A Taste of Recognition

My eyes widened, caught off guard by the grandeur of the dining hall. A golden chandelier framed with diamonds hung above, its strands falling like delicate tree branches. Candlesticks lit the chamber in warm glow, not only from the chandelier but also from sconces fixed along the crimson-painted walls. Portraits of venerable figures stared down, and bowls of fruit added colour to the otherwise solemn room. Doors lined by the walls as well, leading perhaps to the kitchens, the garden, or hidden storerooms. Butlers and maids stood silently at attention, ready to act at the slightest gesture from the family.

At the centre stretched a long dining table draped in pristine white cloth, with each finely carved wooden chair set with perfect arrangements of cutlery and polished utensils. Upon it lay a feast fit for kings, roast potatoes steaming with butter, boiled vegetables glistening in oils, and gammon carved and drizzled in rich gravy. Crystal wine glasses sparkled beside bottles of wine and water.

It felt like dinner for royalty.

And perhaps that wasn’t far from the truth either. The Vandrelis family was royalty in all but name, with the head of the house holding the rank of Duke. In this world, the noble hierarchy stood as thus:

1. Duke
2. Marquis
3. Count
4. Viscount
5. Baron.

So this spectacle was to be expected, yet to me it was surreal. In my previous world, the closest I had ever come to such a sight was through the glow of a computer screen.

Of course, here, there were no computers, nor internet, and what to speak of AI. Electricity itself seemed just a distant dream.

— Where are you, Tesla!

Yet, strangely enough, this world’s deficiency in technology had given me something precious. 

Peace. 

A slow life free from the constant noise, comparisons, and facades. No anxious scrolling, no need to measure myself against others, no false masks to maintain. Perhaps that was why my heart felt lighter than it had in years. 

Still… 

This world was not safe from the untouched progress forever.

"..."

Nine seats encircled the table, four already occupied. At the head sat my father, Duke Vandrelis, staring at me with a gaze that pierced straight into oblivion.

“Good evening, Father,” I said politely, sensing his expectation for a greeting. “I have now recovered fully. My gratitude goes to you and to the maids who have looked after me greatly. I am deeply thankful.”

A murmur swept through the hall. My sudden serenity and formal tone had caught everyone off guard. For most of the past month, only Clara and Tessa had tended to me, so the shift in my behaviour was little more than rumour, well, at least until now. Even the other family members broke from their idle chatter and began fixing their gazes onto me.

Duke Vandrelis, Father, the master of the room, gave a short, sharp scoff. In a matter of seconds, the staff immediately froze in silence.

“That is…” he paused, “wonderful news. Please, be seated.” His words were polite, but his expression and tone showed no signs of joy.

On the left side, three chairs stood. Only the farthest was occupied, a poised young woman with long, wavy blue hair parted into soft curtain bangs. Dressed in a navy gown, she sat with perfect posture, hands folded in her lap as maids served her gammon. She most likely was my eldest stepsister, the daughter of Father’s first wife. As Clara had told me, she also had an elder brother, though neither he nor her mother seemed present today.

To the right, four chairs lined the table. The first was taken by a middle-aged woman, youthful still, her crimson hair styled into sweeping curtains. A jewelled fan hid part of her face, while her eyes darted, piercing directly towards me, sharp and appraising. After a momentary glance, she turned back to whisper with Father near her side. She was, without doubt, the mother of Timothy, as well as the two sisters, Alice and Karen, who seemed absent tonight. I had hoped to see them once again, after the kindness they had shown me, brief as it was, on my very first day in this world.

Beside her sat Timothy. To my surprise, he showed no outward aggression. His fists clenched beneath the table, his eyes cast down, frustrated, tense, still haunted by the memory of the power I had displayed a month ago.

And opposite Father’s seat at the far end of the table lay an empty chair.

 Mine.

— Well, that’s a bit cruel placement, isn’t it…

A butler with a monocle pulled the chair back for me, bowing. “Please, be seated, Master Elias. Call me if you require anything.”

“That’s fine. Thank you.” I began to sit down as the chair behind me was gently pushed in at the perfect distance. The maids served me my share of the feast, their faces still shocked at my calm gratitude. My every move was being studied; Father’s eyes in particular never left me.

— Leave me alone, old man. Then again… I’m technically older than you...

The scent of roasted gammon reached my nose, and my stomach growled loudly in protest. But instinct told me to wait, as such meals never began without the head’s permission.

Father, perhaps noticing my hunger, tapped his spoon against his glass to gather everyone’s attention.

“Today, we celebrate the recovery of Elias,” he declared, raising his wine. “Let us enjoy the feast before us. Let us eat.”

"..."

The toast was only met with silence. Glasses rose, but no words followed. Their faces revealed nothing, no joy, no sorrow. Timothy’s glare, however, burned with quiet resentment.

— Come on, everyone, you’re killing the mood…

“Thank you for your kind words, Father,” I said, glancing at the two familiar figures beside me. Clara and Tessa were stationed right beside me, ready to tend to me as always. “But this recovery would not have been possible without these two kind maids beside me.”

“No, Master, you are too kind!” Clara clasped her hands, a faint blush on her cheeks. Tessa, though quiet, scratched her cheek in embarrassment.

Father’s eyes widened slightly, then softened into something rare, a wholehearted smile. “I see. Then enjoy your dinner, my dear boy.”

"!"

Without warning, tears welled and slipped down my face. They weren’t my own, but the remnants of Elias Vandrelis’s grief. Perhaps all he had ever wanted was a fragment of fatherly warmth, an acknowledgement, however small. Children often carry the weight of their homes within them, neglect, abuse, and coldness, all shaping their futures. Not every parent deserves the gift of a child, and yet the ones that do are unfortunate. 

A cruel imbalance.

"..."

Clara noticed my trembling shoulders and quietly placed a towel in my hands.

“Thanks, Clara.”

“My pleasure, dear Master.”

I sliced into the gammon, trying to eat through the tears and runny nose. Perhaps it was a mix of my own hunger and the old Elias’s bottled emotions, but in that moment, food had never tasted so good.