Theron paced the frost-rimed library, fire flickering like a trapped bird in his palms. His boots left scorch marks on the rug—a gift from some long-dead noble their father probably despised. "Why should we cheer for him?" he spat, glaring at Lyrielle, who sat stitching a torn banner emblazoned with their family's wolf crest. "William's the one who vanished. William's the one who came back… different. And now Father acts like his Proving is some grand redemption for all of us?"

Lyrielle's needle stilled. She knew the shape of Theron's anger—how it burned brightest when it masked fear. Once, he'd trailed after William like a shadow, their laughter echoing through these same halls as they dueled with wooden swords. Her voice cut through his brooding, soft but edged with warning. "Your father wants the empire to see unity. Not discord."

Theron scoffed. "Unity? William barely speaks to any of us. Even you." The words tasted bitter. He remembered when it wasn't like this—when William would sneak him out to the stables at midnight, teaching him to spar with sticks instead of swords, laughing as Theron's wild swings singed the hay.

"He's just a ghost with a sword now," Theron muttered. It had been six years since William returned, and nothing had changed. The memory clawed at him: William standing in the courtyard, returned at 16—a year after he'd disappeared—his eyes hollow as the northern wastes, a stranger wearing his brother's face. Theron had tackled him in a hug, laughing through tears, only to freeze when William stood rigid, his hands limp at his sides.

"Your brother needs you," Lyrielle said softly, her voice fraying like the banner's threads.

"He doesn't need anyone. That's the problem!" Theron's flames flared, searing the air. "Why can't you see he's not the same? He'd rather collect trinkets from strangers than talk to us."

A servant materialized in the doorway, eyes downcast. "My lady. My lord. The duke… insists you join the others in the dining hall."

Lyrielle nodded, her hands trembling as she set aside the banner. Theron smothered his flames to embers, the air thick with the scent of lavender.

The Hall of Ancestors still hummed with the aftershock of Leofric's lecture. Aurelia stood beneath the stone-carved face of their great-grandfather, her ice-blue cloak pristine against the dust stirred by Thalric's restless pacing. "Your plan at the border was reckless," she said, not bothering to turn as Thalric paced through the room. "You nearly collapsed a pass we needed to defend. Father won't overlook another mistake."

Thalric kicked a loose stone pillar, sending cracks splintering up its base like veins. "And you would've frozen half our own men with one of your pretty ice walls. Not all of us fight battles on paper, sister."

Her eyes narrowed, sharp as winter's edge. "You think brute force makes you worthy of leading? Father notices incompetence. Even yours."

Thalric's laugh was a low rumble, earth shifting faintly beneath his boots. "Oh, he's too busy fawning over William to notice anything. And you envy William because he doesn't try to impress Father—he just does."

Before Aurelia could retort, a servant appeared in the doorway, bowing stiffly. "My lord, my lady. The duke… requests your presence in the dining hall."

In the courtyard, William stood alone, the wind biting through his thin linen shirt as he stared at the distant mountains. Lightning flickered faintly at his fingertips, restless and unspent. The peaks blurred into shadow, their jagged edges mirroring the storm in his chest.

A rustle of skirts broke the stillness. Rowena hovered at the edge of the training grounds, her spirit familiars—twin wisps of silver smoke—coiling anxiously around her shoulders. "W-William?" Her voice trembled as the spirits hissed, retreating into the folds of her cloak. "I… I brought your cloak. It's cold."

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He didn't turn. "Leave it."

Rowena stepped closer, her familiars writhing. "The spirits… they're scared of you. They won't say why, but—"

"Then listen to them," William said flatly, his gaze still fixed on the horizon.

A servant emerged from the archway, head bowed. "My lord. My lady. The duke demands your presence."

Rowena fled before the servant finished speaking, her familiars whispering in panicked unison only she could hear: "Danger. Wrong. He is wrong."

William lingered, watching the mountains until the last of the lightning faded from his veins.

The dining hall loomed under banners of wolves howling against a storm, candlelight pooling like molten gold on the oak table. Arthur Duskborn sat stiffly beside his mother Arutoria, a stone rose taking shape in his palm. Eyes darting towards Aurelia.

Thalric tore into his bread, crumbs scattering. "Late, as always. Does he think himself above family?"

Theron's knife stabbed the table, flames licking the blade. "Wouldn't be the first time. He's been playing the silent hero since he came back."

Arutoria sipped her wine, her tone light but edged. "Patience, Thalric. The Proving is… taxing."

Lyrielle gripped her goblet. "He'll come. He just… needs time."

"Time?" Thalric barked a laugh. "It's been six years. How much more does he need?"

"Enough." Leofric's voice silenced the room.

Aurelia leaned back, her ice-blue sleeves pooling like frost on the table. "Thalric's crass, but not wrong. The Proving demands discipline, not distractions. If William can't even sit with his own family—"

The doors groaned open.

William strode in, snow dusting his shoulders, and sat without a word.

Thalric's fist slammed the table, earth magic rippling. Plates rattled. "No greetings? No apology? Or are we all beneath you now, Late Knight?"

Theron's flames flared. "Why bother? He's made it clear we're strangers."

William stared at his hands, lightning dancing faintly in his palms. "If you're done performing," he said quietly, "perhaps we could eat."

"Enough!" Leofric's roar shook the chandeliers. Silence fell, brittle and sharp. The duke turned to William, his gaze a vise. "Are you prepared for tomorrow?"

"Yes."

"Yes?" Leofric leaned forward. "That's all?"

William met his eyes. "What else is there?"

Lyrielle's breath hitched.

Leofric's jaw twitched, but he turned to Aurelia. "And your marriage prospects?"

Her spoon clinked against her bowl. "I'll honor your decision, Father."

"Good. The Count of Blackmoor's son. We'll announce it after the Proving."

Aurelia's fingers froze around her chalice. Across the table, Arthur crushed the stone rose in his palm, dust sifting through his fingers.

Thalric smirked. "Finally marrying her off? Good luck thawing that ice."

Leofric's glare silenced him. "The alliance secures our border. You'd do well to think beyond your sword, Thalric."

The meal dragged on, tension thickening with every scrape of cutlery. Lyrielle's untouched wine reflected the candlelight, rippling as Theron stormed out mid-course, flames trailing behind him. Rowena hunched over her plate, her familiars cowering in her sleeves. William rose, his chair screeching against stone.

"Where are you going?" Leofric demanded.

"To train."

Thalric snorted. "Of course. “Can’t let us exist in your glorious shadow, can you?”

William paused at the door. "No," he said softly. "You can't."

Arthur watched Aurelia's retreating figure, the ghost of his shattered rose still clinging to his palm.