In the tranquil expanse of the Ravenstein estate, a hush fell over the burial grounds as Magnus stood in somber contemplation before Ariel’s ornate tomb. His gaze was fixed upon the intricate engravings that adorned the monument, lost in a labyrinth of memories and regrets.
A gentle footfall, barely a whisper against the backdrop of his thoughts, pulled his attention away from the memorial. Freya, a woman of strength and grace, approached from behind, her presence a soothing balm against the ache of grief. “Magnus,” her voice was a soft caress, carrying a blend of affection and reproach.
Turning with a hint of a smile, Magnus met her gaze. “My lovely wife,” he greeted her, his words infused with genuine warmth.
Freya responded with a delicate arch of her eyebrow,
“So now I’m your wife?” Her words held a subtle undercurrent of humor, a playful jab at the complexity of their relationship. 𝘪𝘦.𝘤𝑜
Magnus extended his arms in an unspoken invitation, his expression earnest. “Come on, honey,” he entreated, his voice a soothing melody that hung in the air. “You know why I had to do it. We need strength if we want to survive in this world. Avalon isn’t prepared to bear the weight of the family just yet.”
A sigh escaped Freya, carrying with it a weight of frustration. “You disappeared into seclusion for years,” she reproached, her voice laced with a mixture of hurt and exasperation. “Not a single visit. And now, all of a sudden, you decide to play the caring husband?”
Magnus’s arms encircled her, a gentle attempt to bridge the emotional chasm that had grown between them. “I did it for us, Freya,” he asserted, his voice a steady reassurance. “Every bit of strength counts. Avalon has much to learn before he’s ready to carry the mantle.”
A spark of frustration ignited within Freya, her voice taking on a sharper edge. “Avalon returned from seeing you, all bloodied,” she accused, her gaze a tempest of conflicting emotions. “Did you blame it on him?”
Magnus’s demeanor turned serious.
“I had to be firm with him, Freya,” he explained, his words measured and resolute. “He must understand the gravity of leading the family. If he can’t protect his own flesh and blood, how can we entrust the family to him?”
The anger in Freya’s eyes softened, it gave way to a profound sadness. Her voice trembled as she spoke, her words weighed down by the sorrow that clung to her heart. “Ariel was too young,” she whispered, “Too young”
Magnus held her tightly, his embrace a silent offering of solace amidst the storm of emotions that raged within her. “I know, Freya,” he murmured, his voice a gentle reassurance. “Whoever is responsible for this… they will face the consequences. Tenfold.”
A tear slipped down Freya’s cheek, and he whispered once more, his voice a fervent pledge that echoed in the stillness,
“Tenfold.”
***
On the day following the funeral, the Ravenstein estate buzzed with a palpable sense of anticipation. The Raven hall, now adorned with a blend of somber elegance and underlying power, was a gathering point for the formidable members of the family.
Over a hundred individuals, each exuding an aura of undeniable strength, at least Master-rank, had assembled. They shared a common feature — a cascade of white hair that marked their lineage and strength.
The Ravenstein genes carried an unyielding strength, an almost unbreakable legacy that manifested in a remarkable trait — an overwhelming majority of Ravenstein members, nearly 99%, boasted a mane of striking white hair.
It was as if the very essence of their lineage had imprinted itself upon their appearance, a testament to the enduring power of their bloodline. This unmistakable feature transcended generations, demonstrating a dominance that overcame the genes of others attempting to intertwine with the Ravenstein legacy.
These were the powerhouses of the Ravenstein family, a collective force that managed the diverse aspects of their legacy. The hall reverberated with the gravity of their presence, a testament to the authority they held.
Among them were members who held key military positions, temporarily granted leave to honor the memory of Ariel. They shared the common purpose of serving the main family and upholding its ideals.
Arranged in a precise formation, their seats faced one another, creating a path from the entrance to the grand thrones at the end of the hall. An even more imposing presence awaited there — two larger throne elevated above their assembly, a symbol of authority that resonated through the generations.
The front row of this assembly was reserved for those whose influence and responsibilities bore the heaviest weight. Among them, Lyanna, Nathan and Sirius were seated.
“I see you haven’t lost weight, Nathan,” Sirius quipped, a knowing grin dancing on his lips.
Nathan chuckled heartily, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he offered a good-natured shrug. “Ah, well, Sirius, there are some battles that one simply decides not to fight,” he replied, his tone carrying a hint of amusement. “Besides, who needs a slim figure when you can have the pleasure of enjoying a hearty feast?”
“True, true. You’ve always had a way of living life on your own terms, Nathan. Just don’t over do it, we wouldn’t a Ravenstein to die of a heart attack now would we?”
Before Nathan could launch a witty comeback, “Would you two stop bickering?” Lyanna chimed in, her voice carrying a note of exasperated amusement. “We have more pressing matters to attend to. They’ll be here soon.”
Nathan’s playful grin transformed into a mild pout as he turned to face the side, feigning mock offense.
Sirius chuckled, acknowledging Lyanna’s point. “You’re right, Lyanna. There’ll be time for our playful jabs later.”
Amidst the hum of conversations that filled the grand hall, the mood shifted as the massive double doors swung open, revealing the figures of Magnus, Freya, Avalon, and Anastasia, who entered with an aura of commanding authority. Their presence was like a sudden gust of wind, silencing the room and demanding attention.
As Magnus and Freya stepped forward, an overwhelming pressure seemed to cascade outward, a force that rippled through the air and reached every corner of the hall. It was as though the weight of Magnus power bore down upon them, prompting a collective response that was both instinctual and reverent.
One by one, those gathered rose to their feet, their postures straightening as a mark of respect. Heads bowed and gazes averted, their actions were a tangible acknowledgment of the awe-inspiring presence that Magnus personified. The atmosphere had shifted, transformed by an undeniable recognition of authority that transcended rank and lineage.
Magnus’s steady stride carried them to the imposing, elevated throne at the end of the hall. As he settled upon the seat, the room seemed to hold its breath, as if even the very air recognized the weight of his presence.
Freya also sat down on her seat, beside him. On a lower elevation, Avalon and Anastasia took their places on the smaller thrones, each embodying the collective strength and unity of the Ravenstein family.
A hushed tension lingered in the room, the silence amplifying the moment’s significance. Then, with a voice that resonated with undeniable command, Magnus spoke, each word bearing the weight of his authority. “Let the meeting begin.”
This content is taken from 𝑖𝘦.𝒸𝘰𝑚
