Chapter 7-Behind the Golden Doors

The carriage rolled to a slow halt, the rhythmic clatter of hooves fading into a muffled silence. Outside, the sunlight spills across the polished stone of the driveway, making it glow as if it had been washed in gold. The feeling of here was different — calmer, scented faintly with roses drifting in from somewhere unseen.

The driver stepped down first, boots clicking against the stone. With a practiced motion, he swung the carriage door open, bowing slightly as he gestured for them to step out.

Leo was the first to come down, the soles of his boots meeting the smooth, pale stone with a soft tap. The heat of the midday sun warmed his shoulders, but his gaze was already rising upward — tracing the mansion's towering façade.

It was not merely large. It was massive.

The entrance was framed by two massive columns, each carved from white marble streaked with veins of gold. Between them stood the front doors — towering slabs of dark, polished wood, their surface inlaid with intricate golden patterns that seemed to shift finely when the light touched them. The designs weren't random; they told stories, the legacy of the Draxler family etched into every curve and line.

Ralf let out a low whistle. "That door probably costs more than my entire house... and the street it's on."

Jack gave a sideways grin. "If they sold that door, they could buy a small kingdom."

"Kingdom?" Ralf smirked. "More like two."

Leo didn't respond. His eyes were fixed on the door, half-expecting it to open by itself, as if such a place wouldn't trouble with something as ordinary as knocking.

They didn't have to wait long.

With a smooth, almost dramatic motion, the doors began to swing inward. No creak, no groan — just the whisper of weightless hinges. The rich scent of polished wood and faint perfume drifted out, mingling with the rose-scented air outside.

Standing just beside the doorway, framed by the soft golden light spilling from the grand hall, was a young woman. She didn't move at first — just stood there as if she had been waiting for this moment.

Her hair was a cascade of gold, so fine and silky that it seemed to catch and hold the light in every strand. It fell over her shoulders like sunlight, the tips brushing the fabric of her gown. She was tall, graceful — her poise alone spoke of nurture in marble halls. Her eyes — a vivid shade that seemed to shift between amber and soft green — caught each of them in turn.

Jack's breath left him in a murmur, almost involuntary. "Ohh my god... how can an angel walk this earth?"

Leo blinked at him. "I... don't know," he heard himself say, almost in unison with Ralf's stunned response. Neither of them seemed to know they had spoken until the words were already hanging in the air.

A small laugh escaped Mira behind them."Geez, look at these," she said, giving Lyra a sideways glance. "They're hopeless in front of a beautiful face like yours Lyra. Don't mind them."

Lyra's lips curved into a faint smile, her eyes fluttered with quiet amusement. She stepped forward, each movement fluid like a dancer who had never slipped.

"This," Mira said, gesturing toward the girl, "is Lyra Draxler. She's my friend. We met when I first entered the military."

She turned toward them, still caught in different levels of stunned silence. Mira continued, "And this is my brother, Leo... and his two friends. The one who just praised your beauty is Jack, and the other is Ralf."

Lyra's gaze settled on Leo, her smile deepening just slightly. "Oh, Leo," she said, her voice smooth, carrying the faintest lilt of amusement. "I was really waiting to see who Mira's little brother was — the one she always talks about."

Leo felt his ears burn, and heat crept across his cheeks. Mira caught the look quickly and grinned like a wolf who had found prey. Lyra's laugh came warm and light, the kind of sound that felt like it belonged in a sunlit garden.

"Let's go inside," she said, still smiling. "I'm sure you're all tired from the journey. Your rooms are upstairs." She glanced to the side, catching the eye of a servant who had appeared silently by the doorway. "Show them their rooms. Tell the kitchen to prepare food."

The servant bowed and gestured for them to follow.

As they stepped into the mansion, the air shifted again — cooler, touched with the faint scent of lavender. The entry hall unfolded before them in a sweep of opulence that made even the capital's main streets feel plain.

The floor beneath their boots was a seamless expanse of polished marble, so smooth that it caught their reflections. The walls were lined with tall, arched windows framed in gilded trim, their panes washed with the soft light of the afternoon. The ceilings soared far above, disappearing into ornate plasterwork that depicted constellations in gold and deep cobalt.

And in the center of it all hung a chandelier — no, not merely a chandelier. It was a cascade of crystal, tier upon tier, catching the light in a thousand fragments.

 Each glint felt too precise to be glass. It was closer to diamond—no, sharper than that, as if someone had carved light itself into shape. The glow spilling from it was warm and golden, almost breathing, and the gold trim along the walls seemed to pound faintly in response.

Jack's jaw shifted as he searched for words.
"That thing…" he muttered. 

Ralf was still staring upward, eyes stretched wide.
"It could buy the whole village."

Leo barely noted their voices.

His attention crossed the hall instead—over oil paintings locked inside the heavy frames, portraits of stern men and remarkable women. Every face carried the same sharpness in its features. Draxler, unmistakably so. His eyes lingered on smaller things after that: silver thread knit subtly through the carpet, the slow flutter of a silk curtain stirred by a passing draft.

The servant guided them toward the grand staircase. Its railing was carved from dark mahogany, worked so carefully it felt alive, gold inlaid along every curve. Their footsteps sank into the deep crimson carpet lining the stairs, sound swallowed whole as they climbed.

 Above them, the chandelier's glow followed, casting them in soft, gilded light.

Leo's thoughts swirled. It wasn't just beauty — it was the kind of power you could feel in your bones. The Draxler mansion wasn't simply a home; it was a statement.

Somewhere behind them, Mira and Lyra were still speaking in hushed tones. Their voices together easily, unhurried, as if time itself had slowed to adjust the estate.

The servant led the way up the staircase.

He was young, dressed in black livery edged with gold so precise it bordered on severe. His steps were light, almost soundless against the carpet. It carried a quiet discipline—one shaped by rules learned early and followed without question. In this house, service was not subservience. It was structured.

The three men followed closely, their gazes wandering despite themselves. No single detail held for long; the hall offered too many things that caught attention.

At the landing, the staircaseis divided into two harmonious arcs, rising apart like wings. Between them stood a towering arched window of stained glass. It represented a sunrise breaking over a battlefield dense with banners, frozen at the moment before triumph. At its middle gleamed the Draxler crest, sharp and unmistakable.

When sunlight passed through the glass, color spilled onto the marble floor below—reds, golds, and blues scattering like shattered gemstones.

Jack slowed without realizing it. His eyes traced the image piece by piece.
"Even their windows aren't just for decoration," he said quietly.

Ralf gave a faint smirk but didn't respond. His attention had already shifted.

They passed a long display cabinet built directly into the wall, glass polished to near invisibility. Inside it weapons are arranged with deliberate care. Swords with silver-threaded hilts, each piece balanced between beauty and lethality. One weapon stood apart—a black spear, simple in form. It seemed to absorb the surrounding light, leaving an emptiness in its wake.

Leo felt his gaze linger there too long before he looked away.

The upper hall was lined with paintings, each illuminated by its own small golden lamp. The frames were carved with curling vines, smoothed and polished until they reflected the light softly. A man in battle armor stared out from one canvas, eyes sharp with resolve. Another showed a woman seated on a balcony beneath a vast night sky, her expression calm, unreadable.

Something was unsettling about them.

It wasn't just skill. Each portrait carried a presence—as if the figures within were alive. As though, at any moment, they might step forward and resume whatever task had been interrupted.

Leo swallowed his thoughts.

This place didn't merely display its history.
It remembered it.

"Left here," the servant said softly, turning into a wide corridor that ran the length of the second floor.

The atmospier were Warmer. Still. Beneath it lingered a faint, steady hum, as though the building itself were alive and breathing somewhere far below.

The carpets swallowed their footsteps. Along the walls, polished bronze chandeliers were sealed within etched glass covers. The flames burned evenly, without the slightest tremor, casting steady halos of light that refused to waver.

They moved past one door after another.

Each door was carefully carved from wood, with a small crest plate fixed above the handle. Some were closed, sealed with deliberate silence. Others stood slightly open, offering brief, uninvited glimpses inside—a sitting room where a fire crackled behind a wrought grate; a study lined with leather-bound volumes arranged with rigid precision; a music room where a grand harp waited in silence, its strings untouched and gleaming.

Ralf slowed as he peered into one of the rooms.

They turned to another corner.

The passage widened into a smaller hall, the silence deepening as they stepped. At its center stood a tall porcelain vase filled with white lilies. Every stem was placed with deliberate care, so perfect it felt unnatural. The scent was clean and sharp, cutting cleanly through the trace of lavender from earlier.

The servant halted before three doors standing side by side.

They were crafted from the same polished wood as the others, the grain flawless, the workmanship beyond reproach. Only a small Draxler crest had been engraved into each.

"These are your rooms," the servant said, inclining his head. "Your belongings will be brought up shortly. Please make use of the bell rope if you require anything."

Jack glanced toward the end of the hall.

The servant gave a faint, polite smile before turning away. His steps faded, swallowed by the thick carpets and the silence that followed.

For a long moment, none of them moved.

Leo rested his hand on the cool brass handle of his door, the weight of the journey pressing down now that the grandeur around them had settled in its own way. His mind kept circling back to the brief exchange downstairs — Lyra's smile, her voice.

Ralf broke the silence first. "I'm not sure if I'm supposed to be impressed... or worried I'll get lost on the way to dinner."

"Ha! Just look for the smell of food or the sound of Mira laughing at Leo's bright red cheeks," Jack said with a grin.

Leo stared at him, but it only seemed to widen Jack's grin.

The corridor seemed to breathe around them — quiet, dignified, yet humming with the unseen rhythm of a household in motion. Somewhere below, the faint clink of silverware hinted that preparations for the meal had already begun.

Leo opened the door to his room.

Warm light spilled over him, chasing away the last cool traces of the hall. The chamber was spacious, with tall windows draped in heavy silk curtains of deep emerald, their edges stitched in gold thread. The bed was placed centrally, its frame made from dark wood and its linens a dazzling white. A table was positioned near the hearth, and it was already arranged with a crystal pitcher holding water and two glasses.

Beyond, a balcony looked out over an inner garden, a sweep of trimmed green space interrupted by meandering stone paths and splashes of color from the blooming flowers of late summer. A distant sound of running water hinted at a nearby fountain amidst the hedges.

Leo entered the room slowly, as if stepping into a different world.

Jack's voice came faintly from the room next door. "If you don't see me in an hour, I've either drowned in that tub they gave me or I'm still counting how many pillows they stacked on the bed."

Ralf's dry comment came one beat after that. "Don't touch anything that looks more expensive than your life."

Leo smiled faintly to himself, letting the heavy door click shut behind him.

For the first time since the carriage had rolled up to the gates, the grandness of the mansion was no longer overwhelming, but simply existed, enveloping him with an unfamiliar comfort.

Somewhere far below, in that vast and gilded hall, Mira and Lyra's conversation continued in quiet tones. He could not make out the words, but part of him wanted to.

And part of him wasn't sure if he was ready.

.....

Leo stood by the balcony doors, gazing out beyond the glass to the gardens below. The sun was warm upon the bushes, its light catching each edge with gold. Somewhere out there, a fountain ran softly over its stones, its calm dripping a contrast to the silence within the room.

Then he caught a faint conversation.

They came up, faint but recognizable, even far enough away that one could make out the rhythm of words. Mira's voice was light, interested.

"Where is your sister? I didn't see her when we arrived."

A pause, then Lyra's reply.

"I think Eliza is in her room. She's been keeping to herself these past few days."

The conversation trailed off into something identical, too soft to hear. 

The name lingered in Leo's mind for reasons he couldn't place.
The group continued up the sweeping staircase, their footsteps swallowed by the thick carpet, the conversation fading behind them. In this grand house, there was a door locked shut. And behind it, a person yet to be met.