Raizen shoved the dining hall door open, Viridian's wet cough and Teriel's venom fading as he stepped into the dusk.
The courtyard sprawled silent, the marquessate's cracked walls swallowing the last light.
His boots thudded toward the drill hall, chest tight with the need to move—anything to shake off that room's weight.
"Dinner's a pit," he thought, "Rossain's stare, Viridian's slump—something's rotting."
He slipped inside, torchlight flickering over the worn beams, dust thick on the stone floor.
He gripped the pull-up bar—iron cold against his calluses—and hauled himself up, muscles straining, breath steady.
One, ten, fifty—he counted silently, sweat stinging his eyes, arms burning past a hundred.
Kezess's voice cut in, low and biting. "Pushing again, kid? This is all that keeps you from breaking, isn't it?"
Raizen's jaw clenched, teeth grinding—he kept going, two hundred, three—his patched shirt soaked, seams pulling across his lean frame.
"He's right," he thought, "this holds me together when everything else splits."
At 497, boots scuffed the floor—Ryan's voice broke through, hesitant.
"Rai, got a minute?"
Raizen glanced back, mid-pull, eyes narrowing at Ryan's tense shoulders, the twitch in his jaw. "Wait a second," he said, voice rough, finishing 498, 499, 500—arms quivering, he dropped, landing hard.
"What is it?" he asked, wiping sweat with his sleeve, reading Ryan's downturned mouth, the flicker of doubt in his eyes.
Ryan shuffled to a bench—Raizen followed, sitting close, the wood groaning under them. "He's shaken," Raizen thought, "something's chewing him raw."
Ryan stared at his hands, voice low. "I thought with time things would get better." Raizen tilted his head, eyes steady.
"What?" Ryan swallowed, words dragging out.
"I always thought Mother's resentment toward you was momentary, but our family already seems to be falling apart. Father's barely sitting up, the times we have dinner are always so heated—I…"
He stopped, shoulders sagging. Raizen ruffled his hair, firm and quick. "Some things you can try to change but never will," he said, voice hard.
"Shifting someone's core isn't simple, Ryan."
Ryan's brow creased. "But—" Raizen cut him off, sharp. "Don't worry about me. I've handled this for years."
Ryan's gaze dropped, fingers twisting—Raizen saw the guilt there, plain as day.
"You're still a kid," he said, "so don't grind yourself down. Take care of yourself—that's enough for me. You're my little brother."
Ryan stayed silent, jaw tight, then stood, scarf trailing as he trudged inside.
"He's tougher than he knows," Raizen thought, "but he's carrying too much anyway."
Raizen leaned back, eyes lifting to the sky through a cracked window—stars glinting dim, constellations faint against the black.
Kezess's voice slid in, edged with scorn. "Done lying? You tell him you've handled it, when training 'til midnight is the only thing keeping you from falling apart."
Raizen's fists balled—words rose, bitter, but he swallowed them, staring at the stars.
'He sees it,' he thought, 'the cracks I won't say—let him talk.' Sweat cooled on his skin, the hall's quiet pressing in—he held still, mind churning.
The scene shifted—torchlight fading—to a shadowed chamber, Viscount Rossain tracing a table's edge with a knife, the blade scraping soft against the wood.
His lean frame stood rigid, dark hair slicked tight, eyes unblinking—Teriel faced him, Sylvia asleep in a cradle nearby, her white hair catching the dim glow.
"Why is the marquess still up and working?" Rossain asked, voice low, deliberate, knife pausing as he fixed her with a cold stare.
"Are you not doing your job?" The question hung, sharp and heavy.
Teriel flinched, a quick jerk of her shoulders—her hands clenched at her sides.
"He insists," she said, voice taut, eyes flicking to Sylvia then back. "You know how he is—won't stop."
Rossain tilted his head, silent, the knife resuming its slow scrape—each sound precise.
"He's weaker," he said, barely audible, eyes narrowing to slits. Teriel's lips pressed thin, unease flashing across her face.
"He manages," she snapped, too quick. "For now." Rossain stayed mute—knife stilling—his gaze drilling into her, unreadable.
"He's prodding her," the narrator observed, "digging at her nerves with hardly a word—snake's patience, waiting her out."
Teriel straightened, smoothing her cloak. "You're just visiting," she said, voice regaining its bite. "Don't push."
Rossain's eyes glinted—something dark lurking there—before he set the knife down, stepping back without a sound.
"Family matters," he murmured, turning away, his shadow stretching long—Sylvia stirred, a faint coo breaking the stillness, her gold eyes blinking open briefly.
"Tension's coiling," the narrator noted, "but they're keeping it under wraps—something's simmering."
Raizen stood in the drill hall, stretching his arms—muscles aching—stars still faint above.
"Rossain's here," he thought, "Viridian's fading, Teriel's wound tight—walls are closing."
He gripped the bar again—one slow pull, then another—Kezess silent now, the night stretching deep. "Training's my anchor," he thought, "until this place splits open."