The next morning, I sat across from my mother at the breakfast table, quietly eating as she sipped her tea. Our interactions were always like this—silent, distant. She wasn't unkind, but she also wasn't warm, well not too warm. If anything, she regarded me with a strange sort of caution, as if unsure what to make of me.
Eventually, she spoke. "Your father will be returning soon."
I glanced up. That was unexpected. My father was often away handling imperial affairs, and his returns were rare.
"And?" I asked, tilting my head slightly.
She gave me a sharp look. "And you will be expected to greet him properly."
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. "Of course. Wouldn't want to offend the great esteemed Lord of the House."
Her grip on her teacup tightened slightly, but she said nothing.
She exhaled softly
"Mother, what am I even supposed to do when I get out of the academy? A knight?"
She looked up from her tea, her gaze sharp yet contemplative. "Is that what you think your path will be?"
I shrugged. "I mean, what else is there? That or some government position, right?"
She took a slow sip, setting the cup down with a deliberate motion. "You oversimplify things, Cassius."
I raised an eyebrow. "Then tell me. What am I supposed to do?"
She studied me for a moment before speaking. "Our family does not exist merely to follow predetermined roles. Nobility is not just about titles—it is about power, influence, and the ability to shape the world around us. A knight? That is an honorable path, but it is not the only one. You could be a scholar, a tactician, a mage, a ruler—there are many possibilities."
I scoffed lightly. "A ruler? You're talking about the Empire, aren't you?"
Her gaze didn't waver. "I'm talking about potential. Your potential. The academy is merely the first step. What you do after… that depends on you."
I frowned, leaning back in my chair. "So basically, I can do anything?"
She smiled faintly. "You can do anything you are capable of."
I exhaled, running a hand through my hair. "No pressure, huh?"
She reached out, gently brushing a few strands of my hair between her fingers. "Your hair is growing quickly," she mused, a faint smile playing on her lips. "You're starting to look more like me."
I blinked. "Really?"
She nodded, her gaze warm but appraising. "The same black hair, though yours is already getting a bit unruly. You'll have to start tying it back soon."
I huffed. "So I inherited your looks but none of your patience?"
She chuckled softly. "It would seem so." Her fingers moved to tuck a stray strand behind my ear, and she studied me closely. "You have our family's features—sharp, distinct. The kind that draws attention whether you want it or not."
I leaned back, crossing my arms. "That sounds like more trouble than it's worth."
"Perhaps." She tilted her head slightly. "But power comes in many forms, Cassius. Beauty is one of them. Our family has always been… captivating."
I thought about it for a moment, remembering the subtle differences in our relatives. Some had darker hair, almost ink-like, while others had streaks of gray woven through. Our textures varied too—my mother's was long and wavy, while mine seemed to have a mind of its own, growing wilder by the day.
"There's also our relatives with streaked hair," I pointed out. "The ones with the gray mixed in."
She nodded. "Yes. A branch of our family—distant, but still of our blood. That gray is a mark of something old, something from before the Empire. Their abilities have always been… unique."
That caught my interest. "Abilities?"
She tapped my forehead lightly. "Curiosity is good, but you still have much to learn before you go digging into old bloodlines."
I frowned. "That just makes me want to know more."
She smirked knowingly. "I expected nothing less."
I leaned forward, eyes narrowing slightly. "You can't just mention something like that and not explain, Mother. What do you mean by 'unique abilities'?"
She sighed, tilting her head as if debating how much to tell me. "It's not something openly discussed, but those in our family with streaked hair—especially those with more pronounced silver—tend to have an affinity for strange and powerful energies. Some say it's an inheritance from an ancestor who wielded magic differently from the rest of us."
"Differently how?"
Her fingers traced absent patterns along the table's surface. "They don't manipulate magic in the way the Empire teaches. It's something… older. More instinctual. Many of them have a natural inclination toward illusion, foresight, or even altering perception itself."
That sent a shiver down my spine. "Like mind control?"
She gave me a pointed look. "No. It's not as crude as that. But they see and feel things others don't. Some can touch the flow of magic in ways scholars still don't understand."
I sat back, processing that. "And yet, they're still part of the family?"
"Of course," she said without hesitation. "Blood is blood, no matter how different. Though… they tend to keep to themselves."
I tapped my fingers against my arm, thinking. "Do we have any of them nearby?"
She smiled faintly, as if she had expected the question. "Perhaps. But you'll have to find that answer yourself."
I exhaled sharply. "You love making things difficult, don't you?"
She simply sipped her tea. "It builds character."
As she placed her teacup down with practiced elegance, a sudden crash shattered the calm. The doors burst open, and a masked figure lunged into the room, moving fast—too fast for an ordinary man.
Before I could even react, my mother simply flicked her wrist.
Two blades, previously resting idly against the wall, shot through the air like arrows loosed from a bow. The intruder barely had time to gasp before they pierced through his shoulders, pinning him against the far wall.
He let out a strangled cry, his body twitching as blood dripped down the stone surface.
My mother, unbothered, picked up her tea again and took a slow sip.
I blinked.
Then, glancing between her and the restrained man, I raised an eyebrow. "…Was that necessary?"
She exhaled softly, setting her cup down again. "If he's still alive, I was merciful."
I turned to the intruder, who was now frozen in place, struggling against the blades. His breathing was ragged, and his eyes darted frantically.
"Who sent you?" my mother asked, her voice calm, yet carrying an unmistakable weight.
The man grit his teeth, refusing to speak.
She sighed, flicking her wrist once more. The swords twisted slightly, driving deeper into his flesh.
He screamed.
I leaned back in my chair, watching the scene with mild fascination. "Should I get father?"
My mother smiled at me—gentle, elegant, as if we were discussing the weather. "No need, darling. This won't take long."
The man gasped, his breath coming in sharp, pained bursts. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he struggled to remain conscious.
My mother took another slow sip of her tea before sighing. "I'll ask once more." She placed her cup down with deliberate care, her fingers lightly tracing the rim. "Who sent you?"
The intruder spat on the ground, glaring up at her with defiance. "You think—ahh!" His words twisted into a scream as my mother flicked her wrist again, the swords shifting just enough to tear into muscle.
"Such a shame." She leaned back slightly, tilting her head as if studying an insect caught in a web. "A professional would have taken poison by now. That means you're either a fool, or someone thought I'd be too soft to interrogate you properly."
I watched, intrigued. It wasn't the first time I had seen her deal with unwanted guests, but it was the first time she hadn't ordered the guards to do it.
"Mother," I interjected, resting my chin on my palm, "if you kill him too quickly, we won't learn anything."
She glanced at me, her lips curling into an amused smile. "Oh? You have a suggestion, my dear?"
I shrugged. "I've been reading about nerve clusters. If you twist the blade just right—" I gestured lazily toward the swords impaling him, "—you can make it feel like his body is being set on fire without doing much damage at all."
The man paled.
My mother chuckled softly. "Such a thoughtful boy."
I grinned. "I try."
She tapped her fingers against the table, considering. "I think we should take this conversation somewhere more private. No sense in making a mess of the sitting room."
With another flick of her wrist, the swords wrenched free from the intruder's shoulders. He collapsed to the floor, groaning in agony.
The doors opened, and two guards stepped inside, bowing slightly before dragging the bloodied man away.
Once the room was silent again, I glanced at my mother. "So… any chance you'll tell me who that was?"
She smiled over the rim of her teacup. "Just a pest."
I narrowed my eyes. "A pest that broke into our home?"
"A particularly bold one." She took another sip, as composed as ever. "But nothing you need to concern yourself with, darling."
I leaned back, watching her. She was always like this—graceful, elegant, but entirely unreadable when she wanted to be.