Klaus walked the familiar paths that connected the annex to the main estate, his steps unhurried despite the pull he felt toward the Eastern Tower. The Lionhart grounds stretched before him like a small kingdom unto itself—hundreds of acres of carefully maintained gardens, training yards, administrative buildings, and residential quarters that housed one of the continent's most powerful noble families.

The estate's sheer scale never failed to impress him. Ancient oak trees lined pathways that could accommodate entire merchant caravans. Ornamental lakes reflected centuries-old architecture that spoke to wealth accumulated across generations of imperial service. Guard posts positioned at strategic intervals reminded visitors that this wasn't merely a residence but the seat of power for rulers who governed territory spanning thousands of square miles.

Klaus had grown up taking this magnificence for granted. Now, seeing it through eyes that had witnessed cosmic forces and dimensional threats, he appreciated what his family had built and maintained. This wasn't just personal luxury—it was foundation that supported stability for millions of citizens who depended on Lionhart leadership.

A group of guards emerged from nearby barracks as Klaus passed, their faces lighting up with recognition that carried something approaching reverence. These were men who had witnessed his battle with Sabrina Petrova during the terrorist attack at Alex's recognition ball—soldiers who had watched their young master fight legendary vampire in aerial combat that defied normal understanding.

"Young Master Klaus," their captain said, bowing deeper than protocol required. "It's good to see you well."

Klaus nodded acknowledgment while studying faces that held awe he wasn't entirely comfortable with. These were professional soldiers who had served the family for years, men who had seen him grow from cursed child to accomplished swordsman. Yet now they looked at him like they weren't quite sure what he'd become.

"Captain Morris," Klaus replied, remembering the man's name despite countless similar interactions. "How are the repairs progressing?"

"Ahead of schedule, my lord. Though..." Morris hesitated before continuing. "The men work faster when they remember what we're rebuilding from. What you saved us from that night."

Klaus felt weight of unearned heroism settling on his shoulders. The battle with Sabrina had been necessity rather than choice, desperate response to threat that would have killed hundreds of innocent people. Yet these soldiers spoke of it like legendary achievement worthy of songs and stories.

As Klaus continued toward the Eastern Tower, word of his passage spread through estate grounds with speed that reminded him how thoroughly his reputation had changed. Guards who hadn't witnessed the battle directly emerged from posts and patrol routes, hoping to catch glimpse of young master whose exploits had become legend among Rikxia's military forces.

Klaus overheard fragments of conversation as he passed:

"That's him—the one who fought the demon in the sky."

"They say he moved faster than lightning, struck with force that shattered reality itself."

"My cousin serves with the Third Army. He heard the battle was visible from fifty miles away."

The stories grew more elaborate with each retelling, as stories always did. Klaus wondered what his actual abilities might become in popular imagination after years of such embellishment. Would future generations speak of Klaus Lionhart as mortal swordsman who achieved greatness through determination, or as supernatural entity who had briefly walked among humans?

More troubling was recognition that his reputation was beginning to eclipse even the founding patriarch who had established the Lionhart dynasty centuries ago. Soldiers spoke of "the fight between gods" with hushed tones that suggested they considered Klaus something more than human—elevation that carried dangerous implications for family dynamics and political stability.

Klaus made mental note to discuss this with Roman. Hero worship from common soldiers could quickly become political problem if it undermined established authority structures or encouraged unrealistic expectations about what even enhanced capabilities could accomplish.

Yet part of Klaus felt gratified by their respect. These men risked their lives defending innocent people against threats that exceeded normal military preparedness. If his reputation inspired them to face such dangers with greater confidence, perhaps the embellishment served useful purpose despite its inaccuracies.

The Eastern Tower's distinctive architecture came into view as Klaus rounded final bend in the pathway. Its elegant spires reached skyward with proportions that suggested both strength and aesthetic refinement—perfect symbol for power that served beauty rather than conquering it.

Klaus slowed his approach as he noticed figure waiting near the tower's main entrance. Nicholas Davoss stood with patient stillness that suggested he'd been there for some time, his slight frame contrasting sharply with massive stonework that formed tower's foundation.

Klaus felt curiosity kindle as he studied the young man whose mysterious knowledge had proven valuable during previous crises. Nicholas possessed understanding that exceeded his apparent age, insights that suggested experience spanning lifetimes despite youthful appearance that marked him as contemporary of Klaus's generation.

Klaus approached with measured steps that gave Nicholas time to state his business or withdraw if he'd changed his mind about whatever brought him here. The distance between them closed steadily until Klaus stood directly before visitor who had sought him out for reasons yet unexplained.

Klaus looked down at Nicholas from height advantage that physical transformation had enhanced, noting that smaller man showed no signs of intimidation despite stories circulating about cosmic battles and supernatural capabilities. Nicholas met his gaze with steadiness that spoke to courage earned through experience rather than ignorance of actual dangers.

"Nicholas," Klaus said, his voice carrying neutral acknowledgment that invited explanation without demanding it.

"Klaus," Nicholas replied with equal simplicity, though his tone held undercurrents that suggested this meeting carried significance that exceeded casual social interaction.

They stood facing each other in afternoon sunlight that painted tower walls with golden warmth, two young men whose lives had been shaped by forces that exceeded normal understanding. Whatever Nicholas had come to discuss, Klaus sensed it would prove important enough to justify interrupting his planned reunion with dormant consciousness that had once resided in sword fragment.

The moment stretched between them, pregnant with possibility and weighted by unspoken recognition that some conversations changed everything that followed.