The summons arrived at dawn.
It was not delivered by a servant in livery or announced with ceremony. It came as a simple academy notice—polite, official, unavoidable.
Aurelian Valemont is requested to attend a private familial audience
hosted by the Head of House Valemont,
within the Western Guest Hall,
prior to formal academy enrollment.
Aurelian read it once.
Then again.
His hands did not shake.
That unsettled him.
He folded the notice carefully and placed it on the table beside his bed, aligning it with deliberate precision. Lucien had always done that—kept things neat when emotions threatened to spill over.
Still Blade, Aurelian reminded himself.
He dressed simply. No academy uniform yet. No crest. Just dark clothes, clean but unadorned. His hair was tied back with a plain cord, white and unhidden. His eyes—royal purple—remained uncovered.
If this meeting was about blood, then he would not disguise it.
The Western Guest Hall was designed to intimidate politely.
High ceilings. Pale marble columns. Sunlight filtered through tall windows in a way that made every visitor feel small but visible. The Valemont sigil—an argent sword crossed over a blue field—was carved into the stone above the entrance.
Aurelian paused before stepping inside.
Not from fear.
From memory.
He remembered his father's voice describing this hall once—how it had echoed during assemblies, how cold it felt in winter, how every Valemont child learned to stand straight here whether they wished to or not.
You don't bow to rooms, Lucien had said. Only to people worth respecting.
Aurelian stepped inside.
They were already waiting.
The Head of House Valemont stood near the central table, hands clasped behind his back. He was tall, broad-shouldered, his white hair streaked faintly with silver rather than age. His blue eyes were sharp, calculating—the eyes of a man accustomed to command.
Lucien's brother.
Uncle.
Beside him stood his wife, composed and dignified, her expression carefully neutral. And flanking them—two teenagers.
A boy and a girl.
Both about Aurelian's age.
Both unmistakably Valemont.
The boy shared the family's white hair and blue eyes, posture already rigid with inherited discipline. The girl's hair was the same pale white, but her eyes were a softer shade, observant rather than confrontational.
They stared at Aurelian openly.
No hostility.
No warmth.
Just curiosity sharpened by confusion.
"So," the Head of House said at last, breaking the silence. "You are Lucien's son."
Aurelian inclined his head slightly—not a bow, not defiance.
"I am," he said.
The man studied him closely, gaze flicking from hair to eyes, lingering on the purple longer than he probably intended.
"I was not informed my brother had a wife," the man said slowly. "Nor a child."
Aurelian met his gaze without flinching.
"My parents did not intend to be found," he replied. "And then they were taken."
The Valemont head's jaw tightened.
"I believed Lucien died childless," he said. "As did the house. As did the empire."
"That belief kept me alive," Aurelian said calmly.
A murmur passed between the younger two.
The girl frowned slightly. The boy crossed his arms, studying Aurelian with something that looked like challenge mixed with uncertainty.
The Valemont head exhaled slowly and gestured toward the table.
"Sit," he said. "All of you."
They did.
The chairs were arranged deliberately—Aurelian alone on one side, the rest of the family opposite him.
A line.
Aurelian noted it without comment.
"You understand," the head began, "that your appearance changes certain… assumptions."
"Yes," Aurelian said. "I assume that is why I'm here."
A flicker of irritation crossed the man's face at the lack of deference.
"House Valemont values loyalty," he said. "Transparency. Order."
Aurelian's eyes did not waver.
"My father valued those too," he replied. "He died for them."
Silence dropped like a blade.
The woman—his uncle's wife—spoke gently. "We do not doubt your suffering, Aurelian. But from our perspective, this is… sudden."
Aurelian inclined his head slightly toward her.
"It was sudden for me too," he said. "Being born hunted."
The girl's eyes widened.
The boy looked away.
The Valemont head leaned forward, forearms resting on the table.
"You bear our name," he said. "That carries expectations. Responsibilities."
Aurelian listened.
Did not interrupt.
"Your talent assessment alone has drawn attention," the man continued. "SSS-plus. Soul manifestations. Royal blood indicators. Enemies will take interest."
"I'm aware," Aurelian said.
The man studied him again, longer this time.
"You do not ask for protection," he noted.
"I have survived without it," Aurelian replied. "I won't pretend I need it now."
That earned him a sharp look from the boy.
The girl, however, tilted her head slightly, reassessing.
The Valemont head's fingers tightened.
"You may be Lucien's son," he said, voice firm, "but you are still a stranger to this house."
Aurelian nodded once.
"That is fair."
The simplicity of the answer seemed to disarm the room more than defiance would have.
After a moment, the Valemont head spoke again—more measured.
"My children," he said, gesturing to the two beside him. "This is your cousin."
The boy stiffened. "He doesn't look like us."
Aurelian turned his gaze to him—not sharply, not coldly.
"My mother was royal," he said evenly. "I don't expect resemblance."
The boy flushed slightly, jaw tightening.
The girl leaned forward.
"You use Uncle Lucien's sword art," she said. "The true one."
Aurelian met her eyes.
"Yes."
Her voice dropped. "Father never could."
The Valemont head shot her a warning glance.
She didn't look away.
"That art," the head said tightly, "was never shared outside the direct line."
Aurelian's voice was quiet. "It wasn't shared. It was given."
The room went still again.
The head of house looked at him for a long time—really looked this time. Not as a political problem. Not as a surprise.
As blood.
"Lucien was… private," the man said at last. "He did not tell us everything."
"No," Aurelian agreed. "He didn't."
The Valemont head straightened.
"Regardless," he said, "you are Valemont. That cannot be undone. The house will not deny you publicly."
The boy looked startled. The girl's eyes sharpened.
"But," the man continued, "trust is not automatic. It is earned."
Aurelian felt no anger.
Only clarity.
"That's what my parents taught me," he said.
The Valemont head paused.
Then nodded, once.
"Then we begin there," he said. "You will be offered provisional recognition. You will reside within academy housing for now. No immediate claim. No forced integration."
Aurelian inclined his head slightly.
"Acceptable."
The boy scowled. "That's it?"
The Valemont head shot him a glance. "Enough."
The girl studied Aurelian quietly, then spoke.
"You don't look like someone trying to take something," she said. "You look like someone making sure nothing is taken from him."
Aurelian met her gaze.
"That's accurate."
Something like respect flickered in her eyes.
The meeting concluded shortly after.
Formalities. Future discussions. Polite distance.
When Aurelian rose to leave, the Valemont head spoke one last time.
"My brother," he said quietly, "would have been proud."
Aurelian paused.
He did not turn.
"He already was," he replied.
And then he left.
Outside, the academy grounds stretched wide and open, students moving freely through paths and courtyards.
Aurelian breathed in.
Not relief.
Not victory.
Just acceptance.
Blood did not bind him.
Memory did.
Choice did.
And for the first time since stepping into the light, he knew one thing with absolute certainty:
Whatever House Valemont decided—
He would decide himself who his family truly was.