Renardon Estate
After passing through the academy portal, I was back into the portal station but I don’t know what to do next
Thankfully, I didn’t have to deal with security checks or awkward introductions. Sykelion had sent a VIP access pass, which ant I could enter the Renardon Estate without anyone asking questions like "Who are you?" or "Why are you here?" or "Why do you look like trouble?"
Before stepping out fully, I adjusted my eye veil, making sure it sat perfectly. If I was going to deal with high-profile clients, I might as well look mysterious enough to charge triple.
When the portal closed behind , I found myself standing at the entrance of a massive forest. Tall trees stretched endlessly, their branches swallowing most of the light, leaving only a narrow path that led deeper inside.
I stared at it.
No.
Absolutely not.
There was no way I was walking into that.
This was how horror stories started. One wrong step and suddenly I’d be starring in my own version of "The Hills Have Eyes: Academy Edition."
I raised my OmniSync and typed quickly.
{I’m at the entrance of the forest. Either you co get , or I’m leaving.}
A second passed.
{That’s strange. A car should already be waiting for you there.}
I blinked. "...Car?"
I slowly turned my head and saw a car parked a few ters away like it had been waiting for this whole ti.
"...You’ve got to be kidding ."
I walked toward it cautiously, already suspicious of everything and everyone in my general vicinity.
I peeked at the open window and saw the driver snoring loudly.
I stopped beside him. "Excuse ?"
Snore.
I frowned slightly. "Excuse ?" I said louder.
Snore.
My eye twitched. "...Alright."
I reached forward and slamd my hand on the horn.
HOOOOOOOONNNNNKKKKKKK!!!
The man shot up like he had been resurrected from the dead, instantly pulling out a gun and aiming it straight at .
I didn’t flinch, I just stared at him, completely calm, unbothered, but slightly annoyed.
"Take to your boss," I said, already opening the back door like I hadn’t just nearly been shot.
I slipped inside and made myself comfortable.
There was a long pause.
"What the fuck was that, lady?!" he demanded, still processing the fact that I had just assaulted his ears and his peace.
"Just drive," I replied, closing my eyes like this was completely normal behavior.
"That’s it?" he said incredulously. "No introductions? No explanation? No apology?"
"Apology accepted."
"...What?"
I cracked one eye open just enough to look at him through the rearview mirror. "You pointed a gun at . Which, to be fair, is perfectly reasonable considering I assaulted your car while you were asleep."
He stared at through the rearview mirror then shook his head. "You’re insane, lady."
"I’ve been told."
Another pause, a longer one this ti.
He sighed, finally putting the gun away and starting the engine.
"I’m Finnian Jadofe," he said. "What’s yours Ma’am...?"
"Just call by my na," I said, eyes closing again as I leaned back. "I’m not old enough to be called ma’am."
"...Right."
"My na...?" I echoed, thinking of aliases that would suit . I let the silence stretch just enough to be annoying before giving him an answer.
"Just call Crimson."
"Crimson?" he repeated, testing it.
"Mmm," I humd softly. "And no—that’s not my real na."
I didn’t need to look to know he was frowning.
"Why would you even hide your real na... and what’s with the veil?" he asked, squinting at through the mirror. "Are you blind or sothing?"
I tilted my head slightly, still leaning back comfortably. "What’s the first thing you think of when you see ?" I asked.
"Insane," he said without hesitation.
I slowly turned my head toward him."I’m serious," I said flatly.
"I’m serious too," he muttered, then sighed when I didn’t look away. "Alright, fine. Snow leopard."
"...Close," I admitted. "But still wrong. And no, I’m not blind."
""Then what’s with the veil? Fashion trend?"
A small smile tugged at my lips.
"My eyes are too... striking," I said lightly. "I’d rather not have people recognize out of nowhere just to beg to carve sothing for them while I’m trying to enjoy my day peacefully."
There was a pause.
"...So you’re a carver?" he asked, sounding skeptical.
"Yes."
"Aren’t you a bit young?"
I didn’t even hesitate. "Aren’t you a bit old to be asking this many questions?"
That shut him up.
For about three seconds.
"So?" he continued anyway. "What’s your ranking? You must be at master-level if Sir Sykelion personally arranged for to drive you."
"I own Crimson Snow Atelier."
Screech—!
The car halted so abruptly I nearly beca one with the front seat.
I grabbed the side just in ti, my patience hanging by a thread. "...Are you trying to kill ?" I asked flatly.
He turned around slowly, eyes wide like I had just told him I owned the moon. "Y-You’re the owner of Crimson Snow Atelier?"
"You just repeated what I said," I replied dryly, brushing imaginary dust off myself before turning my gaze toward the window.
Silence filled the car as he processed that.
Then, wordlessly, he turned back to the road and resud driving, this ti much more careful like he was suddenly transporting sothing fragile or dangerous.
I shifted my gaze towards the window, watching the forest blur past. I wasn’t even sleepy anymore, apparently, near-death experiences had that effect.
"...I don’t believe you," he said after a while, narrowing his eyes again like he had recovered just enough confidence to doubt .
I rolled my eyes. "Did I ask you to?"
"...No."
Peaceful silence returned as I finally managed to mute him.
I leaned back again, satisfied.
~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~
We finally arrived.
And by arrived, I an the car rolled to a stop in front of a mansion so unnecessarily grand it felt like it was personally judging my life choices.
Tall, elegant, and half-claid by nature, the Renardon Estate stood wrapped in climbing vines and ancient trees, like it had decided at so point to beco both luxurious and mysterious just to intimidate visitors.
"...Of course it looks like this," I muttered under my breath as I stepped out.
The mont my feet touched the ground, a man approached, posture straight, smile polite. He was clearly the type who had never once tripped over his own dignity.
"Welco to Renardon Estate, dear guest—"
He froze, mid-sentence, mid-breath, and probably mid-life as his face went pale the second his eyes landed on .
"...You?"
I frowned slightly.
"Yes, ." I gestured vaguely at myself. "The owner of Crimson Snow Atelier. But I would appreciate it if you called Crimson instead of You. It’s less... dramatic."
He blinked like his brain had temporarily disconnected then quickly cleared his throat, recovering whatever professionalism he had left.
"My apologies. I thought I recognized you sowhere else, but it seems I must have been mistaken."
"Or hallucinating," I added helpfully, waving a hand. "It happens."
His smile twitched.
"Anyway," I continued, tilting my head slightly, "you must be Sykelion Vulpes? The one who’s been flooding my inbox?"
"Yes," he confird, regaining composure. "And please don’t worry about the inconvenience. The Duke will make sure you’re compensated generously."
"As he should," I said without hesitation.
"..."
He then gestured towards the entrance. "Shall we?"
"Lead the way."
As we walked in, I took a mont to look around properly.
The estate was... impressive.
Not just big—deliberately big.
Elegant in a way that didn’t scream for attention, but still made it very clear that whoever owned this place had money, power, and probably too many rooms they never used.
It reminded a bit of Soren’s French chateau—except this one leaned more rustic. Less polished, more... intentional wilderness aesthetic.
Like, "Yes, we are rich, but we also appreciate trees."
"Did you enjoy the view on your way here?" Sykelion asked, making polite conversation.
I sighed.
"The view was nice," I admitted. "The driver, however, nearly ruined the experience."
Behind , I heard Finnian choke faintly.
"I did manage to make him speechless halfway through the trip though," I added, a hint of satisfaction slipping into my voice. "So I suppose it balanced out."
Sykelion chuckled softly. "That’s... quite an achievent."
"I know."
We continued walking deeper into the estate, the air growing quieter and heavier.
I adjusted my veil slightly. "...So," I said, glancing at him, "how bad is this situation exactly?"
No one calls persistently, pays triple, and lives in a place like this...
Unless sothing is very wrong.
We stopped in front of a door that looked less like an entrance and more like a warning.
Chains wrapped around it in layers, thick and excessive, as if whoever locked it had serious trust issues or a very good reason not to trust what was inside.
Embedded along the fra were fox energy stones, but instead of the usual refined glow, these looked—
...horrifying.
Like soone tried to fix sothing and made it worse.
BANG!
The door shook violently.
BOOM!
Sothing heavy slamd against the other side.
CRASH!
Yeah.
Definitely not a "polite noble having a bad day" situation and instead was clearly in the middle of a violent identity crisis.
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