The Last Celestial Tamer

Chapter 1

The rain had been falling since sunrise.

Cold drops hammered the stone roads, spilled from the rooftops, and streamed down the wide marble steps of Ashcroft Manor like countless tiny rivers. Thick storm clouds stretched endlessly across the sky, swallowing every trace of sunlight until the world seemed trapped beneath a blanket of gray.

Inside the great mansion, warm golden lights glowed through every window. Music drifted through the halls, blending with cheerful laughter as members of the Ashcroft family celebrated another prosperous year of wealth and influence.

Outside, however, a young man knelt alone.

His thin shirt clung to his body, soaked through by the relentless rain. Wet strands of black hair hung over his eyes, sending droplets onto the polished marble beneath him. His hands were raw and split open, and fresh blood mixed with the rainwater as he pushed an old brush across the stone.

Every stroke sent a burning ache through his fingers, yet he never slowed. He already knew what happened whenever he stopped.

A servant standing beneath the doorway folded his arms and watched with open impatience.

"Hurry up, Lucien!" the man shouted. "Those steps should shine well enough for Lady Eleanor to see her own face!"

Lucien lowered his head."Yes."

The servant frowned. "Louder."

"Yes, sir."

"There. That's better."

With a satisfied smile, the servant turned and disappeared back into the mansion.

Lucien resumed scrubbing. The rough bristles scraped against the marble and tore deeper into the wounds on his fingers, but he barely reacted anymore. Hours of labor had dulled the pain until only a heavy numbness remained.

In some ways, that made life easier.

Pain always became easier to bear after enough years.

The great wooden doors suddenly swung open, and a wave of warm air spilled into the cold rain. The rich aroma of roasted meat, fresh bread, and sweet cakes drifted toward Lucien, making his empty stomach tighten painfully.

He had not eaten since yesterday morning.

A group of noble children raced outside, laughing as they chased one another across the courtyard. Their expensive clothes shimmered faintly with protective enchantments, causing every raindrop to slide harmlessly away before it could touch the fabric.

One little boy suddenly stopped and stared at Lucien. A slow, mocking smile spread across his face. "Look!"

The others turned toward the steps. "The bastard is still cleaning."

A little girl covered her mouth as she giggled. "He looks like a wet dog."

Another boy scooped up a handful of mud and smirked. "I bet he'll lick our boots if we ask."

The children erupted into laughter.

Lucien kept his eyes fixed on the marble beneath him. If he ignored them, perhaps they would lose interest and leave.

Instead, a lump of mud flew through the air. It struck the side of his face with a wet splash, and cold dirt slid down his cheek.

The children's laughter only grew louder.

The first boy walked closer. He could not have been older than ten, yet his face already carried the same arrogance worn by every Ashcroft noble.

He lifted one polished boot.

Without warning, he drove it into Lucien's shoulder.

The force knocked Lucien sideways, and the old brush slipped from his hand before skidding across the rain-soaked stone.

The boy pointed at him with a smug grin. "Stay down."

The courtyard fell quiet as every child watched.

Satisfied that he had everyone's attention, the boy smiled even wider. "Bastards don't look nobles in the eyes."

Lucien slowly reached for the brush. His shoulder throbbed from the kick, but he refused to show it. He said nothing.

A servant standing nearby chuckled in amusement. "Good lesson," he said. "They should know their place."

Lucien's fingers tightened around the brush until they trembled. It was not fear that shook them. It was anger.

But anger had no place inside Ashcroft Manor. Every outburst earned another beating, another punishment, another reminder of where he belonged.

So he swallowed it, just as he always had.

Eventually the children grew bored and hurried back into the warmth of the mansion, where a feast and laughter were waiting for them.

The heavy doors closed behind them.

Music echoed through the halls once again, while the rain continued to pour across the empty courtyard.

Lucien remained where he was, scrubbing the marble until every stain had vanished.

Only then was he allowed to stand.

His knees trembled after hours on the unforgiving stone. He collected the bucket and worn brush before quietly making his way around the side of the estate.

Ashcroft Manor resembled a royal palace more than a noble residence.

Towering white spires stretched toward the dark sky, while perfectly maintained gardens surrounded the estate in every direction. Crystal fountains overflowed with enchanted water that glowed softly after sunset, and stone statues of legendary heroes guarded every entrance. Above it all, the Ashcroft banners continued to wave proudly despite the driving rain.

Every corner of the estate reflected wealth, power, and honor.

Every corner except one.

Behind the stables stood a small wooden shed. It had once been used to store farming tools. Now it served as Lucien's home.

Inside stood a narrow bed, a broken chair, and a threadbare blanket filled with holes. The aging roof leaked whenever it rained, sending steady drops onto the worn wooden floor.

Today was no exception.

Lucien stepped inside and set the bucket in the corner before looking around the cramped room.

Nothing had changed.

Nothing ever did.

He removed his soaked shirt and carefully washed the blood from his hands with cold rainwater collected in an old barrel. 

The cuts were deep, so he wrapped them with torn strips of cloth, knowing no healer would ever come for him. No one ever had.

A gentle knock sounded from the open doorway.

Lucien looked up.

An elderly servant woman stood there holding a small basket.

Her gray hair was tied neatly behind her head, and years of labor had bent her back, but unlike the others, her eyes still held warmth.

Her name was Martha.

Without saying a word, she held out a small piece of stale bread. "I saved it before the kitchen threw it away."

Lucien accepted it carefully. "Thank you."

She looked him over with quiet concern. "You've become too thin."

"I'm fine."

"You always say that."

Her gaze shifted toward the mansion before she lowered her voice. "They worked you harder today."

Lucien answered with nothing more than a small nod.

Martha sighed. "I wish things were different."

A faint smile touched his lips. "So do I."

She reached forward and gently brushed a streak of dirt from his forehead. "You remind me of your mother."

Lucien froze.

Very few people ever spoke of her. Most behaved as though she had never existed.

He looked into Martha's eyes. "What was she like?"

The old woman's expression softened as memories surfaced. "She was kind," Martha said quietly. "Very kind. She smiled often, and she spoke to servants as though we were people instead of furniture."

Lucien listened without blinking. "What else?"

Martha hesitated. The warmth faded from her face, replaced by unmistakable fear. "I... shouldn't say more."

"Please."

"If Lady Eleanor hears..."

She shook her head slowly. "I'm sorry."

Turning away, she stepped back into the rain.

Before disappearing, she glanced over her shoulder and whispered just loudly enough for him to hear. "Don't let them convince you that your mother was evil."

Then she vanished into the falling rain.