Rag to gold

Papat Elvon touched down on the runway while chilly metal from the jet ladder vibrated under his feet. Sharp clack from his black leather shoes against the concrete surface followed him from the VIP jet. Though it lacked sensation, the whirling wind caressed his custom suit. St. Louis's countryside opened out before him like his city and kingdom on display. Only, it did not feel the same. Seven years had passed overall since his leaving, and during that period he had been learning to discard all facets of his former identity.

He came back with the money and power of the Embrace family restored in his pockets and retrieved his birthright legacy, almost lost permanently. His fingers moved automatically to feel the superior fabric of his suit jacket, which stood for his own metamorphosis. The formerly delicate heir has developed into a tough man. He looked at the jet one last time before his eyes turned to the large Embrace family estate. The perspective looked strange since everything seemed the same yet everything was different.

Since he would be reclaiming the immaculate and tall mansion, it seemed to him as a golden cage. The air seemed weighty, like the calm times before a storm. Papat's mind returned to his days spent in Arizona as he strolled the runway. His training challenged his mental and emotional power at the same time as strained his physique. He had taught himself to cut off entitlement and self-importance from beside arrogance. He became rather skilled in survival without depending on the Embrace name. Not with the wealth. Returning to his beginnings made him wonder about the worth of his seven-year trip. The smells of polished concrete filled his nose, and the noises of traffic from far away took front stage as the distant jet engine noise faded. Still, his fate stayed the same.

Before him the Embrace family estate seemed as a lighthouse. Through its soaring iron gates and magnificent grounds, the Embrace family estate exhibited its familiar presence; its windows create almost ethereal light across the terrain. He had loathed this planet earlier, but today he found himself strangely wanting for it. His feelings clearly changed, as if a weight were pressing against his chest. an uncomfortable feeling.

He fixed his tie while the polished watch metal reflected the light all around him. It was only a watch, a straightforward item. Still, it was only an emblem. He had made it. The weight he carried on his shoulders had helped him to be ready for what lay ahead. Still another presence appeared to permeate the air. Something he found difficult to exactly place. His eyes turned as he strolled. He glanced momentarily at the far side of the land near the huge iron gate. too rapid, too deliberate a shadow. That someone was.

His heart started racing quicker than usual, hence he paused in his tracks. The man vanished into the undergrowth looking thin and ghostlike. His gaze contracted. Though it moved faster than a gardener's speed, the movement displayed intention beyond that of a hapless observer. The discomfort become more pronounced. He persuaded himself it was only the weight of returning, therefore negating his concern. He was absent for seven years while fast changes tore over the planet. But at this point he had no choice. The empire was just waiting here.

Facing the empire became natural along with everything else that followed. About who had been watching him, the mystery was unresolved. In Arizona the sun was unrelenting. The sun beat down on the cracked ground while far-off air shimmered under its weight. Papat considered the heat as an oppressive force, thus he developed a strong dislike against it. His experience with poverty training and his manual labor of stacking boxes, dishwashing, and machine repairs helped him to build endurance. It was not glitzy. It was not opulence. Real, though, was it. His hands still carried the warehouse dirt, bits caught under his fingernails. Having not taken a shower in days, the dried and crusty sweat on his forehead seemed to be a continual reminder. Always reminds me.

The main difficulty lay not in physical work but in the absence of his prior existence. The affluence. The authority. The folks who used to bend before him. Survival helped him to learn to rely just on himself and to live without depending on others. Seven years had certainly stretched out into a long period. Old Joe's trainer, pushed him assiduously every day. Joe never spoke politely and taught severe lessons, so displaying toughness. Joe challenged Papat to his best potential using a different method. Suddenly in the dark, Joe's eyes would alter to expose a depth Papat could not reach. Joe seemed to know more about Papat's family than he acknowledged.

Papat used the dark flat he had resided in for years as a quiet place for introspection where he often wondered about Joe's degree of knowledge. Joe battled his own internal demons; why then did he display so much enthusiasm in Papat's instruction? Because Joe had said something unusual that offended Papat, the remembrance of a specific conversation made his muscles tense. "You know, Papat, hilarious. When Joe's voice sounded weighedy with a secret, Papat informed him he was not the only one linked with that empire. The warehouse door broke Papat's line of concentration. Joe stayed at the door all during his silent observation. Papat denied the unpleasant sensation in his gut. Joe had never said anything more. Some power inside him guaranteed he would find the truth behind Joe's behavior when he returned to St. Louis. Joe's relationship to the family company.

What precisely had Joe known? He questioned why Joe had been training Papat for so long. The temperature in the Elvon family mansion seemed very cold and austere, suitable to make anyone feel small. Family pictures hanging on the walls seemed to be watching him down when he walked in. Under the chandeliers, which softly illuminated all surfaces, the marble flooring gleamed brilliantly. That seemed improper. excessively immaculate. too flawless. Papat looked toward the middle of the space. His father stood in front of the great fireplace exuding power and intimidation. Before he said a single word, Martin Elvon stood towering and forceful enough to make men bend to him. His immaculate control over every element of his life, including his look, was shown by his precisely fitted crisp suit and well combed graying hair. Papat, however, did not bend.

Martin ignored the handshake he offered since he was focused just on the man's terrifying stare. When Martin said "Welcome back, son," his deliberate voice revealed no affection. Papat understood he had lost his chance because of a specific characteristic in the man's voice. That he arrived already too late. His family wanted him to be their puppet and tool; they did not want his comeback. Papat turned away from that deceitful game long ago. Not now. "You have gone a long time, Papat. "Seven years" Martin said as his voice pierced the silence. Papat answered slowly rather right away. Papat studied the man before him who had never seen him clearly. As Martin questioned Papat's preparedness to lead, his voice sank to a cold tone. Papat's teeth closed tightly. "I'm ready. Not you are. The words came sharper and faster.

"Papat you must grasp the world won't halt for you to discover who you are," his father said, eyes revealing strategic ideas and secret depths. His hand clenched at his side, Papat remained silent. Silent gap between them was packed with unspoken truths and disappointments. His father's strong criticism hung over him like a thousand pounds as soon as he got home.