The morning broke cold and gray, a sharp wind carving through the streets like knives, slicing the routine of the city into a thousand unexpected pieces. Elias jammed his hands deeper into his coat pockets as he walked beside Mira through streets that blurred the lines between wealth and ruin. One block held crumbling row houses, their brick faces worn and weary, the next glittering towers of glass and steel that clawed at the bruised sky. It was a strange in-between, like the city itself couldn't decide what it wanted to be, caught in a perpetual state of transformation and decay.
Mira was in rare form — bright-eyed despite the early hour, bundled in a sweater three sizes too big that swallowed her small frame, a smirk playing on her lips. She refused to tell him where they were going, a mischievous glint in her eyes.
"Trust me," she'd said, tugging his sleeve like a kid pulling a friend toward some hidden treasure, some secret adventure.
"You'll learn something today."
Disarmed by her unexpected enthusiasm, he nodded, but a part of him, the part accustomed to control and knowing, itched with the need to know where they were headed. He repressed the urge to pester her with questions that danced on the tip of his tongue, questions about destination and purpose.
And so he followed. Not out of obligation. Not out of politeness. Out of curiosity, yes, but more than that, out of the growing ache in his chest that said: wherever she's going, it matters.
And somehow, she mattered, more than anything else had in a long time.
They walked through parts of the city Elias barely recognized, traversing neighborhoods that felt like they belonged to different eras, different worlds. There were blocks of crumbling row houses pressed shoulder to shoulder with glittering towers of steel, each contrasting story bleeding into the next. It was a collage of everything and nothing, a painting that had lost its frame and was slowly unraveling.
Eventually, they reached a wide, mostly empty park at the edge of an old industrial district — a stretch of brittle grass, skeletal trees whose bare branches clawed at the sky, rusting benches that looked like forgotten relics. A place that looked forgotten by time and intention, neglected and left to the elements.
Mira slowed, her entire demeanor transforming as she approached the ricket benches speckled with worn paint and weathered wood. And there, sitting alone on a splintered bench, was an old man.
Elias blinked in surprise, momentarily taken aback by the unexpected sight. He slowed his pace. The old man was hunched forward, wrapped in a coat that looked like it hadn't been washed in years, the fabric faded and stained. His shoes were falling apart at the soles, his pants frayed and faded. His head hung low, bowed against the wind. He looked vulnerable, a relic of better days, perhaps lost in the flow of time, a ghost in the park.
He looked like someone the world passed by without a second glance, someone invisible in the churn of daily life. If Elias hadn't been with Mira, he would've assumed he was homeless.
But the transformation in Mira's face was instantaneous and profound. The joy that burst forth in her expression could have turned winter into summer, could have melted the frost from the skeletal trees. Mira's face lit up like she'd just found home, a place she belonged.
She jogged ahead, her slight frame moving with unexpected energy, and threw her arms around him like a granddaughter greeting her favorite grandfather after a long absence. "Hey, old man!" she beamed, her voice bright and full of affection.
The man laughed — a sound like gravel and whiskey, rough but warm.
"Still runnin' that mouth, girl?"
"You love it," she shot back, pulling away to grin at him, her eyes sparkling.
The man cuffed her gently on the shoulder, his hands surprisingly steady and strong for someone who looked like he could be knocked over by a strong breeze. His eyes — when Elias caught them — were sharp. Too sharp for a man who looked so worn down, ancient and full of unshed tears.
Mira turned and beckoned, a silent invitation. "Come on, Elias. Don't be rude."
Elias hesitated, a knot of uncertainty tightening in his stomach, then stepped forward, moving cautiously.
The old man fixed Elias with a stare sharp enough to slice bone. His eyes — deep-set and ancient — had seen too much, survived too much, held the weight of a thousand untold stories. Elias stepped closer — cautious, respectful, sensing the immense history held within this man.
The old man looked him over slowly, a slow, deliberate assessment that felt like being stripped bare. "Fancy shoes. Pretty face. Bet you think you've got the world by the balls."
Elias blinked, taken aback by the bluntness, said nothing, his shoulders stiff as stone, defensive.
But Mira only laughed, a light, clear sound that cut through the tension. "Don't judge him yet," she quipped, a playful challenge in her voice.
"He's learning."
The old man grunted, unimpressed, a sound of deep skepticism.
"Yeah, well, life's a bitch of a teacher."
He stood with surprising force for someone who looked barely held together, a sudden surge of energy in his worn frame. Then, without another word, he started walking, setting a brisk pace.
Mira, unfazed by his brusqueness, followed without hesitation, a quiet understanding passing between them. And Elias — caught somewhere between confusion and fascination, bewildered yet curious about the bond they shared, the history etched in their easy familiarity — trailed after them.
They wound their way through a series of broken alleys, past overflowing dumpsters and graffiti-tagged brick walls whispering unkind secrets of those who had come before, their stories echoing in the narrow passages. Elias kept glancing at Mira — a thread of confusion weaving his thoughts together, a sense of disorientation settling in. They walked quite a while, leaving the park and the industrial edge behind. Then suddenly, after walking for what felt like miles, the old man veered into a luxurious district, a sudden, jarring transition into a world of manicured lawns and imposing architecture.
Elias was dumbfounded and looked at Mira, his expression a question mark. But she just smiled mysteriously, a knowing glint in her eyes, enjoying his confusion. They continued walking until the old man suddenly stopped at the front gate of a mansion, a gate so grand it looked like the entrance to a private kingdom.
What waited beyond made Elias stop dead in his tracks, his breath catching in his throat.
It wasn't a squat or a shelter.
It was a mansion.
No — not just a mansion.
An empire.
Among the luxurious estates at this district, it could be said to be the biggest one, sprawling across acres of land. A sprawling estate with marble columns that gleamed even in the weak light, towering windows that mirrored the sky, and manicured gardens that seemed to defy the decay of the surrounding areas, an oasis of privilege.
The kind of home you saw in movies about kings and billionaires, a fortress of wealth and power. Elias's heart thudded against his ribs as disbelief washed over him, a wave of shock and confusion.
"This…" he started, words tangled in midair, unable to grasp the reality of what he was seeing.
Mira smiled knowingly, a gentle nudge forward. The old man, still hunched and still wearing shoes ready to fall apart, walked with surprising authority towards the grand doors that loomed before them. A butler, impossibly ancient himself, stood waiting, his posture impeccable. He greeted the old man with a deep bow, as if welcoming their king back from a long journey, a silent acknowledgment of his true status.
****
And just like that, they stepped inside, crossing the threshold into a world Elias thought he understood, but now realized he knew nothing about.
The air inside smelled of old wood polish and fading memories, a scent that combined nostalgia with a tinge of something bitter, the scent of a life lived and perhaps regretted. Massive oil paintings lined the walls, portraits of people long dead who had once smiled for cameras and gala invitations, frozen in time as the world moved on without them, their painted eyes following Elias as he walked.
The floors gleamed under the weak sunlight filtering through stained glass windows, each color cast onto the wood like pigments in a grand artist's palette, painting the hallway in hues of red, blue and gold. A butler, silent and watchful, stood at a distance, head bowed but eyes alert; he gave a stiff nod but said nothing to acknowledge their presence, as if accustomed to the silence of such an empty abode, a silent guardian of a fading legacy.
Elias turned in a slow circle, taking it all in — the velvet drapes, heavy and luxurious, the crystal chandeliers that sparkled even in the dim light, the silent, yawning halls that stretched out like empty promises. It felt less like a home and more like a museum of loss, a mausoleum of a life lived for something that ultimately proved hollow.
Mira didn't seem surprised by any of it. She simply plopped down in a massive leather armchair, a throne of sorts in the grand room, as if she belonged there, kicking her feet up on an antique side table with an ease that was both charming and disarming, a defiant splash of life in the stillness.
The old man dropped into another chair with a grunt, the sound echoing in the large room, pulling a silver flask from inside his coat, the motion deliberate and almost ritualistic.
"You look like you've seen a ghost, boy," he said to Elias, raising the flask toward him, a mocking glint in his eye.
Elias finally found his voice, haltingly at first, the words stumbling out. "I thought… I thought you were…"
"Homeless?" the old man finished dryly, eyebrows raising in a mocking challenge, a cruel humor in his voice.
Another bark of laughter emanated from him, cutting through the silence like a rusty knife.
"Wouldn't blame you. I look like shit. Feel worse most days."
He took a deep swig from the flask, the liquid burning down his throat, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he leaned forward, pinning Elias with that same scalpel-sharp stare.
"Name's William Davenport," he said roughly, a name that resonated with echoes of power and influence, a name Elias had heard whispered in hushed tones in boardrooms and exclusive clubs.
Only now Elias realized who the old man was. The name of Davenport was resounding to those in the business world. The name who controlled one of the biggest financial groups in the country, the Raven Financial Group. They were known to be low key and rarely appeared in public, a force that moved in the shadows. But those in the business world knew that the Davenports had their money spread across the country, even overseas. Their influence was unimaginable, a silent hand guiding the flow of wealth.
But from Elias's memory, the current leader of the Raven Financial Group was a different person, a younger generation, rumored to be a shadow of the family's former glory.
"Excuse me, but may I know your relationship with Lucas Davenport?" asked Elias, unable to hold his curiosity, the name a stark contrast to the man before him.
"Ah... Him? That snotty brat?" said William condescendingly, a wave of disdain crossing his face.
"He is my grandnephew."
Elias could slightly understand the old man's tone. From his knowledge, the current leader of the Raven Financial Group was quite problematic and surrounded with bad rumors. It's even worse than rumors surrounding Elias. After all, what surrounded Elias was merely rumors and unverified gossip, while what surrounded Lucas involved law and scandal, like tax evasion, sexual harassment, and many other bad things that tarnished the family name.
He didn't immediately recognize the name of William Davenport, but now he started to recall about his father's mention of a certain Davenport from an older generation after seeing the regress of the Davenport family. The old one that controlled the financial world from behind the scenes. One of the very few people that made his father wary in this country. His father had said that if that old Davenport were the one in charge, that financial group wouldn't be a mess like now, perhaps they would even soar to overseas, expanding their empire across the globe. And Elias also remembered that as his father said that, he looked at Elias with a deep meaningful gaze that made Elias's heart ache in the past, a look of disappointment and perhaps a silent plea. But after spending time with Mira, he started to understand the deep meaning of that gaze now, the hope and the fear held within it.
"And yeah, I knew your old man. Richard Albrecht. King of ice-cold handshakes and broken promises." said William as if he could see through Elias's thought, reading his mind with unsettling accuracy.
Elias winced internally at the mention of his father's name, a mix of resentment and pain bubbling just beneath the surface, a complex web of emotions he couldn't untangle, but he said nothing, keeping his expression neutral.
William leaned in closer, a predatory glint in his eye, like a wolf assessing its prey, a flicker of the power he once wielded.
"Heh... That bastard Richard came out of nowhere like a meteor. He doesn't have a good family background, but he managed to build a massive empire in the end. At that time we Davenports looked at him as a business rival, as if an enemy predator that we either needed to control or take care off. But deep down I respect him, while the one I looked down the most is the people from my own family." said William sharply, his voice laced with disdain for his own blood.
Elias listened attentively, his heartbeats quickening, a sense of unease settling over him.
"An arrogance.... Owned by people who were born at the top of the mountain, not because they climbed the mountain themselves, but being passed down from the previous generation to hold the mountain and control it. While they didn't know the responsibilities and consequences for those standing at the top of the mountain. In the end you know what happened now," said William, chuckling menacingly, as if talking about his family's downfall was like talking about a pathetic clown show.
Elias's heart started to beat even faster as he clenched his hands, the words hitting too close to home.
"And you boy," said William grimly as he gazed at Elias sharply, pointing at him with his finger, a direct accusation, then he started to smile menacingly as he added, "you were born at the top of the mountain."
Elias's heart felt like it would burst at that moment, the weight of the statement crushing him, as he also started to sweat, the grand room suddenly feeling suffocating.