broke the viscount's prayer.

A woman in her forties hurried out of the kitchen. She wore a plain long dress beneath a kitchen apron and was frantically wiping grease and vegetable stains from her hands onto it as she approached. At the sight of her nephew, an ingratiating smile spread across her face. "He's here, he's here! Aaron's back! Lothair! Where have you disappeared to, you good-for-nothing? Robert, Yuta, come see your cousin!"

The middle-aged woman was not tall. Her skin had a slight yellow cast, deep crow's-feet marked the corners of her eyes, and her figure was no longer as slender as it had been in her youth. Though she had generally kept herself in decent shape, there was still some extra flesh at her chin, arms, and waist.

She was Aaron's aunt, his mother's younger sister, Mellie.

Aaron could dimly remember when he was very young and his aunt, then in her twenties, had been rather pretty. More than a decade had passed. Now Mellie was in her forties, a thoroughly middle-aged woman.

And she had taken care of herself.

Aaron thought people of her ancestry matured faster and seemed to age faster, too. In this life, he often saw maids who were only twenty-seven or twenty-eight yet already had plenty of wrinkles.

The middle-aged woman kept wiping her hands haphazardly on her apron before she had a moment to look properly at her nephew. When she saw how Aaron looked now, she was plainly startled. Her mouth worked, and she asked uncertainly, "Aaron? Is that you?"

"What, Aunt Mellie? You don't recognize me after a few days?" Aaron smiled, opened his arms, and embraced her, kissing her cheek.

"What happened to you? You look like a different person! Oh, you could have told us you were coming back. The baker didn't make your bread today!" Aunt Mellie quickly stepped back. She was cooking and smelled of oil and smoke. Still rubbing her hands on her apron to get the grease off, she said, "I'll go buy a few loaves from the nearby bakery."

In the Realms, bread was the most common food.

Poor villagers took their grain to mills and communal ovens near their manors to make bread.

Most city dwellers bought theirs from bakeries.

Wealthy households, meanwhile, usually had ovens of their own.

Noble households like Aaron's often employed a dedicated baker as well. These bakers rose early to make the family's bread and prepare a few other dishes along the way.

Rice, it was worth noting, was hardly rare in the markets. Rice imported from the Shou Lung Empire in distant Kara-Tur was sold in Cormyr, though it was expensive. People also preferred to eat it as a snack or side dish.

It was much like how people in the China of Aaron's previous life did not eat corn as their staple food.

"Oh, Aaron's back. Let's make something extra for dinner, Mellie. I'd like to have a few more drinks with him tonight."

Uncle Lothair was a lanky man, 192 centimeters tall, with small eyes, a large nose, a small mouth, and deep-set but lively eyes. He wore a goatee. As soon as he saw Aaron, he tried to ingratiate himself with his wife.

Lothair was very pleased with his present life. He had never dreamed he would get to live in Aaron's mansion.

"Eat, eat, eat! That's all you think about. I must have been blinded by the night when I married a horse keeper like you," Aunt Mellie shrieked. "Fine, I'll see what we have in the cellar."

"Make plenty, Aunt Mellie. We're having a guest tonight," Aaron said with an easy smile. He had watched the couple bicker for more than a decade.

Poor Uncle Lothair. He probably never had more than five silver coins on him, and his aunt checked regularly. If any were missing, she was sure to ask why.

"Who is it?" Aunt Mellie asked with keen interest.

"Eleanor."

"Eleanor! Aaron, really? Oh! Then we must prepare properly. Properly!" At the sound of Eleanor's name, his aunt's eyes lit up.

She was a messenger of the Lady of Silver! They had to welcome her well.

While his aunt and uncle went to prepare dinner, Aaron saw his cousins Robert and Yuta again.

Robert was twenty-one and 198 centimeters tall. Apart from his eyes, which resembled his aunt's, he took after Lothair. He was fairly handsome and rather proud. He worked as a scribe at the Suzail Adventurers' Guild and thought that made him someone important. When he saw Aaron, he merely nodded in greeting, then pointed to the book on his desk to show that he was busy.

Yuta was only ten. Unfortunately, Aaron's younger cousin was not pretty. Almost every one of her features was identical to her father's, especially when she smiled. Then the resemblance was uncanny.

No paternity test was needed there. Aaron often joked to himself that he had no idea how his cousin had chosen her looks. Her mother had been a rather pretty young woman in the lower city, so how had Yuta ended up taking everything from her father?

His younger cousin was quite clingy. She rushed up and asked when he had come back, whether his mission had succeeded, and whether he had been hurt.

Faced with Yuta bouncing eagerly in front of him, Aaron fell silent.

Only a few days had passed, but he had been through so much.

Yet under his cousin's expectant gaze, Viscount did not want to say a word.

"Cousin?" Seeing Aaron stare into space, Yuta could not help asking, "Are you listening?"

"Oh! I'm listening." Aaron's gaze dipped for a moment, then lifted again. He gave her the same brilliant smile he had worn throughout his journey.

"It's all right. Everything's fine."

An update, and the second one at that! I've shown plenty of sincerity—where's yours?

End of chapter.