Auren left with the first light of dawn. The air was cold, sharp, and still, as if the world itself held its breath.
He felt uneasy about leaving his children so soon after they had begun their Blood Blade training, but there was nothing he could do. The King's summons could not be ignored—and lately, the King's gaze had lingered far too long on House Noir.
They were the fourth strongest House on the continent, a name carried with both pride and suspicion.
Power demanded balance. And in the eyes of the throne, balance often meant surveillance.
Through his journey, Auren had to cross the lands of House Vardros and House Kaerith.
Both lords had already departed for the capital, and so the castles along the road stood quiet, their banners still waving though their masters were gone.
House Vardros had always stood beside House Noir—they had fought shoulder to shoulder when the rebellion in the capital erupted years ago.
But House Kaerith was another matter entirely. A newly risen family—granted nobility only five years earlier—they had once been merchants: obscenely wealthy, ambitious, and ruthless in trade.
The crown had elevated them to secure their loyalty and their gold, but Auren knew greed never bowed to kings for long.
They had long resented him. He had barred their caravans from trading within Noir territory after they tried to establish a monopoly, preying on his people with impossible prices.
Kaerith's spite still burned quietly beneath their silks and smiles.
Days turned into weeks. The sun rose and fell across endless fields, old forests, and silent roads.
Auren traveled mostly alone, accompanied only by two of his most trusted guards and his thoughts.
At night, when the fire burned low, his mind wandered back to the old days — when the world still seemed bright.
He saw Darian as a boy, charging at him with a wooden sword far too big for his arms;
Isolde, running barefoot through the garden, her laughter echoing between the hedges;
and Valen, barely more than a toddler, trying to lift a sword twice his height and falling backward into the grass, giggling.
And then he saw Elyra — standing beneath the white lilies, sunlight caught in her hair.
Her voice was soft in his memory, as if it came from another world.
"You worry too much, my love," she had once said, brushing dust from his shoulder. "You were born with a sword in your hand — but our children will be born with light in theirs."
Auren exhaled slowly, the weight of the past pressing against his chest.
Sometimes he wished he could forget that memory. Other times, it was the only thing that kept him sane.
He wondered if this summons was merely political theater… or the beginning of something far worse.
And somewhere along that road, beneath a canopy of stars, Auren de Noir finally allowed himself to sleep — his dreams filled with laughter, sunlight, and the ghosts of everything he had once loved.
Auren's Arrival at Ardenthal
Auren arrived at the gates of the capital. The soldiers saluted him and bowed in formal respect. He entered the city — but the Ardenthal he remembered was now only a memory of a brighter past.
People were starving; you could see it in their hollow faces and trembling hands. Merchants no longer shouted or haggled — they simply waited, their shops half-open, hoping a noble might bless them with a single purchase. Nobles were the only ones who could afford anything these days.
The whole city seemed to crumble under the weight of the King's taxes.
Auren found himself muttering, "What has changed?"
The King he once knew had loved his people — a man of warmth, not greed. But time can rot even the most righteous souls, and years apart had turned that certainty into doubt.
He reached the castle gates. A troop of soldiers stood at attention, and one of the King's ministers stepped forward to greet him.
Auren dismounted, straightened his cloak, and shook the minister's hand firmly.
"Welcome, Lord Auren de Noir. We have been expecting you," the minister said with a rehearsed smile. "You must be weary after such a long journey. Servants will escort you and your men to your chambers, so that you may rest before the ball."
Auren only nodded. "Thank you."
He turned to follow the servants, but the minister's voice called after him.
"Ah, one more thing, my lord. His Majesty has been eagerly awaiting your arrival. Once you've rested, the King requests your presence. There are… certain private matters he wishes to discuss."
Auren didn't even turn to face him.
He simply nodded once more, his expression unreadable.
As he walked down the marble corridor toward his quarters, the heavy echo of his boots filled the silence. He already knew what awaited him.
The King had woven his web.
But Auren de Noir had no intention of becoming anyone's prey.
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