Sunlight filtered through the tall windows of the Ophirein estate's dining hall, gilding the long oaken table in quiet gold. Morning mist clung faintly to the glass, fading with the warmth inside.
Count Alaric Ophirein sat at the head, dressed in a dark military-coat lined with iron-threaded trim. He ate with methodical ease, the weight of command never leaving his broad shoulders. At his side, Lady Evelyne moved with silent grace, her crimson hair pinned back, a small flicker of firelight seeming to follow her every motion. She plated food for the children without fuss, her hands moving like she'd done this a thousand times before—and likely had.
Nerion sat between his twin brothers, Aelric and Riven. The two older siblings passed quiet jabs between bites—grins sharp, voices low. Years of sparring had turned every conversation into a match of feints.
Seraphine, poised and self-contained as always, buttered her bread with surgical precision. Her eyes occasionally flicked to the family, more observant than affectionate.
At the far end, the room shifted.
Caldus entered—what remained of him. His ruined body hovered slightly above the floor, cradled by a floating stone wheelchair shaped by forgotten runes. His soul-bound butler wheeled him forward, a silent wraith in formal wear.
The family's quiet chatter dimmed as the old man passed. Not out of pity—none dared. Caldus's mutilated frame radiated more command than most lords in full armor.
He said nothing. He didn't need to.
Everyone resumed eating, until Alaric spoke.
"Nerion." His voice was calm, weighty. "Today's the day of the Exam results ?"
Nerion straightened slightly. "Yes. I'll be heading to the EMBERHOLD (Margrave's city ) right after breakfast. The teleportation mage only accepts unawakened… so this is probably my last time using it ,But the real test begins tomorrow… when the Tower determines if I get a class at all."
Finn and Lysa, seated at the far side, had gone quiet. Even the little one, normally a storm of sugar and songs, watched her older brother with wide eyes. Finn just muttered, "You'll pass."
"I haven't failed anything yet," Nerion said.
"Yet," Riven added with a smirk.
Aelric chuckled, elbowing him lightly. "Don't jinx him. You know how mother gets."
"I'll set the house on fire if he doesn't pass," Evelyne said, voice calm, not joking.
Alaric finally spoke.
"It's not about passing," he said, not looking at anyone. "It's about what kind of strength the Tower sees in you. Whether it sees anything at all."
Nerion met his father's gaze. "I know."
Silence again. Not tense, but thick with meaning.
"You've trained under a madman," Aelric said, glancing at their grandfather. "Maybe you'll awaken with some ancient relic-class no one's seen in five centuries."
"Or maybe I'll get a broom and a polite invitation to leave," Nerion replied.
Seraphine snorted. Quiet, unexpected.
Caldus spoke at last, his voice a dry rasp that sounded like it came from under the earth.
"The Tower doesn't give power. It reflects it. You either have weight… or you don't."
Lady Evelyne reached across the table and touched Nerion's hand.
"You have it," she said. "Whether they see it or not."...
….
No toast. No warm, dramatic send-off.
Just steel. Just expectation.
And under it all, love sharpened by the edge of legacy.....