Younger Sister
The Darkest family estate.
Somewhere within that vast and imposing expanse, inside a room steeped in a chill that never quite lifted, Yerna Darkest was working through a mountain of documents piled high upon her desk, her gaze sharp as a blade.
Those endlessly cold, deep eyes and the ebony hair that fell like a knife's edge along her jawline only sharpened the glacial impression she cast.
Yerna Darkest.
Officially, the second child of the family, after Lionel Darkest. Unofficially, the youngest of the Darkest line — coming after the bastard son, Ian.
And yet, more than anyone else in the household, she was Darkest through and through. The cold that clung to every gesture of hers was enough to freeze the air solid around her.
Only the scratch of a pen cut through the silence of the room. But unlike usual, that penwork was rough, irritable — pressed down hard enough that the paper seemed ready to tear. As if mirroring her mood, the air inside had settled into something even more frigid than normal. The maids attending her could do nothing but watch her face and tremble.
"That man. He still hasn't arrived?"
At last, a question cold as ice slipped from Yerna's lips.
"…No, Lady Yerna. He has not… arrived yet."
One of the maids managed an answer in a shaking voice.
Yerna's pen strokes grew rougher still. The sound of the fountain pen's tip scraping paper rang out with particular sharpness. Everyone in the room could feel it through the choking tension — her patience was scraping the bottom of the barrel.
Crack—
In the end, the fine fountain pen in Yerna's hand could not withstand her grip and snapped. With a sharp report, ink bloomed black across the white documents. The maids recoiled in terror, crowding into the corners and hiding behind one another's backs as they shook.
Yerna flung the broken pen onto the desk with a snarl of irritation and muttered low, radiating a murderous air.
"…He dares make me wait? Just wait until he sets foot back in this house. I'll smash that smug face of his to pulp."
Who she meant, the maids had no way of knowing. There was no one in the family who could make Yerna wait. All they could do was huddle in the corners, trembling, and hope their mistress's temper would pass.
The carriage the family had sent raced toward the Darkest main house.
No — was it racing a little too hard?
Rattle—!
"Guh—!"
A carriage with not the faintest suggestion of cushioning for its passenger. The ride made it abundantly clear exactly how the family regarded me. Feeling every jolt of the rough road straight through my backside, I stared out the window at the scenery whipping past.
Far ahead, the outline of an old, stately manor emerged faintly through the mist. That was the Darkest main house — the place where I had been born and raised, and yet never once a true home.
The exterior of the estate was overwhelming in every sense. A solid stone structure that looked as though it had weathered centuries, and gardens sprawling wide around it. It had the presence befitting one of the twelve Chosen Houses that stood at the head of the continent.
The twelve Chosen Houses.
Each of them possessed a special ability passed down through their bloodline. The Judith family, to which Linea Judith belonged, for instance, was born with the power to govern flow — and among them, Linea, who commanded the flow of time itself, was called a genius without precedent in the family's history. They were the house that stood for magic.
The Darkest family, on the other hand… honestly, had no particularly striking trait to speak of. It wasn't even clear what special ability, if any, lay dormant in the bloodline. The only consistent pattern was that those who inherited Darkest blood tended to be cold and detached by nature — and perhaps because of that, a great many of them showed exceptional talent with the sword.
Which was why the world at large sometimes mistakenly believed the family gift had something to do with swordsmanship.
"They're just cold as steel, that's all."
From the head of the house down to the second daughter, Yerna — every last one of them was ice. Lionel being the exception, of course. That scheming, black-hearted bastard.
As expected, the carriage was not heading for the family's grand main hall. It rattled on toward a shabby annex tucked into a corner behind the manor. A bastard son could not stay in the main building; he was expected to live in a rundown room in the annex. That was as natural to me as it was to everyone else in the family.
"…Wonder if my room is even still there."
It had been a closet of a space — smaller than the bathroom off Lionel's sitting room, without a proper window — but it had at least been called mine. Given how long I'd been buried out in the territory, they might well have turned it into a storeroom by now.
I was thinking I'd unpack a little and then go pay my respects to Father, the head of the house, when I stepped down from the carriage.
"This way, Young Master Ian."
As if she had been waiting for me, a maid with a blank face approached and spoke in a cold voice. Why even the servants in this family were uniformly freezing, I couldn't say. Standing lower than a maid as a bastard son, I had no choice but to follow her without a word.
"Hey."
The moment I opened the door and stepped inside, what came flying at me was a cold, casual address. Seated in the ornate chair behind the desk was Yerna Darkest — the family's official second young lady. Arms crossed, she was glaring at me as though she meant to kill me on the spot.
"You summoned me, Lady Yerna."
I greeted her with as much formality and courtesy as I could manage. Yerna's brow drew tighter, and a voice like a snarl burst out of her.
"Do you want to die? What are you, one of the household staff? Why the hell are you calling me Lady? It's disgusting."
Yerna had never been this rude by nature. Cold and indifferent, yes — but she wasn't the type to treat people carelessly. It was only with me that she showed this thorned edge.
Probably because I'm a bastard and easy to look down on. Or she just plain hates me.
It was a fact that only half-surfaced now that I was back at the main house after so long — but in the game of Tales of Legend, I was fairly certain I had met several bad endings at her hands. And those usually happened when the original Ian Darkest, with his pitifully low self-worth inside the family, grovelled in front of her or managed to wound her pride.
"Ahem."
I cleared my throat lightly and opened my mouth again, in a tone entirely different from before.
"What's wrong, Yerna? Missed your big brother so much you waited till your neck stretched out of shape?"
At my shameless provocation, Yerna froze solid in her seat. A choking silence stretched on for a while. Then she muttered, her face twisted with the kind of revulsion reserved for insects.
"…Ugh. I genuinely want to pull your brain out and scrub it raw."
"I'm touched you'd go that far for your big brother."
"Wow. What is with you? I'd heard rumors you'd changed a bit lately, but did someone spike your head with something?"
Yerna narrowed her eyes and looked me over from head to toe. Just the brush of her gaze was enough to send a chill crawling over my entire body. It was almost enough to make me entertain the absurd thought that the Darkest family's special ability really was coldness.
"Forget it. Let's get to the point. We're not exactly warm with each other, and there's no need to waste time."
"W-what?"
"Why so flustered? You like efficiency, don't you?"
Yerna was the sort of person for whom everything ran on calculation. After a moment of disorientation, she collected herself and pressed on.
"Shut up and answer my questions. What the hell were you scheming, causing that kind of uproar at the Academy? Is it true you went after Lionel?"
I shrugged.
"He picked the fight first."
"Have you lost your mind? Why start doing things you never did before? Do you have some kind of agenda?"
"Agenda? I was just acting in self-defense."
"Self-defense, he says. Since when were you the type with that kind of spine?"
"I wasn't about to sit there and get expelled alive. Figured I might as well bite back."
Yerna's eyes went wide with a fluster I'd never seen on her before. First time for everything, I supposed. Whether my image overhaul was landing or not, I couldn't say — but since I'd already opened my mouth, I said everything I wanted to say.
"People change, Yerna. Especially after they've stared death in the face a few times. I have no intention of living under the family's thumb the way I used to."
At my firm answer, Yerna's expression shifted into something complicated. She stared at me for a moment, then shook her head.
"Bluffing."
Fair enough. Hard to believe — especially for Yerna, who had watched my behavior all this time.
"So, if we're done here, I'll be going. I at least need to pay my respects."
I turned to leave. Yerna's voice dropped into a low warning.
"You. If you go to the head of the house right now… you'll be dragged straight into the military."
"…What?"
What the hell was that supposed to mean.