Kael sat at the far end of a long dining table.
A waiter entered the hall, pushing a cart before her. She began at the opposite end, setting down a plate, then placing a warm dish atop it, moving steadily along the table as she served each person in turn.
Every person seated there was a Claymore by blood. Everyone except him.
Mael sat beside him, cutting into her steak with a practiced grace she had never bothered to show back at the apartment. Her posture was straight, her movements precise, her dress elegant in a way that belonged to this place.
Kael glanced down at himself.
Mael had offered him shelter within the Claymore estate until things settled, introducing him as a classmate she had met while studying in the capital. It sounded flimsy to him, almost laughable, yet somehow it had worked. Now he sat at their table, eating among them.
After he had used the two motes, she had disappeared into a room opposite her own and returned with clothes that had once belonged to Darian.
Now Kael wore a black waistcoat fastened with gold buttons over a dark shirt, a black overcoat draped neatly above it all. He rolled his shoulders slightly.
The fit was tight, but surprisingly good.
Mael glanced sideways at him. She knew little about his upbringing and had no time to coach him on etiquette, yet to her quiet surprise he was handling himself far better than she had expected.
''There's no way he isn't from a royal noble family.''
She laughed inwardly.
"Solian," an older gentleman said from across the table. "I was surprised when Mael mentioned you'd be staying here for a while, but you're more than welcome. We have more than enough room."
He laughed as he cut into his steak.
"I remember when I was your age—"
Mael froze, then pressed her palm to her face.
"Dad. Don't start."
"All right, all right," he said with a grin. "It just reminds me of my—"
"Dad!"
Kael watched the exchange unfold, Mael barely managing to eat as she fought a losing battle against her father's nostalgia.
He shifted his gaze back to the old man.
'So this is Elric Claymore.'
His eyes lingered.
At a glance, Elric looked harmless, even frail. But Kael knew better, both from his talks with Darian and from simple reasoning. He had read what little was available on the Claymores in his spare time. Their history stretched back barely six decades, yet within that span they had spread their banking network across nearly the entire West Continent. Now Darian was pushing even farther south.
And through it all, the Claymores had remained neutral.
How that was even remotely possible troubled him.
They dealt primarily in gold, maintaining the flow of mortal economies, but their hands were far from clean when it came to mindstones. They had fingers in that game too.
Kael cut a piece of steak and ate.
Raw power mattered, but money was often more effective. People worked too little, income dropped. People grew complacent, income dropped. Morale faltered, pay rose again. Simple adjustments causing massive consequences.
Trade was the backbone of society, and money was the spine that kept it upright.
The same control could be achieved through force alone, by hoarding resources at swordpoint. But in the West Continent, there were few powerful enough to sustain such a rule for long.
Which was precisely why nobles entered the game.
In the end, everything bent back toward it.
There was no chance Vael hadn't tried to control the Claymore banks from the shadows. Yet he hadn't succeeded. Why?
The answer was simple, and difficult to overturn.
Elric was a rank five Luminaire himself.
Only by standing on equal ground with the heads of noble families could one remain truly neutral across decades.
Kael took a sip of water, his gaze behind the blindfold never leaving Elric as the old man continued reminiscing.
And terrifying strength at that.
Vael was powerful, without question, but he was not the only rank five Luminaire on the continent. The Claymores had expanded across the West without interference. By all logic, that meant Elric was frighteningly strong.
Kael's eyes narrowed.
And yet, he didn't understand him at all.
To the public, the Claymores were presented as mortals, dealing only with mortals. That image cost them enormous profit.
Why choose restraint?
'I know too little about politics,'
Kael finally admitted to himself.
His thoughts were interrupted when a gentle clink cut through the air.
He turned his head.
An older woman had set her cutlery aside and was looking at him with a soft smile. She shared Mael's golden hair and Darian's green-gold eyes, the resemblance unmistakable.
Sensing her intent, Kael gave her his full attention.
"Yes, Miss Claymore?"
He said
"Such a fine young man," the woman said, nodding in approval. "Would you care to take a walk with me?"
Kael glanced toward Mael.
She was still locked in a losing battle with her father, desperately trying to stop his stories. The harder she pushed, the more memories he seemed to dredge up, each interruption only encouraging him further.
'You're digging the hole deeper, Mael. Can't you see that?'
Kael shook his head and turned back to the woman.
"Of course," he said. "I don't see why not."
Mael watched in horror as the two of them left, but she gritted her teeth and stayed put. Letting her father ramble unchecked now would be surrender, and she refused to lose like that.
She squared her shoulders and doubled down, continuing to lecture him with renewed determination.
Kael, meanwhile, glanced to his side. The older woman had linked her arm through his, using him lightly for support as they walked through the halls of the Claymore estate.
'Veyra Claymore,'
he thought.
'She must have played just as large a role in building the Claymore empire.'
She stopped before a portrait and brushed a bit of dust from its frame.
"This was my father," Mael's mother said. "He could be a little harsh, but he was a good man. I can't imagine it was easy, raising me and my siblings."
She laughed softly at the memory.
"Was he from Velthoria?"
Kael asked.
"Oh, goodness no," she replied as they resumed walking. "Both my husband and I are from the capital."
They moved from portrait to portrait like that, Veyra reminiscing as she traced the family's history through painted faces and faded stories. Kael listened closely, genuinely interested, absorbing every detail.
Veyra seemed to notice.
And she seemed to enjoy it just as much as he did.
Kael nearly stumbled as a massive golden dog appeared out of nowhere, wedging itself between his legs.
"Be nice,"
Veyra said, wagging a finger in the air at it.
She released Kael's arm and bent down, petting the dog.
"This is Mael's and Darian's dog," she said fondly. "His name is Cuddles. Mael's idea."
Kael crouched beside her and ran a hand through the dog's fur.
Cuddles' tail wagged furiously, his entire body shaking as he fought the urge to jump up on him.
"A golden retriever?"
Kael asked.
Veyra nodded.
"Yes. He's only three."
They resumed walking, Cuddles padding along close behind.
After a moment, Veyra sighed, her voice turning thoughtful.
"Do you know one of my greatest regrets, Solian?"
Kael glanced at her and raised an eyebrow. They had barely known each other for a day, yet she spoke as if they were old acquaintances.
"No?"
he answered evenly.
They stopped before a family portrait, generations captured in oil and gold frames.
"That I didn't have Mael and Darian sooner," she said, studying the painting. "In my younger years, I was too focused on my career. The idea of a family never even crossed my mind."
She smiled faintly.
"And when it finally did, I was already growing old. I didn't have the energy to play with them the way I wanted to, day after day. That," she said quietly, "remains my greatest regret. They're only small once."
Kael watched her in silence.
He had never spared a thought for such things himself, but he understood the weight behind her words. People went to immeasurable lengths to protect their children. Wanting more time with them felt only natural.
Veyra continued, her gaze shifting to him, the way a grandmother might study a grandchild.
"That is why," she said gently, "I recommend you and Mael don't wait too long. You're both so young—"
Footsteps echoed down the hall.
Mael rounded the corner, clutching her dress by the hem, eyes flashing. She bared her teeth at her mother, seized Kael's wrist, and dragged him away.
"Come," she said firmly. "I can't let my mom corrupt your mind."
Veyra's gentle laughter followed them, as she watched the two disappear around the corner, Cuddles following shortly after.
"Oh, to be young again,"
Veyra murmured to herself, smiling.
In a queen-sized bed, Mael lay sprawled on her back, Cuddles draped across her stomach like a warm weight.
"Grrr…"
She growled through clenched teeth.
"I hope you finally understand why I came over to the apartment so often."
She scratched Cuddles behind the ear.
Kael sat at her vanity, absently flipping through the makeup and the stacks of books scattered across its surface.
"They're old,"
he said, opening a book at random.
"Give them some slack."
Mael's fingers stilled. She turned to look at him.
"Don't forget whose side you're on now."
Kael didn't answer, his attention fixed on the page.
At the center of the page was a crude drawing. A golden-haired woman stood upon a pile of slain beasts while a crowd below reached toward her, their outstretched arms framing her like a hero of old.
His gaze drifted lower.
Dear diary,
When I opened the apartment door, I wasn't met by Darian, but by what turned out to be his friend instead. I thought about turning around, but I couldn't bring myself to deal with my family today, so I stayed anyway. I don't know why I did that, and more than that, I don't know why he let me—
A high pitched scream pierced the room.
Mael hurled Cuddles aside and shot off the bed, crossing the space in a heartbeat. She slammed the book shut on Kael's fingers.
For a moment, she stared at him, expression blank, as if thinking through something far too quickly.
Then heat rushed to her face, burning red.
She snatched up the book and tossed it onto a pile of clothes.
"I'm going to the restroom,"
she said, her voice unsteady.
Kael watched the door close behind her.
He leaned back and studied his reflection in the mirror.
'What should I do next?'
He wanted to believe he was safe here, but in truth, he knew far too little about the Claymores. A war was coming. That much was unavoidable. And when it did, everyone would be pulled into it, the Claymores included.
He crossed his arms.
Yet Kael was different.
He stood far closer to the center of it all than most. With the amount of Valthorne blood on his hands, there was no path through this war where he emerged untouched, whether he stayed with the Claymores or not.
Worse still, if word spread that he was hiding here, the Claymores themselves would be dragged into violence. That was something he refused to allow. They were powerful, more so than many noble families even if they weren't acknowledged as such. And unintentionally, he had come to stand on good terms with them.
Who knew what that might be worth in the future.
'I'll stay for a few weeks. Prepare. Then I'll leave.'
His gaze drifted to his reflection once more, lingering on hair now white as snow.