Chapter 15: The Gathering of Spares
Introduction of the Little Fox
Kitsaro walked toward the group of children, his tiny legs slowly striding. The murmurs of nobles swirled around him, a mixture of curiosity and skepticism lacing their words as they observed the young boy. He could feel the stares of the noble children as they took in his presence. Their expressions ranged from curiosity to mild arrogance, the natural confidence of those raised in privilege.
Each of them, despite being only five years old, radiated an unmistakable presence. Born into nobility yet overshadowed by their elder siblings, they were still refined in posture and manner, as if the grandeur of their bloodlines had been etched into their very being.
Kitsaro knew them well—not personally, but from the fate already laid out for them in the original story. Each would grow to wield great power, their names whispered with both reverence and fear. Yet, right now, they were merely children.
Kitsaro turned his attention forward as they neared the group of children—the future comrades of Rieken Valerion, the protagonist of this world.
Caelith Solaris Vaeloria.
Eryndis Vaelmare Stormrend.
Zareth Vaelgor Drakenvyre.
Vaedric Nocthain Morvaine.
Seraphis Nyxaria Ravencourt.
These were the future companions of Rieken Valerion, the protagonist of this world. Kitsaro knew their fates—each of them would grow into figures of great influence. But right now, they were just children, meeting for the first time.
His mind analyzed each of them instantly.
The girl with silver-streaked hair and sharp storm-gray eyes—Eryndis Vaelmare Stormrend—was the first to take notice of his approach. She shifted on her feet, her mouth already half-open as if she had been holding back words and could no longer contain them.
Next to her stood Zareth Vaelgor Drakenvyre, his stance confident, almost dismissive. Even at five, arrogance radiated from him, his emerald eyes gleaming with a superiority that came as naturally to him as breathing.
A quiet boy with dark eyes and an unreadable expression—Vaedric Nocthain Morvaine—stood slightly apart, his presence more shadow than substance. He observed rather than engaged, his gaze sharp but detached.
Then there was Seraphis Nyxaria Ravencourt, who lingered behind the others, her raven-black hair framing a delicate face. Unlike the rest, she looked hesitant, as if unsure whether she belonged in such a gathering.
Finally, at the center of it all was Caelith Solaris Vaeloria. Even without words, he commanded attention. His golden hair caught the fading light, and his eyes—like twin suns—studied Kitsaro with curiosity rather than arrogance.
Kitsaro approached, tilting his head slightly, his mind already crafting the right words to weave into this social game.
Before he could introduce himself, one of the boys, Caelith Solaris Vaeloria, crossed his arms and spoke first. "Who are you?" His golden eyes gleamed with authority, though his voice had the slightest hint of a child's curiosity.
Kitsaro straightened his posture. "Kitsaro Azrael Vaelthyr, son of Sylvara Vaelthyr."
There was a moment of silence before Seraphis Nyxaria Ravencourt, a girl with dark violet hair, frowned. "Vaelthyr? But I only know the first and second heirs."
The others nodded, glancing between themselves.
Kitsaro calmly responded, "I'm not from the main household. I carry my mother's name."
Caelith seemed satisfied with that answer and nodded. "Alright, then I'll go first. I'm Caelith Solaris Vaeloria. My mother is the Duchess of Vaeloria."
Eryndis Vaelmare Stormrend stepped forward, her silver hair swaying. "Eryndis Vaelmare Stormrend. My father is Duke Stormrend."
Zareth Vaelgor Drakenvyre smirked, his dark crimson eyes filled with pride. "Zareth Vaelgor Drakenvyre. My family commands the strongest dragon knights in the empire."
Seraphis, who had been standing quietly, finally mumbled, "Seraphis Nyxaria Ravencourt. My house watches over and supports the empire's— I guess. "
Vaedric was last, a playful smile playing on his lips. "Vaedric Nocthain Morvaine. We're in charge of secrets."
Zareth snorted. "That's just a fancy way of saying you're all spies."
Vaedric narrowed his eyes. "And what's a fancy way of saying your house just rides big lizards all day?"
Zareth gasped dramatically. "You take that back!"
Eryndis giggled. "He's not wrong, though."
Zareth pouted, muttering, "They're not just lizards. They're dragons."
Kitsaro, amused by their bickering, watched as Caelith sighed. "Enough. Let's get back to the new guy." He looked at Kitsaro again. "So, why were you with Cassian Aurevellis earlier?"
Eryndis immediately perked up. "Oh, right! I saw you with him. Is he your teacher? Your tailor? Your secret uncle?"
Kitsaro blinked at the odd list. "He's a close friend of my mother's. He personally made the clothes I'm wearing."
Eryndis gasped. "No way! Cassian made your clothes himself?!" She crossed her arms and huffed. "He made my dress too, but I had to beg my father for months!"
Seraphis smirked. "Maybe you just don't have enough charm, Eryndis."
Eryndis glared. "Oh, shut up, Seraphis. I'll charm Cassian into making my outfits first next time!"
Kitsaro chuckled. "I can introduce you all to him if you'd like."
Eryndis gasped dramatically and grabbed his hands. "Kitsaro, you are now officially my best friend."
Zareth rolled his eyes. "Alright, alright. I guess he can hang out with us."
Eryndis grinned. "See? He's already better than Zachary Vaelthyr. Ugh, that guy is so annoying. He acts like he's better than everyone."
Caelith frowned. "Eryndis, you shouldn't speak badly of someone in public. Someone could overhear."
Eryndis pouted. "Fine. But I already have my hands full dealing with one arrogant noble—" She gave Zareth a pointed look. "I don't need another."
Zareth gasped again. "How dare you!"
Eryndis, apparently bored of serious conversation, grinned.
"I bet I'm faster than all of you! Stormrend knights are the best!"
Zareth immediately scoffed. "Knights are nothing without dragons."
Caelith sighed, rubbing his forehead as if dealing with unruly subjects. "You both are loud. I'm the oldest by a few months, so I should decide who's the best."
Vaedric smirked slightly. "That's not how age works."
Seraphis hesitated before murmuring, "…I like books."
Eryndis made a face. "Books are boring!"
For the first time, Seraphis's expression hardened. "They are not."
Kitsaro couldn't help but chuckle internally. Here they were, noble children who would one day shape the world—and they were arguing over books and speed.
Vaedric, who had been standing quietly, suddenly spoke up. "I'm hungry." Without another word, he wandered off to find food.
Zareth perked up. "Oh! Good idea." He followed after him.
Kitsaro turned back to Seraphis, who was staring at him intently. He raised an eyebrow. "What?"
Seraphis blinked, then looked away quickly. "Nothing. Your hair and eyes are just really pretty."
Kitsaro's face warmed slightly. He coughed. "Probably from my mom's good genes." He pointed toward Sylvara, who was standing alone.
At that moment, Vaedric returned, holding a plate of sweets. He followed Kitsaro's gaze and spotted Sylvara.
His next words were unexpected.
"Is that your mother? She's really pretty."
Silence.
The entire group turned to look at him.
Vaedric froze, realizing what he had just said out loud. His face turned pink as he quickly stuffed a pastry into his mouth.
Eryndis burst out laughing. "Vaedric, do you like Kitsaro's mom?!"
Zareth smirked. "I never thought I'd see you get embarrassed."
Vaedric's face turned even redder. "I—I didn't mean—!"
Kitsaro tilted his head, then smirked. "If you think my mother is pretty, then shouldn't you think the same about me?"
More silence.
Then—
A deep chuckle sounded from behind them.
Cassian stood with the noblewomen and Queen Lyssandra, his arms crossed, a wide grin on his face.
Lyssandra, wiping a tear from her eye, laughed. "Cassian, are you sure Kitsaro isn't your son instead of the Duke's?"
Cassian's smile froze.
The laughter died instantly.
The children, who had been teasing each other moments ago, fell silent. They all turned to Kitsaro.
Kitsaro lowered his gaze.
Lyssandra immediately realized her mistake. "Kitsaro, I—"
But before she could say anything, a familiar voice interrupted.
"Kitsaro."
Everyone turned to see Sylvara approaching.
"We need to go," she said gently. "The main family is arriving."
Kitsaro straightened, then looked at the five children one last time.
Zareth hesitated. "You—"
But Kitsaro simply gave a small smile. "I have to go."
He turned to Lyssandra and gave a respectful nod. "It's fine, Lady Lyssandra."
With that, he walked toward his mother.
The five noble children watched him leave, their earlier laughter replaced by quiet contemplation.
Sylvara placed a gentle hand on his back as they moved through the ballroom. Cassian followed them, his expression unreadable.
As they reached the Queen and noble ladies, Sylvara exchanged a few pleasantries, bidding them farewell.
And with that, the moment passed—yet, in Kitsaro's mind, the gathering of these future comrades had been a moment of significance, even if they did not yet realize it themselves.
~~~~~
A Few Moments Ago
Sylvara heaved a sigh of relief the moment she stepped away from the noble ladies. Their flowery words and forced laughter had been grating, their thinly veiled attempts at currying favor with her nothing short of exhausting. Ever since they caught wind of her close relationship with Cassian Aurevellis, they had taken every opportunity to whisper sweet nothings laced with ulterior motives.
She pinched the bridge of her nose as a dull headache formed. How easily these people shifted their attitudes, treating her like an outcast one moment and a potential ally the next.
Her gaze instinctively sought out Kitsaro.
There he was—standing among the noble children, engaged in lively conversation. A soft expression crossed her face, one she rarely allowed herself.
This is his first time interacting with children his age.
Excluding his brief meeting with Selene's son the other day, Kitsaro had always been alone. She had shielded him, hidden him away, convinced that isolation was safer than rejection. But now, seeing him seamlessly conversing with the high nobility's children, she wondered—What if I had been wrong?
What if, instead of keeping him in the shadows, she had let him stand in the light?
Her fingers curled into a fist. If only Zephiron had accepted him…
Kitsaro should have been standing there openly as the heir of House Vaelthyr, not as a child burdened with secrecy. And yet, despite everything, he still fit in. He navigated their words and egos as if he were born to it. A mixture of pride and sorrow swelled in her chest.
For the first time, the thought whispered in her mind.
Maybe I shouldn't hide him anymore.
The idea was terrifying and liberating all at once.
But she exhaled and pushed the thought aside. I'll deal with my husband later.
For now, she had another matter to attend to.
Her feet carried her across the ballroom, where the ever-dutiful Johnson, the main butler of House Vaelthyr, was tending to the guests. The elderly man still held the same dignified posture he always had, despite his age.
Sensing her approach, Johnson turned and bowed respectfully. "Lady Sylvara."
Her expression remained unreadable, though something in her eyes softened. Unlike the others in this house, Johnson had never treated her with disdain. He had been there when she first arrived, had seen how Zephiron once adored her. Even now, though he could do little for her openly, she knew he ensured that she and Kitsaro were at least well taken care of by the servants.
"Johnson," she said, her voice smooth yet firm. "When will the main family arrive? It's disgraceful to keep the guests waiting, especially with the royal family already here."
Before Johnson could respond, an elder noble stepped forward with a sneer. "You dare to question the house's decisions, you—"
Sylvara silenced him with a single raised finger.
She didn't even look at him.
Her eyes remained on Johnson, waiting patiently for his answer.
The butler, to his credit, did not hesitate. "They will arrive in five minutes, my lady."
The elder clenched his jaw, face reddening with rage at being dismissed so easily. "Insolence!" he spat, his voice rising as if to make a scene.
Sylvara turned to him then, her gaze meeting his. Her golden eyes glowed faintly, the flicker of her hidden power peeking through.
She raised a single finger again—this time, pressing it lightly against the old man's lips.
His body stiffened.
Her voice was barely above a whisper, yet it carried the weight of an unspoken threat.
"Try to make a scandal," she murmured, "and let's see how the Council and handle it—handle you."
The elder trembled, his pride warring with his instincts.
But he was no fool. He knew who she was—the woman who had once tamed the Duke's fury. The woman who still carried the favor of Cassian Aurevellis and had managed to raise a son in the depths of House Vaelthyr's shadows.
Gritting his teeth, he turned on his heel and stalked away.
Sylvara sighed, rubbing her temple. "Dealing with dying old men is a headache," she muttered. Then, with a wry smirk, she added, "Makes you want to snap their necks yourself."
She turned back to Johnson, who had lowered his gaze, wisely avoiding any reaction to her words.
"Prepare for the arrival of the main family," she ordered.
Johnson bowed. "As you wish, my lady."
With that, Sylvara strode away, her thoughts already moving ahead.
Five minutes.