The chopper ride was nothing short of exhilarating. It felt as if gravity had momentarily vanished, and my body seemed lighter, soaring through the vast expanse of the sky like a bird. The panoramic view, a tapestry of shimmering coastline giving way to the vast ocean, was utterly breathtaking. It was undeniably loud and scary, with intense vibrations rattling through the very core of my being, but it was also, surprisingly, infinitely more fun than I had ever dared to imagine.

Just as I was thoroughly immersed in my own world of aerial wonder, the thirty-minute ride came to its end. We descended, gracefully, onto the island exactly as he had stated. My initial mental sketch of a tiny, tree-dotted islet with a quaint mansion was brutally, spectacularly mistaken. The island was vast, a verdant jewel rising majestically from the sea, and the mansion—the focal point of this colossal landmass—was gigantic, an architectural behemoth that dwarfed the landscape. I was reminded once again, with a familiar pang, of our stark differences, of how truly minuscule I was in comparison to Levi’s impossibly grand scale of existence.

To prevent myself from spiraling into another abyss of self-deprecating thoughts, I clapped my hands sharply. As the chopper’s rotors began to slow, Levi leaned close, his presence a sudden, warm weight beside me, and carefully lifted the heavy headphones from my ears. The world outside rushed back in, a symphony of natural sounds now muted. He placed both our headphones carefully inside the aircraft’s cabin. "Following our repast," he stated, his voice calm and precise, "I would like to engage in a brief stroll to a particular locale."

“Alone?” I questioned, the word escaping my lips before I could properly censure it, a silent, desperate prayer echoing within that the answer would be negative.

"No, in shared company. It constitutes my chosen method for rendering certain aspects of my person more comprehensible to you."

Levi’s stated intention for me to visit wherever he deemed fit, was, truthfully, irrelevant. What mattered, what warmed me, was the unexpected appreciation for his prior communication, the fact that he had actually informed me this time.

As we began the walk towards the imposing mansion, a butler, stiff and impeccably uniformed, emerged from the grand entrance, approaching us with a gait of practiced reverence. He executed a deep, almost theatrical bow before Levi, his head lowered in deference, but not before delivering a quick, assessing glance in my direction. “The Lady awaits your presence in the dining room, Master,” he intoned, his voice precise and deferential, yet underscored by a subtle undercurrent of something that I instinctively perceived as disapproval, a hint of resentment, perhaps.

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It immediately made me wonder: who leaves his own mother stranded on an entire island? And the bigger question: who owns an entire island?

Levi does, apparently.

He dismissed the butler with a flick of his wrist. Once the butler had retreated, Levi, to my surprise, extended his arm to me, his hand waiting for mine to intertwine with his. He was a little touchy today, and despite my initial bewilderment, I didn't mind it at all. My fingers instinctively wrapped around his forearm, locking our arms together, a strange, electric current passing. The walk to the mansion, though short, was utterly silent, the only sound the crunch of our shoes on the gravel path. Yet, for me, the tension was rising with every deliberate step.

Two gigantic, ornate wooden doors, carved with intricate, swirling patterns, swung open silently before us. As we entered the cavernous hall, the mansion’s entire staff—a long, impressive line of people—stood rigidly at attention, bowing in synchronized reverence as we passed. Although I vaguely appreciated the respectful gesture, I felt a bit out of place. This deep, almost worshipful bowing was a bad habit, a ritual that made me feel profoundly uncomfortable, almost sick.

I wasn’t sure what Levi was feeling about this display. His face was, as always, a blank, unreadable canvas, devoid of expression. As we continued our silent procession down the endless hall, I started studying his profile, searching for any tell-tale sign. He didn't even grant a passing glance to the bowing workers. He was, after all, a noble man, born into this world of inherited deference. He had spent his entire life, thirty years, with this very treatment, this constant obeisance.

At the very end of the hall, another imposing, intricately carved door stood, awaiting our approach. Levi paused, his voice low and precise, "This particular chamber serves as the dining room. My mother's appellation is, I daresay, inconsequential to your understanding, though for your information, it is 'Cybil'. I sincerely hope you can discern the inherent irony."

Oh. His mother’s name. Cybil. It meant prophetess.

Levi then raised his hand and knocked, a sharp rap on the heavy wooden door, waiting for the unseen servants within to open it for us.