Othriel was the first of the children to arrive in the hall.
The long table stretched ahead, polished wood catching the soft glow of chandeliers.
Portraits of past dukes lined the walls, their eyes seeming to follow every movement.
His father, Duke Eldric Veyndral, sat at the head, a striking figure with sharp black hair and dark amber eyes.
Handsome in a commanding way, his presence demanded attention without a word.
The duchess, Marielle Veyndral, sat beside him, her long crimson hair framing a flawless face and warm emerald eyes.
Together, they looked like a pair from some noble painting, perfect and intimidating.
The twins entered soon after. The elder, Caelen, had black hair like their father and piercing golden eyes. The younger, Sylvara, inherited their mother's red hair and emerald eyes.
Both were tall, fit, and carried themselves with the easy confidence of children raised in wealth and power. Their steps were synchronized, subtle smiles playing on their lips as they noticed Othriel already seated.
Nate, now fully Othriel, took a deep breath and slid into his chair.
He observed the family, committing every detail to memory—the curve of his mother's smile, the slight crease in his father's brow, the way the twins leaned slightly toward each other even while acknowledging him.
The first dish arrived: a delicate broth, aromatic and warm.
Nate picked up his spoon, noting how the family ate with grace.
Conversation flowed lightly, polite small talk about recent events in the duchy.
He chimed in occasionally, testing the waters, aware that each word reflected on him as Othriel.
He remembered the academy, Nivara, and the world beyond Valdareth.
The World Council had founded the institution centuries ago to train awakeners to protect against the Outers.
Othriel would enter in two months, a novice now, refining his Death affinity.
This dinner, he realized, was not just a meal—it was a subtle measure of composure and awareness, a warm-up for the trials of his new life.
"You've been practicing well, Othriel," Caelen said lightly, his golden eyes sharp. "Your control seems steadier than before."
Nate offered a faint smile, "Two weeks of focused training. Not bad for someone who just awakened."
Sylvara laughed softly, a melodic sound that reminded him of the house's elegance. "Don't act like you're already better than us. We've both been refining our abilities these past two years."
Their banter was natural, sibling-like, but Nate noted every nuance.
He had learned their personalities from Othriel's memories—their habits, their ways of speaking, their subtle competitions.
Nothing escaped him.
Duke Eldric finally leaned forward, his hands clasped on the table. "Othriel, there is a matter we must discuss. It concerns your upcoming trial."
Nate's fork paused midair. The Trial.
He had expected this, but the formal mention by his father made the blood in his veins quicken.
The duchess, Marielle, kept her gaze gentle but firm on him. "It will be a test of your affinity. A dungeon awaits. Each heir faces one suited to their element. Yours… will push you to refine your Death affinity."
He swallowed, feeling the weight of the words.
Not fear, not exactly—anticipation. The dungeon was a rite of passage.
Few mastered their affinity in one go, but with focus, he could climb tiers and levels faster than most.
Caelen leaned back, watching his reaction. "Remember, Othriel, it's not about rushing. Control first. Power follows."
Sylvara nodded, adding, "Don't let it overwhelm you. The dungeon respects skill, not arrogance."
Nate's hands rested on the table, the polished surface cool beneath his fingers. "I know," he said quietly. "I'll handle it."
A servant moved along the table, bringing the next course, a roasted fish with herbs that filled the hall with a gentle aroma.
The conversation returned to lighter topics—updates from the duchy, reports of minor disturbances near the borders, whispers of Outers' activity.
Yet the mention of the dungeon lingered in Nate's mind, a constant pulse beneath his thoughts.
He thought of Nivara Academy again, of the thousands of potential awakeners who would soon face him.
Most would be novices now, refining their affinities, unaware of the dangers beyond.
The World Council had built the academy for protection, but also for unity among the races.
Atria was vast, and with fifteen remaining races, cooperation was necessary—even if grudging.
The meal continued.
Nate observed the patterns of conversation, noting how influence flowed through subtle gestures, how the twins supported each other in small ways, and how his parents' presence kept everything balanced.
Finally, the main course was cleared, and Duke Eldric's gaze fixed on him. "You leave for Nivara in two months. Before that, you will undergo your trial of attunement. The dungeon has been prepared. It is yours alone to conquer."
Nate nodded once, keeping his expression calm. "Understood, Father."
The duchess offered a small, reassuring smile. "We know you will do well, Othriel. Just remember to remain mindful of your limits."
Caelen smirked, "Try not to get stuck in the dungeon, little brother. Wouldn't want me or Sylvara to have to rescue you."
Sylvara rolled her eyes playfully. "Ignore him. Focus. You'll do fine."
Nate leaned back slightly, letting the words sink in.
The dungeon awaited. It would challenge his Death affinity, push him to levels beyond novice.
Yet here, in the warmth of family, he found calm.
He was Othriel Veyndral now.
Every instinct, every memory, every skill was his. And he would face the trial head-on.
The dessert was served—light pastries and fruits.
The conversation meandered, but Nate's mind was already cataloging everything he knew.
The trial, the academy, the family dynamics.
Every detail mattered. Every subtle cue could be the difference between success and failure.
By the end of the dinner, the table had quieted, plates mostly cleared.
The twins shared a private glance, a mutual understanding passing between them.
Duke Eldric looked at his youngest with approval, a silent acknowledgment of readiness.
Marielle's gentle gaze reminded him of the support that would always be there, even when he faced dangers alone.
Nate rose from the table, fingers brushing the edge lightly. "I'll prepare," he said simply.
The family exchanged nods. Words weren't necessary. Understanding was enough.
Outside the hall, the evening light had dimmed.
Shadows stretched across the polished floors.
The Veyndral family had gathered, and yet the path ahead for Othriel was only beginning.
The trial awaited.
The attunement of a Death affinity would not be easy—but he was ready.