"Mmm… Marie…" Lucien mumbled the name in his sleep, the syllables heavy with drowsiness as they slipped past his lips. His brows furrowed ever so slightly as he stirred, eyelids fluttering against the soft glow that tinged the room in hues of pale green. It was a strange, ambient light that seemed to hover within the very walls, pulsing softly—gentle as a lullaby, yet alive with ancient energy.
As his senses slowly returned, Lucien blinked and scanned his surroundings, momentarily disoriented. The fine velvet curtains, the intricate bookshelf of bound tomes and potion jars, the ornate carpet bearing the winged lion insignia of House Velebrandt—yes, this was his room. And standing beside his bed, still in ceremonial attire, was none other than Marie, his maid.
"Young Master Lucien," Marie said gently, dipping her head with graceful composure, "the Grand Duke has ordered me to wake you and help you prepare for the celebration of your birthday."
