Roses are an eternal symbol of love. It's easy to forget there's more than one type of love.
Thoughts and sentiments weren't a common commodity in the country of Lukedonia. At least, that's what Regis thought. One hundred and ninety-nine years old, and he had yet to venture out into the human world. Which was understandable; his coming-of-age ceremony was coming up, and he needed to be sharp for learning about the humans. Any earlier, and he'd be too young to be exposed to the harshness of life outside the country he lived in. Gejutel — excuse him, Sir Gejutel — needed him back in one piece. For that, he needed his head on straight and his senses sharp at all times. Accompanying him would be Seira, the current Clan Leader of the Loyard Clan.
Seated near the entrance to the Landegre Mansion, Regis thought about the rose trees in the Loyard garden, and how Seira would often sit there with her father. From what he could glean, Seira and her father were close. Much like himself and his own father, the previous head of the Landegre Clan. Standing up, Regis circled around a column of the estate, a rare time when he could let his thoughts wander without anyone asking what was on his mind. He appreciated the concern, but he enjoyed the time to himself. His thoughts wandering to his grandfather, Regis wondered what was on the elder Noble's mind.
"Father…" Regis whispered. "What do you think of our state right now?" He knew Roussare couldn't hear him, and he knew Legasus was too far away to let him speak to his father. But it was nice to pretend. It helped soothe the sting of knowing his father was no longer around. "I miss you, father…."
It would be a lie if anyone said he was clueless on how harsh reality could be. He learned that one hundred years ago, when his grandfather returned from the human world bloody and in anguish. He wouldn't learn for another decade that his father had been slain. Slain, like a helpless animal caught in the crossfires of war. Regis knew, at the tender age of one hundred and nine, that his father wouldn't be coming home.
"Do you think Grandfather is doing a good job?" he asked, his hand resting on the cold marble of the column. "He does his best, and I know he is an excellent Clan Leader…." He couldn't let go of the small pain in his heart, knowing that his grandfather was so busy running what was left of the Clan, it left little time to spend with Regis himself. There was comfort in knowing Seira was in a similar position, and there was a small age gap between them. In a sense, he saw her as an older sister; someone, a person with their own thoughts and (well-hidden) feelings. Unlike the explosive Kertia son, who was currently in prison for his temper tantrum ten years ago. What a fondness for the number ten the Nobles had, Regis noted.
Craning his neck up to look at the design on the column, Regis noticed an intricate rose design, buried under millenia of weather and erosion. Faded thorns and petals of an ornate elegance danced across the column, snaking their way down in a pattern that has since been lost to time. A thin layer of dust coated them, like a strangely comforting and protective quilt. Running his finger across the dust coating, Regis detected traces of old glory, hidden beneath years upon years of weathering. He had to wonder how glorious the column — and by extension, the estate— was when it was first made. It had to have been from before his grandfather's time, he mused.
He would've lingered around to admire it some more, had he not felt the presence of a familiar Aura.
"Seira," he greeted, bowing his head. "You've arrived."
The silent Loyard girl nodded his way, returning the greeting in her own way. Regis couldn't comprehend how much of a burden it was to take up the mantle of Clan Leader so young, though she was only slightly older than he was. Losing her father, on top of attaining the rank of Clan Leader… he couldn't comprehend how much it troubled the young Loyard. Of course, being the gentleman that he was, he chose to keep these thoughts to himself.
"Clan Leader Rozaria is waiting to send us off," Seira said. "She is expecting us within the hour."
"Of course." Regis nodded, understanding the need to see this through.
Stepping down the stairwell to Seira's level, Regis's mind lingered on the column. Why did it feel so familiar? Regis asked himself. Walking besides Seira, he received his answer in the form of a lone rose tree out in the garden. The sole survivor of its generation, much like Seira herself.