Reborn To Change My Fate-Chapter 184 - Hundred And Eighty Four

A few hours later, the afternoon sun beat down on the main courtyard of the Thompson estate. The air was warm and still, filled with the scent of dust and blooming jasmine. But the usual quiet hum of the household was broken by a strange, rhythmic sound.

Chanting. The shaking of bells. The heavy thud of staffs on stone.

A procession entered the gates.

At the head was a man dressed in long, flowing robes of white and gold silk. He had a long gray beard that reached his chest and carried a tall wooden staff topped with a large, clear crystal. He walked with a solemn, measured gait. Behind him walked four acolytes in simpler white robes, swinging brass censers that filled the air with thick, sweet, cloying smoke. They chanted in a low, resonant language that sounded ancient and mysterious.

The servants stopped their work to watch. Maids peeked out of windows. Stable boys paused with their buckets. Their eyes were wide with awe and curiosity. The Thompson estate was usually a place of strict order, not mystical spectacle.

Beatrice, the Dowager Duchess, stood on the steps of the main entrance. She leaned heavily on her cane, her face lined with age but her eyes bright with interest. She was a woman of faith, a woman who believed in omens.

Ashlyn stood close beside her, holding the old woman’s hand supportively. She wore a simple dress, her face a mask of pious concern. She looked like a devoted granddaughter seeking comfort.

The doors behind them opened. Marissa stepped out, followed closely by Lily.

Marissa stopped when she saw the scene. Her eyes narrowed instantly. She took in the robes, the smoke, the chanting. It looked like a carnival. It looked dramatic. Too dramatic.

"Grandmother," Marissa asked, walking down the steps to join them, her voice calm but sharp. "What are they doing here?"

She looked at Ashlyn. She knew this had her sister’s fingerprints all over it.

Ashlyn answered before Beatrice could speak, cutting off any skepticism.

"After what happened to you, sister," Ashlyn said, her voice trembling slightly with fake emotion. She looked at Marissa with wide, innocent eyes. "After the false accusation, the prison, the rumors... I felt uneasy. The estate has felt heavy. Like a shadow is hanging over us."

She squeezed Beatrice’s hand, drawing the old woman’s attention.

"I called a fortune teller to read the fortune of our household," Ashlyn explained, looking earnestly at Marissa. "He said there are bad energies surrounding the estate. Lingering shadows from the recent troubles. So, I called this holy man, Master Orion, to adjust the atmosphere here. For peace of mind. For all of us. Especially for the baby."

She touched her stomach gently, reminding everyone of the "baby."

Beatrice tapped Ashlyn’s hand approvingly. Her face softened.

"Good child," Beatrice said. "You are thoughtful. We have had too much trouble lately. A blessing is just what we need. The spirits have been restless."

Marissa let out a light, dry chuckle. It was barely audible, but Ashlyn heard it.

"Peace of mind?" Marissa asked herself internally. "Ashlyn doesn’t care about peace. She thrives on chaos. She creates storms just to watch people drown. What is she up to now? Is this another distraction? Or a new attack?"

She watched the "Master Orion" approach the steps. He stopped ten paces away. He bowed deeply to the Dowager, his staff thumping on the stone with a resonant echo.

"Dowager Duchess," the man said. His voice was deep, commanding, and practiced. It projected across the courtyard. "Peace be upon this house."

"And to you, Master," Beatrice replied respectfully. "You are welcome here."

The man straightened up. He looked up at the sky, shielding his eyes from the sun. Then he looked at the house, scanning the windows as if seeing invisible spirits. He closed his eyes, humming softly, a low vibration that seemed to match the chanting of his acolytes.

"Last night," the man announced, opening his eyes and fixing them on Beatrice with intense focus, "I observed the stars. The heavens were speaking loudly. The constellations were aligned in a rare formation."

He raised his staff and pointed it toward the west wing of the house.

"The star of Polaris," he declared, his voice rising. "It shone brightly. Brighter than I have seen in fifty years. It is a sign. A sign from the gods of war and fortune."

The servants murmured. Polaris was the guiding star. The star of leadership. The star of generals.

"A sign?" Beatrice asked, leaning forward, her grip on her cane tightening. "What does it mean?"

"Yes," the man said. "A great commander will emerge from here. A leader who will bring glory and wealth to the family name. A man who will lead armies to victory. The stars have chosen him."

Beatrice smiled. Her face lit up with pride. Tears welled in her eyes. She thought of her grandson, the one who bore the burden of the family.

"Master," Beatrice said, nodding enthusiastically. "My grandson, Derek, has been trying his best these past few years. After his brother’s death, he took the burden. He has suffered. Do you think the King will finally give his full approval? Is that what the star means? That Derek will be the true Grand Duke?"

Marissa crossed her arms. She looked at the man skeptically. She knew Derek was a great commander. He didn’t need a star to prove it. He had earned it with blood and strategy. This man was selling hope.

The man closed his eyes again. He hummed, swaying slightly. He seemed to be communing with the spirits, or perhaps just acting for effect.

Then, he opened his eyes. He looked sad. He shook his head slowly.

"No, Your Grace," the man said somberly. "He isn’t the one. The current path is clouded for him. His star is dim."

Beatrice’s smile faltered. Her face fell. "What?"

The man turned his gaze. He looked past Beatrice. He looked past Marissa.

He looked directly at the door.

Carlos had just moved from one the windows. He was passing quietly, trying to look humble, but his eyes were shining with anticipation. He was wearing a new coat, bought on credit. He looked healthy, vibrant.

The man pointed his staff directly at Carlos direction towards a window.

"The bright star," the man proclaimed, his voice ringing out for everyone to hear, "belongs to the Second Master. He is the one the heavens have chosen."