The sky above the Blac Mansion was clear, painted in golden orange by the setting sun. The estate, grand and proud, stood like a silent giant.
Its walls were tall, made of dark stone, and the main entrance had two lion statues on either side.
A large fountain sat in the middle of the stone courtyard, gently spraying water, as if nothing unusual was about to happen.
Several people stood just outside the massive gate—maids in neat uniforms, guards in black suits holding their positions, and at the front of them all stood two figures: an old man with a sharp white beard and calm eyes—Ermond, the butler—and beside him stood a tall, broad-shouldered man in a dark grey coat, his hands behind his back—Raekin Blac, the head of the family.
They all looked upward.
From the sky, a man was slowly descending. He wore a long black cloak that swirled like smoke around him, his boots untouched by wind, his pale face untouched by time.
