Arlon stood at the grand entrance of the Throndsen Estate, staring at the line of uniformed servants, guards, and estate officials bowing in synchronized perfection.
"Welcome to the capital, Young Lord!"
The voices rang through the air with military precision, loud enough to send a ripple through the gathered staff. Arlon could feel the weight of hundreds of eyes on him, expectant, waiting.
His mind scrambled for the correct response—should he nod? Wave? Say something noble-sounding?
He had prepared for this. He had spent years perfecting his composure, keeping up the act expected of the Throndsen heir. He would not be awkward now.
Arlon tilted his chin slightly and gave a composed nod, neither too formal nor too casual. That seemed to satisfy them, as the staff remained in their perfect formation as he strode past them toward the entrance.
Inside, a butler awaited him.
"Young Lord, the young lady and young master are awaiting you in the main hall," the butler informed him with a low bow.
Arlon tensed slightly but nodded, stepping forward.
"Lead the way," he said smoothly.
The butler bowed once more before turning to guide them. Arlon followed, with Dimitri and Lawrence trailing behind, their footsteps echoing softly against the polished floors.
As Arlon walked through the halls, his thoughts churned.
Eliz and Elrod. His younger siblings.
It had been years since he had last seen them. They had grown up together once—shared childhood days that now felt distant, blurred by time. Would they still see him as the brother they remembered? Or had those years apart turned them into strangers?
He thought of the twins back at the Grand Duchy. That relationship had been shaped by the past—by grief, by loss. After their father's death, he had distanced himself from them, whether out of guilt or duty, he wasn't sure. But this… this was different. Less strained. Less uncertain.
Or at least, it had been.
Would they greet him as family, or would they look at him with the same guarded distance the twins had?
His fingers curled briefly against his sleeve before he forced himself to relax. It didn't matter.
He had played the role before—he could do it again.
The moment Arlon stepped through the main doors, the air inside shifted.
The interior of the Throndsen mansion was just as imposing as its vast estate—vaulted ceilings, towering marble pillars, deep crimson carpets that stretched down the grand hallways, and golden chandeliers hanging like suspended stars above the entrance hall.
Every inch of it was a statement. A reminder.
Power. Prestige. Influence.
And right at the heart of it, standing at the base of the grand staircase, were two figures waiting for him.
His siblings— Arlon Throndsen's siblings.
The first thing he noticed was the girl.
Eliz Throndsen, the eldest daughter of the family.
She had long, sleek dark blue hair that fell in perfect waves over her shoulders. Her deep purple eyes—the same shade as his own—were sharp yet reserved, carrying an air of graceful intelligence.
She was elegant, poised, and composed—a young noblewoman trained to perfection. But beneath that practiced exterior, there was something more—a glimmer of expectation, of longing, of hesitation.
Then his gaze shifted to the young man beside her.
Elrod Throndsen, the second son.
Unlike Eliz and Arlon, Elrod's deep blue eyes were the only ones to inherit their biological mother's color. His dark blue hair—the same shade as Eliz's—was slightly tousled, yet not unkempt, adding to the guarded air he carried.
He was tall for his age, standing almost as high as Arlon's shoulder, his posture disciplined, but not stiff.
There was no doubt—he was a swordsman. The way his stance naturally adjusted, the way his sharp gaze flicked across Arlon's expression before settling, quietly assessing.
They looked older now—older than how the novel had described them.
A strange feeling settled in Arlon's chest, caught somewhere between familiarity and distance.
Eliz and Elrod. His younger siblings. The ones he had left behind.
Would they still see him as their older brother?
…Would he?
At the far end stood the two figures he hadn't seen for a long time.
Eliz was the first to step forward, composed as ever, but there was a stiffness in her movements—like she was forcing herself to maintain a dignified air. Elrod, standing beside her, was equally reserved, though his fingers twitched at his sides as if resisting the urge to do something reckless.
Arlon kept his face unreadable, still unsure where this was going.
Then Eliz took another step—only for her heel to catch slightly against the smooth floor.
"..!"
It wasn't a dramatic stumble, just a minor misstep, but Arlon instinctively moved, reaching out before she could even think of regaining her balance.
Eliz froze.
The room went silent.
Arlon's fingers barely brushed her sleeve before he pulled back, but the contact was enough.
Eliz's breath hitched, her back going ramrod straight. For a second, the air between them felt fragile—like glass that might shatter if either of them acknowledged it.
Elrod made a sound—something between a barely contained snort and a suppressed chuckle.
That was all it took.
Eliz turned sharply toward her younger brother, eyes narrowing in warning. "Not. A. Word."
Elrod held up his hands in mock surrender, but the twitch at the corner of his lips betrayed him.
Arlon blinked.
…This felt normal.
The way they interacted, the way Eliz immediately tried to regain her dignity while Elrod barely hid his amusement—it was the kind of natural sibling dynamic he hadn't expected.
Just as he let his guard down, Eliz straightened, cleared her throat, and fixed him with a sharp stare.
"Brother," she began, her tone teetering somewhere between scolding and concern, "why didn't you write to us?"
Elrod crossed his arms, nodding in agreement. "Yeah. Four years, and not a single letter? Do you have any idea how much of a pain it was to get news about you?"
Arlon blinked again.
Wait…
Why did this feel like he was the younger sibling here?
"Aren't I supposed to be the older one?" he muttered, inwardly rubbing his temple.
Eliz huffed, placing her hands on her hips. "Then start acting like it!"
Elrod smirked. "Yeah, big brother. Explain yourself."
Arlon opened his mouth, closed it, for the first time in a while, Arlon found himself speechless.
"I was busy," he said simply.
He exhaled sharply, still reeling from the shock, as Eliz and Elrod stared him down—like two parents expecting an explanation from their wayward child.
Eliz crossed her arms. "Too busy to send a single letter?"
Elrod raised a brow. "Not even one?"
Arlon opened his mouth, then closed it. Technically, yes—the original Arlon had been too busy. Caught up in political schemes, entangled with the Pry cult, and, well… leaving them behind.
But he wasn't the original Arlon.
If he had known his younger siblings had been trying to keep in touch, he would have fixed this problem beforehand.
And now, he had absolutely no clue how to explain himself without digging a deeper hole.
When she saw Arlon's quiet reaction, Eliz exhaled through her nose and crossed her arms, her expression unreadable.
"We worried about you, you know," she muttered, voice quieter now, her sharpness dulling just slightly.
Elrod, who had been more amused than anything, finally dropped his teasing smirk. "Yeah. We did."
That caught Arlon off guard.
He had expected them to be distant. Maybe even resentful.
Instead, they had waited.
Eliz shifted, as if hesitating, before she lifted her chin, her eyes meeting his with a quiet determination.
"We wrote to you," she admitted.
Arlon stilled.
"We sent letters. More than once."
Elrod nodded, his expression unreadable now. "We never got a reply."
Arlon's grip tightened at his sides.
…He hadn't known that.
The original Arlon must have ignored them.
The Throndsen heir was never someone who cared for relationships in the novel. Maybe he had thought keeping his distance was for the best. Maybe he had been too caught up in something else.
But right now, none of that mattered.
Because the two people standing before him had been waiting for something—for him—and had been met with silence.
He had prepared for resentment, distance. A cold formality, maybe. But not this. Not warmth. Not lingering frustration that felt less like rejection and more like… worry.
Arlon inhaled slowly, smoothing his expression before offering the best answer he could.
"Things were complicated."
It wasn't an excuse. It wasn't even a proper apology.
But Eliz and Elrod exchanged a glance, something unspoken passing between them.
Then, to his surprise, Eliz just sighed, shaking her head with an exasperated smile. "That's so like you."
Elrod chuckled under his breath. "Figures."
Arlon blinked.
"Wait," he said, confused. "What's so like me?"
Eliz gave him a knowing look. "Being vague. Dodging the question. You always did that when you didn't want to explain yourself."
Elrod shrugged. "We figured you had your reasons. But it was still annoying."
Arlon wasn't sure how to respond to that. They expected this behavior from him. They knew him—or at least, they thought they did.
And yet, despite the years apart, despite the silence, they hadn't resented him for it.
Just as he was about to relax, Eliz placed her hands on her hips again, her expression shifting from soft to demanding in an instant.
"Alright, now that you are here, we need answers."
Arlon frowned. "Answers?"
Elrod crossed his arms. "Yes. Specifically—"
Eliz cut in, her voice firm. "What exactly happened at the Grand Duchy?"
Arlon stiffened.
Oh.
Right.
They would have heard about that, wouldn't they?
Elrod tilted his head. "Three nobles taken down. Entire political factions shaken. And somehow, you were right in the middle of it."
Eliz narrowed her eyes. "You do realize the rumors reached the Empire before you even set foot here, right?"
Arlon slowly exhaled, bracing himself for what was about to be another headache.
He opened his mouth, carefully choosing his words. "Well, you see—"
"My lord," Before he could finish, a familiar voice smoothly cut in.
Dimitri's crisp tone carried through the hall, interrupting with perfect timing. "Forgive my intrusion, but given the length of your journey, you must be exhausted. Perhaps it would be best to rest before engaging in lengthy discussions."
Arlon had never been so grateful for Dimitri's impeccable sense of timing.
"You're right," Arlon agreed far too quickly, straightening up. "It's been a long trip. We can talk later."
Eliz's eyes narrowed. "Convenient."
Elrod crossed his arms. "Suspiciously convenient."
Arlon ignored them both.
Dimitri, unfazed by their skepticism, turned to Eliz and Elrod, bowing slightly. "If there are any matters regarding the Grand Duchy that require explanation, I would be more than happy to provide you with the necessary details."
Eliz considered him for a long moment before finally sighing. "Fine. But don't think this conversation is over, brother."
Elrod smirked. "Yeah. We're not done with you yet."
Arlon gave them a tired smile, pretending he wasn't inwardly relieved beyond measure. "Looking forward to it."
With that, Dimitri smoothly guided Arlon toward his quarters, leaving his younger siblings behind—Eliz frowning in contemplation, and Elrod clearly amused.
For now, he was safe. But later? He had the sinking suspicion his siblings wouldn't let him off so easily. And worse? He wasn't sure if he wanted them to.