Zaek stood with his arms folded, leaning against the ancient oak.

  ?He watched Aelira move through her daily routine. It was a familiar rhythm, a dance etched into the morning mist: a flurry of simple spells to warm the blood, followed by laps around the garden to build stamina. Her sword was a blur in the crisp air, cutting through the silence.

  ?The session always ended the same way: quiet meditation. Her focus turned inward, honing the intricate, invisible art of mana enchantment.

  ?Her breathing was steady, her small frame surprisingly resilient. Yet, Zaek’s eyes weren’t on her form or her technique. They were fixed on a point in the distance, lost in a maze of his own thoughts.

  ?Why did she lie?

  ?Aelira slowed to a stop before him. Sweat beaded on her brow, glowing in the pale sunlight, though her breath remained even.

  ?“Sensei, I think I’ve run enough. Should I start meditating now?”

  ?Zaek blinked, snapping back to reality.

  ?“You have,” he said. He pushed off the tree, his posture shifting from relaxed to serious. “But before that… tell me something.”

  ?Aelira tilted her head, curiosity flickering in her silver eyes. His voice was lower than usual—stripped of its habitual playfulness.

  ?“Why did you refuse the test?”

  ?Aelira froze. Her fingers instinctively tightened around the hem of her shirt.

  ?“I—I just thought… I’m not ready,” she stammered, her gaze dropping instantly to the grass as if the answer lay written in the dirt.

  ?“Are you afraid you won’t be able to wield the sword?” he asked.

  ?He noticed the way her shoulders hunched, making her look smaller than she was. He let out a soft sigh, scratching the back of his neck, and deliberately softened his tone.

  ?“If that’s it, don’t be. You can still be a hero without it—you’ll just have to work harder. The sword and the title... they don’t mean what they used to.”

  ?Though Sylas has a different opinion, he thought grimly. He thinks she needs that steel to be whole. Ridiculous. If we were living three centuries ago, maybe. But not now.

  ?Aelira remained silent, her boots scuffing the earth nervously.

  ?Zaek stepped closer, crouching slightly to meet her eye level, trying to break through her wall of anxiety.

  ?“Sure, you won’t be the perfect heir your grandfather envisions without it, but you’ll do fine. I’ll make sure of it.”

  ?“It’s not that…” she whispered, shaking her head.

  ?“Then what is it? I don’t see the problem.”

  ?Aelira bit her lip. She looked up through her lashes, searching his face.

  ?“I just defeated Lysric,” she said softly. “I thought… I thought I’d earned a break. I guess.”

  ?Silence stretched between them. Aelira held her breath, waiting for a scolding, or worse—suspicion.

  ?But then, Zaek’s jaw dropped.

  ?His eyes widened in genuine, unadulterated horror. He took a staggering step back, as if she had physically slapped him.

  ?A break?

  ?A dreadful realization struck him like a physical blow.

  ?Don’t tell me… my laziness has rubbed off on her?

  ?She used to work like an ant, tireless and disciplined. And now? Now she was making excuses to dodge work—just like him.

  ?He buried his face in his hands, a low groan escaping his throat.

  ?“I’m sorry, kid. This is my fault. Your sensei should’ve been a better example… I’ve corrupted you.”

  ?Aelira stared at him, blinking. The tension in her chest vanished, replaced by utter confusion. “Huh?”

  ?“That’s all I wanted to ask,” he said quickly, straightening up and coughing into his fist to regain some semblance of dignity. “Forget I said anything. You can continue your training.”

  ?“O-okay…”

  ?She turned back to her meditation spot, her heart skipping a beat.

  ?What was that? she wondered, clutching her chest as she sat down. Did he see through the lie? Or did he actually buy that ridiculous excuse?

  Celdric sat at his heavy oak desk, staring blankly at a stack of unread reports. The ink on the pages blurred into meaningless shapes.

  ?I don’t understand Father’s aim.

  ?Why bring up succession now, so suddenly? And why confirm his position so openly, in front of everyone?

  ?He reached out, his fingers trembling slightly, and picked up a small frame. A family portrait—a relic from a time that felt like a different lifetime. His thumb brushed over the painted face of a woman with a gentle smile.

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  ?Elda…

  ?The grief was a physical weight in his chest, a stone that made it hard to breathe.

  ?Well, at least Lysric can feel some relief, he thought, trying to find a silver lining. At least one of us is safe.

  ?Knock. Knock.

  ?The sound broke the silence like a gunshot.

  ?Celdric flinched. He quickly set the portrait face down, composing his features into a mask of authority he didn't feel.

  ?"Come in."

  ?The door opened soundlessly.

  ?"Father, I hope I’m not disturbing you."

  ?It was Cassian.

  ?He stood in the doorway, wearing his eternal, gentle smile—a mask of porcelain perfection that never seemed to crack.

  ?Cassian? Why is he here?

  ?"What is this about?" Celdric asked, his tone guarded.

  ?"Don’t be so formal," Cassian said with a light, airy laugh. He walked in and took the seat across from the desk without waiting for an invitation. "I feel left out. Actually, I came to ask if you could help postpone the ceremony further."

  ?Celdric frowned, leaning back. "You know that isn’t in my hands. Besides, Aelira won. We must accept it."

  ?Cassian didn't move. His smile didn't vanish, but the warmth drained out of the room instantly.

  ?His dark green eyes widened slightly—not with surprise, but with a look of quiet, terrifying disappointment. Like a parent looking at a slow child.

  ?"Father, you don’t seem to understand the fundamental problem with Aelira becoming the hero."

  ?"Fundamental problem?"

  ?Cassian leaned forward. His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, smooth as silk and sharp as a razor.

  ?"I’ll be direct. She is unfit to be Viremont’s hero. In truth, she’s a liability to this family. We must get rid of her before it’s too late."

  ?Celdric recoiled, pressing his spine against his chair. Get rid of her?

  ?"She shouldn’t be a member of this family?" Celdric asked, his voice tight.

  ?If this isn’t about my position... then why is he so hostile toward her?

  ?"Why are you so opposed to her?"

  ?"Based on my observations," Cassian said coolly, inspecting his fingernails, "Aelira is more than an oddity. She and Zaek are a fracture in the foundation of this family. If we let them be, the whole house will collapse."

  ?"A fracture?" Celdric scoffed, though his heart was racing. "Your ‘observations’ are hardly reason enough for such a claim. You heard your grandfather—my position is secure. There’s no need to worry about succession."

  ?And then, as the words left his mouth, time seemed to stop.

  ?The pieces clicked into place with horrifying clarity.

  ?My position is secure… so there’s no need to target Aelira.

  ?Father hadn't said that to reassure Celdric. He had said it to leash the rest of them. It was a command disguised as a reward. Do not move against her.

  ?That old man knew. He knew Cassian would try something.

  ?"You’ve realized it, haven’t you?"

  ?Cassian’s voice cut through his thoughts. His eyes were glinting, predatory.

  ?"Grandfather is far more aware of our internal matters than you think."

  ?Celdric’s eyes widened. For the first time in years, a cold sweat broke across his brow. He felt exposed. Hunted in his own study.

  ?"Oh my," Cassian murmured, tilting his head to the side. "Did I frighten you? It was simply obvious from your reaction."

  ?His tone was unnervingly calm.

  ?"Now, do you trust my ‘observations’?"

  ?Calm down, Celdric told himself, gripping the armrests until his knuckles turned white. He’s only guessing. I made it too obvious.

  ?He forced himself to meet his son's gaze.

  ?"No," Celdric said firmly. "Harming the future hero would bring more trouble than it’s worth. And since Father himself has drawn a line, it’s clear we are not to cross it."

  ?The air in the room grew heavy. Cassian’s expression darkened, the porcelain mask threatening to shatter. The silence was suffocating.

  ?Then, just as quickly as it came, the darkness vanished.

  ?"I see," Cassian said.

  ?The gentle smile returned, bright and hollow.

  ?"If you reject the idea so strongly, then it can’t be helped."

  ?He rose gracefully and left the room without another word, closing the door softly behind him.

  ?Celdric exhaled a long, shaky breath, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird.

  ?He’s more dangerous than I ever imagined.

  ?A cold dread settled in his gut.

  ?If he truly believes this is the only way, nothing—not even Father’s command—will stop him.

  Vivianne sat before her vanity, the room silent save for the soft pat-pat of the powder puff against her skin.

  ?She didn’t turn when the door creaked open. She didn’t need to.

  ?"Why are you here?" she asked, her eyes sharp as shards of ice, flicking to the reflection of the man hovering in the doorway.

  ?Wilkram flinched. He stood by the door, fidgeting with his cufflinks as if trying to unscrew them.

  ?"Well, I… I thought you might be upset after what your father said," he stammered, offering a nervous smile. "I came to cheer you up."

  ?Vivianne paused. The powder puff hovered mid-air near her cheek.

  ?"Upset? Why?"

  ?"Because he named Celdric his sole successor! Didn’t you want his position?"

  ?Vivianne resumed her task, her movements mechanical, precise. Not a grain of powder was wasted.

  ?"Of course I want it. But you mistake a tactical retreat for defeat. Father’s declaration was a move to protect Aelira. It was a checkmate against infighting, not a surrender of power. The war isn't over."

  ?"I—I see… Good for you, then…"

  ?Wilkram lingered awkwardly. The silence stretched, thin and brittle.

  ?"Anything else?" Vivianne asked, her patience fraying like an old rope.

  ?Wilkram swallowed hard. A bead of sweat traced a path down his temple, glistening in the candlelight.

  ?“Well,” he began, his voice pitching higher. “Since Aelira won the duel and is officially the hero’s successor… I thought maybe we should celebrate? Just the two of us? You know... spend some time together?”

  ?He looked at her with wide, hopeful eyes—like a dog begging for a scrap from the table.

  ?"You are my wife, after all."

  ?Vivianne set the powder puff down on the marble surface. Click.

  ?She turned on her stool, slowly, until she faced him directly.

  ?He waited for a spark. A smile. Anger. Anything.

  ?But there was nothing. Her face was a mask of perfect, terrifying beauty. Her expression remained glacial—her stare cutting through him like a winter gale through a paper wall.

  ?She didn't say a word. She didn't have to. The silence was a rejection more brutal than any scream.

  ?The hope in Wilkram’s eyes died a quick death. His shoulders collapsed.

  ?“I see,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “I… I’d better go.”

  ?He turned and fled, closing the door softly behind him, leaving Vivianne alone with her reflection.

  ?In a room shrouded in darkness, the only light choked by heavy blue curtains, Lucien sat on the floor.

  ?Nixviel.

  ?The sword lay beside him, a pale sliver of moonlight trapped in the gloom. It didn't just exist; it waited. It seemed to hum with a cold, judgmental energy, watching him from its scabbard.

  ?When he learns of her compatibility...

  ?The thought coiled in his gut like a serpent, tightening its grip.

  "?...he’ll want to get rid of me. Just like he did with his own brother. I will be discarded."

  ?His face was a mask of shadow. Slowly, fighting the urge to vomit, he reached for the katana.

  ?His hand hovered over the hilt.

  ?The moment his fingertips brushed the wrapping, his arm began to spasm violently. It wasn't fear or anything It was the rejection coming out of nixviel.

  ?The steel felt repulsively cold—a bite of frost that shot straight to his marrow. It vibrated against his skin, a low, dissonant hum that screamed NO. It was like touching a living thing that recoiled from his touch.

  ?Why? he pleaded to the silent steel, tears pricking his eyes. I am of the blood. I am the hero. Why won’t you accept me?

  ?But the sword only grew colder, heavier. A dead weight in a dying hand.

  ?He stared at his quaking fingers, the last flicker of hope extinguishing in his eyes.

  ?With a choked sob, he shoved the weapon away.

  ?CLATTER.

  ?The sound was deafening in the silence. The sword spun on the stone floor, coming to rest with its hilt turned away from him. Mocking him.

  ?"Damn it..."

  ?Accepting the reality, his arm fell limp at his side, heavy with a resignation that felt like death.