The grass had taken on a pale, white-green hue—a stark reminder that the snow had only just departed. Winter’s chill still lingered in the air, but the weight of the season was gone. What remained was the gentle promise of spring.

  Aelira, with her ice-blue hair and slender frame, sat beneath the tree where she always trained, gazing up at the vast, empty sky. She wore a loose blue shirt over black trousers, the shirt long on her frame and trimmed with delicate golden patterns at the neckline. Heavy, fur-lined boots completed her attire.

  Why did I say that…

  The moment she had shouted at Lysric echoed in her mind—sharp and relentless.

  “Even if everything he said is true—even if my victory tears our family apart… I don’t care. I don’t want to lose.”

  Is that what I really think? Do I truly not care?

  If it hadn’t been in her heart, it wouldn’t have come out of her mouth… would it? She didn’t know.

  Hugging her knees, she buried her head against them, a knot of confusion tightening in her chest.

  Soon, hearing the footsteps approached, accompanied by a lazy yawn. Aelira lifted her head.

  “It’s still cold…”

  It was none other than Zaek. His outfit was the same as always, save for the charcoal-gray scarf wrapped around his neck. His brown boots looked heavy and worn.

  “Hm? Good morning,” he greeted.

  Aelira averted her gaze. “Good morning.”

  ?“You know, you’ve been waking up far too early lately,” he said, dropping down beside her with a groan. “It wouldn’t kill you to sleep in once in a while. You didn’t even train?”

  ?“I just happened to wake up.”

  ?“Waking up early and not training?” He widened his eyes in mock horror. “That’s a sign of the apocalypse. I’d better prepare my will.”

  ?Aelira shot him a cold, flat glare.

  ?“Just kidding,” he said quickly, raising his hands in surrender. His tone softened. “So, what’s on your mind?”

  “It’s—it’s nothing…”

  He leaned closer, listening intently, only to be disappointed when she didn’t continue. With a sigh, he muttered, “If that were true, I wouldn’t be bothering you. But you’ve had your head in the clouds ever since you won that duel.”

  Aelira buried her face deeper in her arms.

  He leaned closer, listening intently, only to sigh when she fell silent again. “If that were true, I wouldn’t be bothering you. But you’ve had your head in the clouds ever since you won that duel.”

  ?Aelira buried her face deeper in her arms.

  ?“Are you worried I’ll laugh? This old man’s seen too much to laugh at a kid’s troubles.”

  Against his unreliable figure she decide to speak up her mind.

  ?“No… it’s—I don’t know.” Finally, she looked up, her silver eyes clouded with doubt. “Why did I say it? That I don’t care if our family falls apart?”

  She looked him in the eyes expecting an answer so eagerly.

  “When did you say that?”

  “Eh?” The world around her flickered, like a broken image in her mind. “During the fight with Lysric. You don’t remember?”

  Zaek put a hand to his chin, feigning deep thought. “No, can’t say I recall such a thing. Are you sure you shouted it? You’re usually so quiet… maybe it only felt loud to you.”

  She thought about the possibility for a moment, then shook her head. “Just forget it.”

  He smiled. “Maybe you were just so fired up that you yelled, ‘I’ll defeat you, even if our family is destroyed!’ Nothing strange about that. Has this been weighing on you all this time?”

  He reached out and ruffled her hair, messing up her neat bangs. Aelira pouted, swatting his hand away.

  ?“If you think there’s some deeper meaning behind those words, that’s for you to figure out,” he said, standing up and dusting off his trousers. “But I doubt someone who tries so hard to be a hero would ever truly wish harm on her family.”

  As his figure faded from view, She turned her face towards the vast sky.

  Wouldn't ever wish harm on her family…

  From a distant window on the second floor, a pair of dark green eyes watched the exchange.

  ?Cassian stood with his hands in his pockets, his expression thoughtful and unreadable. When Zaek turned and smiled directly in his direction—as if he knew he was being watched—Cassian’s breath hitched.

  ?The thoughtful mask cracked, replaced by a bitter, cold smile. He turned from the window with a quiet sigh.

  “?Tch. He is too sharp.”

  In a grand chamber on the upper floor, where deep navy blue clashed with regal red, silence was not empty—it was heavy.

  ?Servants stood in a rigid row against the wall, heads bowed, each waiting for a single command. At the center of the room sat Vivianne.

  ?Her long ice-blue hair cascaded down her back like a frozen waterfall. Her piercing silver eyes, sharp enough to cut glass, stared into the vanity mirror. She didn’t move. She didn’t blink. She was a statue of cold composure.

  ?The maids moved around her like ghosts, combing her hair and smoothing the fabric of her dress with terrified precision. Not a single strand could be out of place.

  ?For centuries, breakfast had held a special significance for the Viremont family. It wasn't just a meal; it was a battlefield inspection. Every member was expected to be fully prepared, armor polished, masks in place. How you began the day dictated how you would survive it.

  ?Vivianne studied her reflection. The dark green dress hugged her figure perfectly—a color of life, worn by a woman of ice.

  ?She slowly raised a hand.

  ?The movement was slight, but the maids understood instantly. They bowed and retreated, vanishing from the room as if they had never existed.

  ?Alone now, she leaned forward.

  ?She picked up her lipstick. With a steady hand, she applied the crimson shade, a stark contrast to her pale skin. It looked like a fresh wound. Or a warning.

  ?Closing her eyes, she fastened her dark green earrings, the cold metal biting against her skin. She took a breath, centered herself, and opened her eyes again.

  ?Perfect.

  ?Breakfast was the time when messages were best delivered within this family.

  ?She looked at herself in the mirror one last time and smiled.

  ?It was calm. It was soft. And it was utterly dangerous.

  In a modest room awash in shades of brown, a battle was raging.

  ?The enemy was silence. And Wilkram Viremont was winning effortlessly.

  ?He lay sprawled across the bed like a starfish washed ashore, limbs tangled in a chaotic knot of sheets. One foot dangled off the edge, twitching rhythmically.

  ?“Ghh-POOOO… wheeeeeeeze… Ghhh-POOOO…”

  ?The sound was unholy. It started as a deep, guttural rumble, crescendoed into a choke, and ended with a high-pitched whistle that sounded suspiciously like a dying goose.

  ?A maid stood beside the bed, her eyelid twitching in perfect sync with the snoring.

  ?“Lord Wilkram.”

  ?“...honk.”

  ?She sighed, the sound heavy with the weight of her life choices. She reached out and nudged his shoulder. Not gently.

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  ?“Lord Wilkram. Please wake up. The sun has been up for hours.”

  ?“Nnggh…”

  ?Wilkram frowned in his sleep, his face scrunching up like a raisin. “Just… five more… minutes… Mother…”

  ?The maid stared at the ceiling, praying for patience. Just how long is this man going to persist?

  ?Suddenly, the mountain of blankets shifted.

  ?Her face brightened. Finally!

  ?But Wilkram didn’t wake up. Instead, he rolled over, snatching a pillow and crushing it into a suffocating embrace. A line of drool connected his lip to the silk case.

  ?A foolish, dreamy grin spread across his face. He rubbed his cheek against the pillow, muttering with terrifying affection.

  ?“Don’t worry… I’m all you need… Ehehe… pudding…”

  ?The maid’s smile shattered.

  ?She clenched her fist at her side, her knuckles turning white. A dark, menacing aura began to radiate from her back, almost visible in the morning light.

  ?If it wasn't for Lord Sylas orders ... I would have smothered him with that pillow by now.

  Elsewhere in the mansion, in a suite that felt suffocatingly empty, Celdric stood before a tall mirror.

  ?He adjusted his silk tie, his movements mechanical. He was in his forties, yet the face staring back at him looked older. The family’s characteristic ice-blue hair was perfectly groomed, his navy suit pressed to immaculate standards.

  ?But the silver eyes... They were haunted.

  ?Aelira is officially the heir.

  ?It should have been a victory. Instead, it felt like painting a target on their backs.

  ?The King’s spies were no longer hiding in the shadows; they were the servants pouring wine, the gardeners trimming the hedges. Listening. Waiting for a slip.

  ?And the ledgers... Celdric tightened the knot of his tie until it almost choked him. Bleeding. The family fortune was bleeding out. Debts piled upon debts. The people of Isen didn't look at them with reverence anymore; they looked with pity. Or worse—anger.

  ?It’s only a matter of time before the dam breaks.

  ?He stared at his reflection for a long, agonizing moment. Then, he exhaled a breath he felt he’d been holding for months, turned his back on the mirror, and walked out.

  ?The corridor was dim. Ahead, a figure moved sluggishly against the wall.

  ?Lucien.

  ?His younger brother looked less like a man and more like a ghost haunting his own home. His long, icy hair was dull, hanging in limp strands. His silver eyes, usually so sharp, were glazed over with exhaustion and a strange, dark shadow.

  ?He didn’t even seem to notice Celdric. He just stared at the floor, muttering something inaudible, his fingers twitching at his sides.

  ?Celdric slowed his pace. He raised a hand, intending to reach out, to ask—Brother, what is happening to you?

  ?But his hand froze in mid-air.

  ?The distance between them felt unbridgeable. The rot had gone too deep.

  ?Celdric let his hand fall back to his side. All he could do was watch with heavy, worried eyes as Lucien shuffled past him like a stranger.

  ?He looks worse.

  ?There had been a brief moment, weeks ago, when Lucien seemed to be recovering. But now… he was slipping again. Faster this time.

  ?Celdric’s jaw clenched as a name surfaced in his mind, bitter as bile.

  ?Cassian… What are you doing to him?

  Lysric sat upright in the center of his large bed, a small island in a sea of cold sheets.

  ?His ice-blue hair was a tangled mess, a crown of disarray. The silver in his eyes, usually bright with arrogance or mischief, was now dull, tarnished by another night of sleeplessness.

  ?Knock. Knock.

  ?The sound was soft, hesitant. Like the person on the other side was afraid to touch the wood.

  ?"Enter."

  ?The door opened, and a maid slipped inside. She kept her head bowed, eyes fixed firmly on the floor.

  ?"Lord Lysric... it is time for breakfast."

  ?Her voice was clear, rehearsed. Yet, as she placed the water basin on the table, the porcelain rattled against the wood. A faint tremor in her hands.

  ?Fear.

  ?Everyone in this house was afraid now. The air in the mansion had changed since the duel. It was sharper. Deadlier.

  ?"I know," Lysric said, his voice raspy. "I’ll be there. Leave me."

  ?"I understand, my lord. I will inform Lord Sylas."

  ?She curtsied—too quickly—and retreated, closing the door as if escaping a cage.

  ?Silence returned, heavy and suffocating.

  ?Lysric stared at the closed door.

  ?It’s been months.

  ?Winter had bled into spring, yet the cold inside him hadn't thawed. He had lost to Aelira. He had failed.

  ?And still… nothing has truly changed.

  ?He looked down at his hands. They were the hands of a Viremont, but they felt weightless now. Useless.

  ?Father said I was safe. He said I didn't need to be the Hero.

  ?But if he wasn't the Hero... who was he? Just the cousin of the real prodigy? The stepping stone for Aelira's rise?

  ?Is there truly nothing to fear? Or am I just waiting for the axe to fall?

  ?He squeezed his eyes shut, exhaling a breath that shuddered in his chest.

  ?There’s no point in thinking about it.

  ?In this house, weakness was a scent. If he bled, the sharks would come—even if the shark was his own aunt.

  ?His gaze shifted to the wardrobe. The uniform of a noble. A costume he had to wear.

  ?It’s time.

  ?He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up, forcing his body to move even when his spirit refused.

  The heavy curtains were drawn back, letting the cold morning light flood the master suite.

  ?Sylas Viremont rose from his bed with a low, guttural grunt—the sound of an old lion rousing from slumber.

  ?"Good morning, my lord."

  ?Gellman stood by the wardrobe, holding out a robe. He was a mountain of a man, his presence filling the room. A jagged scar tore across his face, a brutal memory of war, and the left sleeve of his uniform was pinned flat against his chest.

  ?He had lost that arm shielding Sylas years ago. Since then, he had ceased to be a vice-captain and became something far more dangerous: Sylas’s right hand.

  ?Sylas stepped before the full-length mirror. Gellman moved with practiced efficiency, adjusting the collar of his lord’s shirt with his single hand.

  ?"How is the task of keeping Zaek under control?" Sylas asked, his eyes fixed on his own reflection. Sharp. Unyielding.

  ?"Poorly, my lord," Gellman replied, his voice like grinding stones. "His senses are too sharp—he’s impossible to shadow without being detected. And with the King’s spies crawling in the woodwork, maintaining surveillance on him weakens our perimeter."

  ?Sylas’s lip curled slightly at the mention of the King.

  ?"It’s fine. Charles’s interest is like a child’s with a new toy—it won’t last forever. He’ll withdraw his dogs soon enough. We just need to endure until then." He straightened his cuffs. "Anything else?"

  ?"No, my lord."

  ?"Good. Wait outside."

  ?Gellman bowed deeply and exited, his heavy boots silent on the thick carpet.

  ?Moments later, a timid knock echoed.

  ?"Enter."

  ?A servant girl slipped in. She kept her head bowed so low her chin touched her chest, trembling slightly.

  ?"My lord... no member of the family has announced their absence from breakfast."

  ?"Good," Sylas said, turning to face her. "What about Zaek? Will the mongrel attend as well?"

  ?"Y-yes, my lord."

  ?"I see. Leave me."

  ?The maid curtsied clumsily and fled the room without daring to turn her back on him.

  ?Sylas smoothed the front of his coat. He looked at the man in the mirror—the Patriarch, the Ruler of Isen.

  ?"Today is a good day to address postponed matters," he murmured to the empty room.

  ?He stepped out into the corridor. Gellman and two armored knights snapped to attention, falling in step behind him.

  ?As he walked toward the dining hall, his footsteps echoed like the beat of a war drum.

  ?Our future may be decided at today’s table.

  ?His eyes narrowed.

  ?Whatever that future may be—it must be shaped by my will.

  The heavy double doors groaned open.

  ?With Sylas’s grand entrance, the breakfast table fell silent. It wasn't a polite silence; it was the silence of a forest when a predator steps into the clearing.

  ?His loyal servant, Gellman, pulled out the heavy chair at the head of the table. Sylas sat.

  ?Like a wave, the family sat in unison.

  ?For a long while, there was only the sound of silver scraping against porcelain—a rhythm like ticking clocks.

  ?Finally, Sylas dabbed his mouth with a napkin and rested his heavy forearms on the table. The signal.

  ?"Since Aelira won the duel," he began, his voice rolling down the table like thunder, "we have announced to all that she is the successor to Lucien’s title. There is no one left to inform—and no one has objected."

  ?Wilkram froze mid-bite, a piece of sausage slipping from his fork with a soft plop. He quickly looked down, but the others kept their eyes fixed on the Patriarch.

  ?"Aelira."

  ?Aelira straightened in her chair, her heart hammering against her ribs.

  ?"Y-yes, Grandfather."

  ?"Continue your training at full speed. Show everyone that you are worthy of your position."

  ?"I will."

  ?"Good. However, I have a task for you to begin with. You know of the Imperial Sword, do you not?"

  ?Though her throat felt dry, she met his gaze. "Yes. I know of it."

  ?"You’ve proven you can use magic. Now it’s time to see whether you are truly worthy of wielding one."

  ?At the far end of the table, Lucien flinched. His hand spasmed, knocking a spoon against his glass. Clink.

  ?"Hm? You should have done that the moment she activated her mana," Celdric interjected, his brow furrowing.

  ?"Lucien was not present, and results at such a young age are unreliable," Sylas replied curtly, dismissing his son. "But now... it is time."

  ?Aelira’s blood turned to ice.

  ?The sword...

  ?Anxiously, she looked around the table, searching for an anchor. Her eyes met Cassian’s.

  He wore his usual placid smile, but his eyes were devoid of warmth. He tilted his head slightly, locking his gaze with hers.

  ?He didn't speak. He didn't even blink.

  ?But the weight of his stare was so heavy, so suffocatingly specific, that Aelira understood him instantly.

  ?Make excuses. Delay it. He cannot learn of the problem with the sword.

  ?It wasn't a request. It was a silent threat.

  ?Aelira trembled. She gripped the fabric of her trousers under the table to stop her hands from shaking.

  ?She gathered every ounce of her courage.

  ?"Does it... does it have to be now?" she asked, her voice small. "Can’t we postpone it?"

  ?The table went deadly silent.

  ?"Aelira..." Vivianne looked at her daughter with a sharp, disapproving glare. "Do not be ungrateful."

  ?"My dear, I’m sure you didn’t mean it like that, did you?" Wilkram added weakly, trying to diffuse the bomb.

  ?Aelira shook her head, rejecting the easy way out. "I—I don’t think I’m ready..."

  ?Sylas narrowed his eyes. He studied her for a long, agonizing moment. Then, his gaze flicked to Cassian. He saw the boy’s sly, unbothered smile.

  ?Sylas sighed—a sound of deep, weary frustration.

  ?"Very well. As the winner of the duel, you’ve earned a request. We will postpone the ceremony."

  ?Aelira exhaled a shaky breath. "Thank you, Grandfather."

  ?Zaek, who had been silently observing while peeling an apple, frowned. This child… what is she plotting now? Or who is plotting for her?

  ?"Enough of this," Sylas declared firmly. "Now, about the succession. Rumors are spreading. Celdric is the future of this family. That is my final word on the matter."

  ?Celdric’s head snapped up. He announced it… so directly?

  ?He instinctively glanced at his sister.

  ?Vivianne was calmly sipping her tea, her expression unreadable. She set the cup down without a sound.

  ?Sylas watched her closely. Dressed in dark green... Is that color a tribute to Elda—a sign of peace? Or a provocation, salt in her brother’s wound? He sighed inwardly. With her, it is always a game.

  ?Beside Celdric, Lysric lowered his head to hide his face. Father’s position is secure… It wasn’t just empty words. He wiped a tear from his eye before anyone could see. Thank the gods…

  ?Zaek, watching from afar, allowed a small, gentle smile to form. After all, he’s just a child who worries for his father.

  ?"And now," Sylas continued, "we come to a more immediate matter. I plan to send Vivianne to inspect the lands under our vassal barons."

  ?He turned to his daughter. "You will visit those on the list with the team I assign to you. You are capable of this, are you not?"

  ?Vivianne smiled—that same calm, dangerous smile she had practiced in the mirror.

  ?"Of course, Father. You can trust me."

  ?"Good. That is enough for today. Dismissed."

  ?The scraping of chairs echoed in the hall as the family rose and filed out.

  ?One person remained.

  ?Lucien sat with his head buried in his arms on the table, a portrait of defeat.

  ?Cassian, who had lingered behind, walked slowly toward him. He placed a hand gently on his uncle’s shoulder.

  ?"Looks like your days are numbered, Uncle."

  ?Lucien didn't move. He didn't even breathe.

  ?"The moment her bond with Nixviel surfaces, he’ll strip you of your heroic duties. He'll see you for what you are."

  ?Cassian leaned down, his lips brushing Lucien's ear. The smile on his face thinned into something sharp.

  ?"And after that… who knows? Maybe one of our famous family accidents will find you."

  ?He tapped the Lucien's shoulder twice.

  ?Then he walked away, his footsteps echoing in the vast, empty hall, leaving Lucien alone in the silence.

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