[Aristarkh] The Romanov Estate

[Lance]

Located atop a tall building belonging to the world-renown Holstein Corporation, the Romanov Estate in New York consists of two buildings, two bodies of water, a bridge, and a small artificial forest.

[spoiler=(Open/Close to Start/Stop Music)
Or in other words...   ]

This.

http://www.youtube.com/v/9Ut44Iun5SE&autoplay=1

[/spoiler]

The Estate is well-stocked and furnished with the greatest appliances that money could ever buy. The Romanovs had obviously spared no expense in setting the place up-as was evidenced by the grandeur aura emanating from even the smallest of rocks and the tiniest of trees. Everything had been carefully arranged to greatest effect; Nothing was left to chance, much like the life of the estate's sole occupant-the Romanov heir.

[Lance]

The day began like any other: the sun rose unsteadily on the far horizon, slowly basking the city in the dawn of its early light. The birds filled the morning air and the people stirred; Thus, the city came to life. Even here, in this silent abode that lay above the daily hustle and bustle of the now-vibrant city the day began with no apparent change.

Aristarkh could only sigh, his breath readily forming in the morning's chilly embrace. But rather than shy away from the cold, to seek warmth's comfort and deny daybreak's frosty invitation, the young man instead forced the weariness out of his system and rose to meander the endless halls where only one traveler now tread.

Once, there was a time in the past where the estate was as vibrant as the city below. Countless servants came to and fro, running errands, working household chores, or otherwise simply chatting with the young master himself. It was a pleasant experience for the man who bore the name of Romanov however, like all good things, it came to a sudden and regrettable end.

That time was no more.

These days, Aristarkh was responsible for most, if not all, matters that involved his personal estate. Whether it was cooking, cleaning, or simply taking stock of his current assets, the young Romanov devoted himself to the task at hand. However, when coupled with his extensive training, even such simple actions became increasingly laborious.

After all, though lamentable, Aristarkh was born with a body weaker than most. Thus, in order to make up for the difference, he poured himself into the Romanov's training regime with unmatched resolve. Whenever his arm muscles tore, he immediately switched to leg training. When his legs eventually sprained, he substituted in abdominal workouts. Finally, when he could sit and crunch no more... he began other exercises.

Only when every feasible muscle in his body had been stretched to its utmost limit, in that brief time before his arms recovered and the process renewed, did he lay in quiet contemplation, momentarily closing that one physical attribute of which he was most proud-his eyes.

When he finally opened his eyes again, the world was riddled with criss-crossed crimson lines streaking across the air, ricocheting off the walls and ceiling into a tangled, crimson whole. Though daunting at first, Aristarkh gradually began to adapt for such results came from the natural ability known as the Mystic Eyes of Depth Perception-an ability that allowed Aristarkh to send just about any object along those crimson lines in a path that did not deviate from the line itself. It was an incredibly rare ability, only manifesting itself in the Romanov's direct line of descent. Even then, many generations could go by without a single inheritor of the Mystic Eyes.

Thus, even with his weakened body that no amount of training could solve, Aristarkh's possession of such eyes instantly and irrevocably raised his status within the clan to insane levels. His every need was met, his every want answered, however such gifts came at a price. Even at the tender age of six, Aristarkh was no stranger to the heavy duties and responsibilities placed upon his small shoulders. For unlike other children, Aristarkh was not raised by a parent's love and care; He was instead raised by a master's strict order and discipline. When other kids went out to play, he was alone in a study, desperately learning the deep intricacies of war tactics and politics. His humanity was never once put under consideration, only his usefulness as the Romanov heir. Even now, though he had grown considerably since, he had never once escaped the shackles of the Romanov name.

And he did not want to.

He firmly accepted his role in life. It wasn't great he knew, but it definitely wasn't the worst either. Besides, he still owed the clan for all the aid they had provided him over the years. Nothing came free in life; he knew that lesson well. Back then, he had accepted those gifts with that thought thoroughly in mind, knowing full well that he would have to pay it back later. And now that the time had finally come, he wasn't about to relinquish his role in the coming act. Just as he had remained strong and resolute back then without a thread of hesitation clouding his mind, he would, in the same manner, make his stand here in New York.

No matter the battles to come, he had long prepared himself for any outcome whether good or ill.

---

"...Don't expect any fancy speech from me," Aristarkh spoke as he finally reached the spacious basement downstairs-an area which had long been converted into a magus' private workshop.

-Even if he was to be no more than a tool, to be used and discarded by the family he cherished, he would still perform his duties to the best of his abilities.

Aristarkh approached a gigantic arcane formation candidly placed at the room's core, pausing only once to retrieve a golden spatula from a nearby table.

"Fairness was never present in my life," he continued as he laid the item down to rest atop the arcane formation.

-For this was what it meant to be an heir of the Romanov: To shoulder the burdens of many, to think nothing of your own life as you selflessly sacrifice all to grant a glimmer of hope unto others.

"So don't expect it to be any different in yours," the young heir spoke even as the golden spatula began shining with an unearthly light. The formation followed not too long after; With a start, the summoning circle immediately lit up, shedding its crimson radiance across the cold and otherwise dark room.

-Thus, it did not matter if even his own life should perish, only that he accomplish what he had set out to do.

"Now come out and accomplish your role..."

[spoiler="My servant."   ]

[/spoiler]

[Burdenking]

As the crimson light blasted out from the summoning circle, it suddenly exploded into a golden display of aura's that seemed to wrap around any standing inanimate object in the room. The tendrils of golden light were erratic and seemed to thrash around as they grew more and more violent, until they shot back to the golden spatula and caused in to imploded into a solid gold nugget, and raise from the ground.

Then, from the depths of the throne of heroes, a roar blasted out as the Romanov's servant came charging to the mortal world. In a final flash, the golden nugget exploded, and the large seven foot elder of a servant appeared before the man. Immediately, the stone floor for around 5 feet around the base of his feet, turn to solid gold along with flecks of gold flying off of him like petals as the dust that touched him turn to gold as well.

The servant let out a ragged breath, the man seeming haggard and ill kept. Suddenly though, his eyes looked to his master, and his immediate urge was to attack. However, the grail made him realize who this was and what he did to keep Midas within the world. Instead, he began to walk forward, looking around as each step turned more ground into gold.