The Drayvar mansion had been transformed into a hive of frantic activity.
Two days before Rylan's return, servants scurried back and forth with a urgency Kael had rarely seen. Elyn oversaw every detail with military precision, from the west wing rooms being redecorated and the great dining hall prepared for a formal banquet, to the gardens pruned to perfection.
It was as if the Emperor himself were visiting them, not just the son returning from a trip.
Kael watched from the edges of the main courtyard, where Mistress Maren directed half a dozen servants carrying boxes of imported wine.
'Five months ago, this would have annoyed me,' he thought as he watched Elyn reject a floral arrangement for the third time. 'Now it's just... predictable.'
"Nervous?" asked Sareth, appearing beside him with a book under his arm.
"Don't ask foolish questions."
Sareth blinked at the sharp tone. It was different. Kael had been many things with him, such as protective, understanding, and patient, but never deliberately harsh.
"I just..."
"Rylan is returning. Fine. Life goes on," Kael interrupted as he walked away towards the training yard without looking back.
"I have things to do."
Sareth stood there with a hurt expression, but Kael didn't turn around. He had changed. And not all that change was smooth.
The training yard was nearly empty when Kael arrived. Only Favius was there, practicing forms with intense concentration.
In the last few months, something had changed between them. It was no longer just the older initiate helping the novice. It was... something more. A friendship, perhaps. Or at least the closest thing to a friendship Kael now allowed. Although "friendship" wasn't exactly the right word.
Kael had observed Favius carefully for months. He had seen his brutal dedication, his ill-disguised hunger to be more than he was. He had talent, more than most, but he lacked something crucial. Real ambition. Direction. Purpose beyond
"being better than yesterday."
'He could match Rylan,' Kael had thought weeks ago watching Favius defeat three initiates in a row. 'If he had the right will. The right push.'
'If he had someone to lead him.'
"You're early," Favius said, noticing his presence.
"I wanted to train before the shell-heir returns and monopolizes attention."
Favius laughed, wiping the sweat from his brow.
"Shell-heir. Davos would be proud you adopted his nickname." He came closer, studying Kael.
"Are you really not nervous?"
"Why would I be?"
"Because he's been in Vaeloria. With the Emperor. The Dawn Sentinels. He's probably coming back... different."
"We're all different." Kael took a practice sword from the rack.
"Me too."
"True." Favius smiled.
"You have a point."
They moved through forms in a comfortable silence, the kind that only comes from months of training together. Kael blocked, Favius attacked, they swapped positions and repeated. After half an hour, Favius stopped with a thoughtful expression.
"Do you know what I want to do when Rylan gets back?"
"Avoid him?"
"Fight him."
"What?"
"Seriously. Practice combat. I want to see how good he really is." Favius spun his sword.
"He's been in Vaeloria, yes, but that's politics. Not real training. I was here, training every day for five months."
There was something in his voice. Hunger. The kind Kael recognized because he felt it himself.
"I want to know if I can win," Favius continued.
"Or at least how far I have to go. Is that stupid?"
"No," Kael said slowly.
"It's ambition."
"Is that different from stupidity?"
"Sometimes." Kael smiled.
"But not always."
"Deep." Favius nudged him.
"The philosopher dwarf."
"Shut up and keep training."
"Yes, my lord."
But both were smiling.
The day of the return dawned gray and windy.
Kael stood at the main entrance with the rest of the family, feeling the cold sea wind carrying the scent of salt and distant storm. Elyn was at the front, perfectly composed in a dark blue dress with silver embroidery. Lyssara was beside her, with a neutral expression that revealed nothing.
Sareth was next to Kael, still a little distant after their exchange two days prior. Kael hadn't apologized. He wasn't sure he wanted to.
The sound of horses' hooves and carriage wheels echoed in the distance. And then, the caravan appeared.
It was larger than Kael expected. Three main carriages, a dozen mounted guards, and luggage carts. Everything marched in a perfect formation that screamed "importance."
The main carriage stopped in front of the entrance. The door opened. And Rylan descended.
Kael felt something stir in his chest. Not envy, not exactly. But... recognition.
'This is what five months in Vaeloria does.'
Rylan had grown. Not dramatically, but visibly. Almost 1.75 meters now, with shoulders that had broadened from consistent training. But it wasn't just physical. It was the way he moved. As if every gesture was measured, considered, and perfect.
His clothing was fine but not ostentatious, a dark blue tunic with discreet embroidery that likely cost more than Kael's entire wardrobe. His black hair was perfectly combed back, revealing a face that had lost the last trace of youth.
He was no longer a fifteen-year-old boy. He was an heir.
Varen descended afterward, looking more tired than when he left, with new lines around his eyes. But there was something in his posture, pride perhaps, when he looked at his elder son.
"Welcome home, my son," Elyn said, and her voice carried a genuine warmth Kael rarely heard.
"It is good to be back, Mother." Rylan's voice had also changed. Deeper. More controlled.
They embraced briefly, a rare show of affection from Elyn. Rylan turned to Lyssara.
"Sister. You look well."
"Brother. You too."
A courteous and formal exchange. Like noble strangers fulfilling protocol. Then his gaze slid towards Sareth and Kael.
"Sareth." A nod.
"I hope your studies have progressed."
"Yes, Brother."
"Good."
Finally, his eyes fell on Kael. Pause. Something shifted in his expression. Surprise, perhaps.
"Kael." His voice was neutral, assessing.
"You look... different."
"Training does that."
"Training?" A raised eyebrow.
"With whom?"
"Master Torin and the initiates."
Another moment of silence. Rylan processing this information.
"Interesting." The tone was impossible to decipher.
"Perhaps you can show me what you've learned sometime."
"Perhaps," Kael replied, keeping his voice as neutral as Rylan's.
"Let's go inside," Varen said, cutting the moment short.
"There is much to discuss."
The welcome banquet that evening was exactly as extravagant as Elyn had planned.
The great dining hall was full. Not only was the family there, but also guard captains, minor nobles from the territory, and even some important merchants. The main table could seat twenty, and every seat was occupied.
Rylan sat in the seat of honor to Varen's right. Elyn on the other side. Lyssara, Kael, and Sareth further down, in the section that screamed "minor family" without explicitly saying it. Kael didn't mind. He had learned not to waste energy on useless resentments.
"Vaeloria," Rylan began after the second course, and the conversation at the table immediately died down. Everyone wanted to listen.
Rylan knew how to tell stories. He had learned that art somewhere in the last five months. He spoke naturally, without boasting, letting the facts impress on their own.
"The capital is... overwhelming," he said, taking a sip of wine.
"Three million souls living in a space that feels too small and too large at the same time. Eight-story buildings. Streets so crowded that you get lost in crowds even with an escort."
"Did you see the Emperor?" asked one of the captains with barely contained reverence.
"Not directly. We attended a session of the Solar Council where he presided from his throne." Rylan paused, choosing his words carefully.
"His presence is... difficult to describe. Like being in the same room with a contained storm. Three hundred years of power concentrated in one man."
Murmurs ran around the table. Even Varen nodded with understanding.
"But I met heirs from other Great Houses," Rylan continued.
"The children of House Valmar, House Lunvar, House Greythorn. Some were older, some younger. All... competent."
The way he said "competent" carried weight. As if he were editing something more brutal.
"And the Dawn Sentinels?" asked Torin, who had been invited to the banquet.
"I observed two of their training sessions." Rylan smiled slightly.
"It was humbling. The weakest of them could defeat ten normal men without breaking a sweat."
"And you?" Elyn pressed, with barely contained maternal pride.
"How did you compare to the other heirs?"
Rylan considered this. "Competently."
A diplomatic answer. 'He wasn't the best. But not the worst either.'
Kael watched him, reading between the lines. Rylan had seen something in Vaeloria that had shaken him. He had gone as the heir of a Great House and discovered that the world was bigger and more dangerous than he thought.
"There is something else," Rylan added, and the table fell silent.
"When I turn sixteen, I will attend the Imperial Academy."
Audible gasps. Even Varen looked up, surprised.
"The Academy," one of the minor nobles murmured in astonishment.
"Did they accept you?" Lyssara asked.
"Father submitted the application during our visit. I was assessed. Accepted." Rylan looked around the table.
"It's where the best in the Empire go. Not just our six Great Houses, but heirs from other empires, martial clans from other continents. The best of the best."
"That's in a year," Elyn said. There was something in her voice, concern, perhaps pride?
"Yes. A year to prepare myself." Rylan took more wine.
"I will have to be better than I am now. Much better."
The conversation flowed to other topics, such as local politics, harvests, and minor military matters. Kael half-listened, processing what Rylan had revealed.
'Imperial Academy. Where the monsters in training go.'
'And Rylan will go in a year.'
Then, cutting through a conversation about trade routes, a voice spoke.
"I heard young Kael defeated Cedric in practice combat last week."
It was Captain Sendra who said it, almost casually, like someone mentioning the weather. The table fell silent for a full second.
Then, as if someone had pressed a resume button:
"Well done, young Kael," Torin said with a nod.
"Impressive," added another captain.
"Cedric is twelve and a second-layer Apprentice," commented a minor noble.
"Good job."
And then the conversation continued, flowing back to trade and politics as if nothing had happened.
Kael felt something strange. Not disappointment, exactly. But... recognition.
'Ah. That's how it works.'
'A minor victory is briefly recognized, then forgotten. Because in the grand scheme it doesn't matter much.'
'I'll have to win something bigger for it to really matter.'
Rylan looked at him from across the table. Their eyes met for a moment. Something passed between them. Recognition, perhaps, or assessment.
Then Rylan turned to Varen, answering a question about Vaeloria, and the moment passed.
The banquet ended near midnight.
Kael retired to his room, expecting to fall asleep immediately as he always did after long days.
Rylan stayed awake long after the rest of the mansion fell asleep.
His room had been completely redecorated during his absence. New carpet. New tapestries. Everything perfect, everything expensive, everything screaming "heir."
It felt like a golden cage.
Vaeloria had been overwhelming. Glorious and terrifying in equal measure. He had seen the Imperial Palace, each floor more magnificent than the last, each hall filled with history that weighed like lead. He had seen the Dawn Sentinels move with deadly grace that turned combat into art. He had seen the Solar Council, where his father sat with other Great Houses beneath the Emperor's throne.
He had seen real power. And he had met the other heirs. Most were like him: competent, well-trained, and destined for important but not supreme roles. Some were better. Some worse.
But one... One was different. Son of an Imperial House. Younger than Rylan by a year. And absolutely terrifying in his casual competence.
'I saw him train once,' Rylan recalled, looking at the ceiling. 'He moved as if combat were breathing. Natural. Inevitable.'
'And he was younger than me.'
That realization had been like cold water. Rylan had gone to Vaeloria thinking he was good, one of the best of his generation. He had returned knowing he was barely adequate.
'That's why the Academy,' he reminded himself. 'A year to improve. Then three years at the Academy. Then...'
'Then I'll be what I need to be.'
'To protect my family. To lead House Drayvar. To be worthy of the name.'
His mind drifted back to dinner. To Kael.
'You've changed, little brother.'
He had seen it in his eyes. He was no longer the silent boy who hid in shadows. There was something new there. Something hungry.
'Training with Torin. Defeating Cedric.'
'Interesting.'
'Very interesting.'
Rylan didn't feel threatened. Kael was still a nine-year-old boy. The gap between them was huge. It probably always would be. But there was potential there. Something raw but real.
'Good,' Rylan thought as he finally closed his eyes. 'House Drayvar needs more than one strong heir. It needs a strong family.'
'If Kael wants to be part of that...'
'I will support him.'
'Within reason.'
He fell asleep with that thought, unaware that within reason was exactly where ambitions began to complicate things.
Because Kael had already decided that reasonable was not enough. And hunger, once awakened, accepts no limits. Especially not those imposed by older brothers who do not understand that hierarchy is not as fixed as they believe.
But that realization would come later. For now, both brothers were sleeping.
One dreaming of academies and glory.
The other dreaming of victory after victory after victory.
And somewhere between those dreams, the future of House Drayvar was being written.
Line by line. Blow by blow. Sword by sword. Ambition by ambition.
Relentless as the tide. Inevitable as the dawn.