The two and a half months swiftly passed in Amberfell, though it felt like a century to Silas. The rising tension in Amberheart mirrored the pulse of uncertainty that gripped the realm. Nobles from all corners of the continent arrived one after another, their processions parading through the city streets, banners snapping in the wind as if heralding the coming storm. Amberheart was no longer the peaceful jewel of Amberfell; it had become a gathering place for ambition, intrigue, and danger.

The city had been prepared well in advance for the noble influx. Luxurious manors lined the hillside overlooking the city, quickly claimed by the most prestigious families. Estates that had been dormant for years were reopened, their long halls now filled with the echoing steps of servants scurrying to attend to their masters. The wealthiest and most powerful were accommodated closest to the royal palace, their status reflected by proximity to the heart of Amberfell’s power.

For those of lesser renown, inns and private residences throughout the city were hastily converted into noble accommodations. Even the inns that traditionally housed merchants and travellers were now festooned with tapestries and fine furnishings, transforming Amberheart into a city on display, a stark contrast to its usual humble charm. Every corner seemed polished, yet cracks were already beginning to show under the surface, hinting at the underlying tension.

With the influx of nobility came inevitable friction. Rivalries long buried flared into full view, and long-standing grudges simmered dangerously close to the surface, threatening to erupt into open conflict. Political alliances, formed over decades, hung in the balance, tested by the changing tides of power and opportunity.

For Silas, the intricacies of highborn politics felt like a distant world—one he didn’t belong to nor cared to understand. His mind was consumed by a deeper, more personal darkness: the mystery of his mother’s death, the identity of her killers, and his desperate need for answers. It gnawed at him relentlessly, like a shadow clinging to him no matter how far he ran. For two months, the questions plagued him, an ever-present weight pressing down on his spirit.

He hadn’t breathed a word of it to anyone. Not even to those he trusted most. How could he? The fear of betrayal, of uncovering yet another hidden truth, kept his silence ironclad. He’d learned the hard way that trust was fragile, easily shattered by those closest to him. His argument with his father had shown him that—everyone wore two faces; one for the world to see and one they kept hidden. The man Silas had always thought of as courageous and unyielding had crumbled that day, his mask splintering to reveal a stranger beneath.

Since then, Silas had become wary. He wondered if he could ever truly know anyone. After all, a person’s true nature only came out when their mask broke—and by then, it was usually too late.

He understood, on some level, that his father hadn’t kept secrets for the sake of it. Maybe there were deeper plans he had been working on, some hidden purpose behind his actions. But understanding didn’t erase the sting. What hurt the most was not the secrecy itself but the exclusion. Silas wasn’t a child anymore; he didn’t need protection. What he wanted—what he craved—were answers.

As he sat in the sun-dappled garden of the Lonestar manor that morning, his thoughts swirled like storm clouds. His fingers absently traced the smooth surface of the amulet around his neck, its single glowing orb a constant reminder of how little he still understood. With a frustrated chuckle, he buried his head in his hands, a bitter smile tugging at his lips.

‘Just how cynical have I become?” he thought. ‘I need a distraction, or I’ll lose it.’ His desperate plea for a respite from his own thoughts was a cry for relief. With a sigh, Silas rubbed his eyes, trying to shake off the gloom that had settled over him.

Then, as if on cue, his communication stone buzzed softly, and Layla’s voice crackled through.

“Silas? Are you there?”

He held the stone to his ear, his heart lightening a little at the sound of her voice. “Yeah, I’m here.”

“My mother’s arriving today. I’d really like for you to meet her. If you’re up for it, I mean." She said hurriedly.

A strange feeling tugged at him. He hadn’t met Countess Cassandra Shone yet, and the prospect of facing another noble stirred a flicker of anxiety. But mingled with that unease was something else—hope. Perhaps meeting someone new, getting out of his own head for a while, would give him the distraction he so desperately needed.

Silas leaned back in his chair, a small, almost mischievous smile forming on his lips. The thought of meeting Layla’s mother was... intriguing. It could be just the thing to shake off the lingering gloom. Plus, there was a faint amusement at the idea of how Layla might react if he made a lighthearted remark to break the ice.

He stood up, feeling lighter already. “Sure I’ll be there,” he said and then muttered to himself, “it’s about time I got some fresh air.”

Layla replied back with a happy chuckle, “Perfect! She’ll arrive in a few hours, I think.”

Still holding the communication stone, Silas raised his voice just enough for Layla to hear. "So, Layla, excited about introducing Rowan to your mother?"

There was a pause on the other end before Layla responded, her tone immediately more defensive. "What are you talking about?"

"Oh, come on," Silas continued, a smile finally spreading across his face. "It's not every day a guy gets to meet his future mother-in-law."

"Silas!" Layla's voice had that familiar mix of exasperation and embarrassment, and Silas could practically picture the blush creeping onto her face.

Beside her, Rowan, who had been quietly listening in while lying down lazily, finally sputtered, his face flushing deep red as he waved his hands in protest, as if by habit. "Wait—what? No, no, that's not—Silas, stop!"

Silas only laughed, thoroughly enjoying the flustered responses on both ends. “I’m just saying, it’s a big deal! I mean, You and Layla have been acting lovey-dovey for a while now, Rowan. You can’t avoid meeting her family forever.”

“That’s... That’s not how it is!” Rowan stammered, his face growing more and more red. He glanced helplessly at Layla, who was doing her best to stay composed but was clearly flustered herself.

“You’re making things awkward on purpose, Silas,” Layla grumbled through the stone, though her voice had a touch of amusement.

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Silas chuckled, “Hehe... I know, I know. Alright, I’ll see you guys in a bit then. I can’t miss this show.”

Layla’s voice came through again, soft but amused. “Silas, you’re going to regret this when I see you later.”

Silas laughed. "Looking forward to it."

As the call ended, Silas sat back, feeling a bit lighter. Teasing Rowan and Layla was just the distraction he needed, and hearing their flustered responses gave him something to smile about, even if it was brief. For a moment, he could forget the turmoil gnawing at him and just focus on the banter between friends. ‘Yeah, this will be good for me,’ he thought.

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In the dimly lit study of Lonestar Manor, Sullivan sat behind his massive oak desk, his sharp eyes focused on the documents sprawled in front of him. The flickering light from the hearth cast long shadows on the shelves filled with books, each one a relic of history he had lived through. His thoughts wandered, settling on Kael Sanguis, a man with a forgotten legacy, and today would be the day to reveal it. He tapped the communication stone on his desk and sent a short message.

A knock echoed from the door moments later.

“Come in, Kael,” Sullivan called, leaning back in his chair.

The door creaked open, and Kael Sanguis stepped inside, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp as ever. He was no longer the man who relentlessly trained Silas in swordsmanship day after day, and in the months since, his routine had softened.

“You wanted to see me?” Kael asked, closing the door behind him and walking to the centre of the room.

Sullivan’s eyes twinkled with amusement as he leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. “Yes, Kael. But first, I have to ask—what’s it like these days? No more chasing after Silas with a wooden sword?”

Kael chuckled, scratching the back of his head. “Peaceful, I suppose. Feels strange not having to dodge fireballs and deflect wild slashes all day.”

Sullivan laughed. “Strange or lazy?”

Kael’s mouth twitched into a sheepish grin. “I swear I’m keeping busy. I’m not just sitting around. But you’re not going to fire me, are you?”

Sullivan gave him a mock-serious look, lips twitching. “Hmm, should I? Maybe send you off to train some fresh-faced apprentice who doesn’t know which end of a sword is sharp?”

“Please don’t,” Kael replied, laughing awkwardly. “I’m sure there are better ways to torture me.”

“Good. Then I hope you’re ready for a new task.”

Kael straightened a bit, the humour fading from his expression. “I’m always ready. What do you need me to do?”

Sullivan’s laughter faded, his gaze lingering on Kael for a moment longer than usual. His fingers drummed lightly against the desk, the playful atmosphere dissolving into something heavier. “Before I send you off, Kael, there’s something we need to discuss.”

Kael’s brow furrowed. “What is it?”

Sullivan leaned back in his chair, folding his hands in front of him. “Your family—the Sanguis family. When did they acquire the title of Baronet?”

Kael blinked, caught off guard by the sudden change in topic. “Uh... My grandfather, I believe. He bought the title during the latter years of his life from the Remington Clan. From what I’ve been told, it cost him quite a fortune.”

Sullivan sighed, rubbing his temples. “I see. So the Sanguis family has fallen that far...”

Kael frowned, confused. “What do you mean, ‘fallen’? We’re a small noble family, sure, but we’ve never been anything more than that.”

Sullivan’s gaze sharpened, piercing through Kael like a blade. “The Sanguis family once held the title of Duke. They were one of the most powerful families in Amberfell, before the fall. A proud line with a history you clearly don’t know.”

Kael’s eyes widened, and he let out a short, incredulous laugh. “A Duke? Come on, that’s a joke in poor taste. My family’s always been—”

“I’m not joking, Kael.” Sullivan’s voice was firm, cutting off any further protest. “That’s the issue with mortal lives. They’re so short, and memories fade. Important things get lost, and the stories of your ancestors are forgotten. But those things should’ve been passed down to you.”

Kael stared at him, stunned, unable to find words. Sullivan’s tone, his eyes—none of it spoke of jest. It was too serious, too deliberate. “Are you saying... that my family...?”

“Your ancestor,” Sullivan began, “Liam Sanguis, was a Duke. He fought in a war many years ago—a war that began as revenge against Leifstein Remington and his allies. The Sanguis family was at the heart of it, and later, the war escalated beyond Amberfell.”

Kael’s confusion deepened. “Leifstein...? That’s... But how do you know all this?”

Sullivan’s eyes glinted with the weight of centuries. “This is one of the benefits of being a Soulweaver, Kael. A long life allows you to remember what generations of mortals have forgotten. I’ve seen these things unfold. And what your family lost was no simple Baronetcy. You were once Dukes of Amberfell—or rather, Dukes of Amberheart, as the continent was called back then.”

Kael opened his mouth to speak but no words came out. His hands trembled slightly at his sides. Duke? His family? The thought was incomprehensible, clashing with everything he had ever known. “But... how? Why didn’t I know? My father, my grandfather—none of them ever spoke of this.” His voice was quiet, strained, as if he were speaking into a void.

“Because they didn’t know,” Sullivan interrupted. “When Liam Sanguis fell in battle, his estate—the Sanguis estate—lay west of Amberheart, in a city that was once called Caerleon. During that war, the Duke was killed, the city was massacred, and the estate was burned to the ground. I believed, until the day I saw your swordsmanship, that the Sanguis bloodline had been wiped out completely.”

Kael’s face paled, his thoughts swirling. He had spent his life believing he came from a modest family, and now Sullivan was telling him that his ancestors once stood at the height of power—only to lose it all.

“This... this can’t be real,” Kael whispered, more to himself than anyone else.

Sullivan leaned forward, his voice dropping to a grim, measured tone. “It’s real, Kael. I’ve seen it with my own eyes in Caerleon—the piles of corpses, the streets painted in blood and the ashes left of the mighty lineage. No one was spared. Young, old, women, children… slaughtered without mercy. The men were fortunate to die fighting. But the women... They faced a fate far worse before death claimed them. I’ve seen the frozen expressions on their corpses, the despair etched into their faces as they were raped, then killed.” His eyes darkened as the words settled. “So, tell me again—do you still doubt it’s real?”

He sighed and continued, “The strings of fate have brought us together once more against our foes. The same enemies that sought your family’s destruction back then still exist. They don’t know of your existence yet, but if they did, they would hunt you down. But this time... We’ve got the element of surprise, so it’s time to go on the offensive.”

Kael’s heart pounded in his chest. The weight of the revelation hung heavy in the air, and for the first time in his life, he felt like he was part of something much larger than himself—a legacy, a battle that had spanned generations.

Sullivan leaned back, studying Kael’s reaction before speaking again. “So, Kael Sanguis, are you prepared for the task I have for you now?”

Kael swallowed hard, his mind still trying to catch up, but he managed to nod. “Yes... I am.”

“Good,” Sullivan said, his tone softening though the weight of their conversation remained. “Then let’s begin planning.”