A few days passed in a whirl of small miracles.
Selene never remained motionless. Three days after birth, she was already gliding gracefully through the manor her step slow and deliberate, as a dancer who has mastered the art after a harsh winter. The midwives clucked and scolded she smiled and paid no attention to them.
She entered the western hall's glass gallery to let Lucius see sunlight break into color. She paused in the music room before an ancient harp and plucked with her spare hand against a string, giggling as Lucius' small face warped at the sound. She lingered at windows, watching strands of morning wind brush the tops of trees. She spoke to her son in each room, as if he would understand.
Kaelen returned to practice the next day.
"It's necessary that he observe," he said, encircling leather around his arms. "If he observes me struggle, one day he will want to improve me."
He trained in the cold courtyard where the hangings of dead warriors looked on not for hearing or show, but with the plain repetition of a man who relied on muscle and habit. Footwork on pale-colored stone. Curves of blade that cut frost from the air. Breathe in, breathe out. At times Lucius slept to the rhythm of boot against flagstone sometimes his blue eyes Kaelen's eyes tracked the glinting edge of steel until he collapsed into sleep.
They did not visit the Head. Not yet.
It was not fear that confined them to the east wing, but careful silence. Rumors spread like oil in aged houses once lit, it is difficult to extinguish. The elders would see the boy too early if they could, and expectations would set about him like a cast titles spoken, destinies wagered, jealousies fanned. Selene would not have Lucius' initial days hijacked by other folks' tales.
Family tends to find doors.
Calista was already there when Selene's sister, fidgety and crafty, wrapped in a maid's apron that was one size too small, arrived. She knocked gently on their door with the light tread of a servant, and Kaelen opening it, she swept by with a grin that would remain forever fifteen in Selene's mind. She handled Lucius as delicately as a treasure and addressed him as though conspiring with a king. As she left, she pinched the cheek of Kaelen and called him "barbarian" with such affection that the word was stripped of its ill intent.
Later came cousins Isilda and Lyra Kairus, the other girls of the main stem apart from Calista. They clutched each other's hands and slipped behind Calista unseen by the guards in the corridor, so bright with excitement that they could have sprinted without moving their feet. Isilda, whose locks burned like the glow of a torch and laughed like a bell. Lyra, who was more reserved, but whose eyes noticed everything. They reached out for Lucius with wonder, argued in whispers as to who he smiled at first, and vowed to steal him often.
And after those visits, silence came again. No more knocking at dawn. No aunts with ill-fitting wigs. For a time, the manor returned to breath and softness warm pressure of Lucius' cheek, scents of cloth dried by fire, the jarring shock of a small hand closing around a finger. Afternoon light collected like honey in the angles of the room. The silence was like a blessing spread down where no one could tear it up.
Then, after a dull grey afternoon, there was one tap.
Kaelen had just read to a boy who could not hear the words, but who seemed to feel the rhythm of them. He laid the book down, rose to his feet, and went to the door. Selene, on the bed, held to Lucius, swaying unaware, as mothers do when things go still.
Kaelen pushed the door open softly and looked down the hallway.
No one was there.
He faced Selene again, eyebrows raised, and saw the letter on the floor shining white, red-wax-sealed and bearing the sigil: a flame bound with wind.
He took it up. The weight of the paper said it all. He utilized his thumb to break the seal and read. At the very mention of the proper closing, his shoulders deflated with a breath that resonated all the way to the core of him.
"It's official," he said. "Your family wants us. Official invitation. They say Lucius must leave."
Selene's head canted, a hint wryness at her lip. "Who do you imagine will attend?
"Everyone," Kaelen answered, already moving in the direction of the wardrobe. "It's your firstborn. Perhaps even Taron from the elder council. The Head will not miss the chance to demonstrate propriety." He pulled out a clean shirt. "We have an hour."
Selene nodded, rose with the practiced ease, and set Lucius down in the cradle by the window. He blinked once, rolled his face toward the declining light, and resumed a long, easy breath. Selene wore red traditional silk with black accents, silent as a woodcut, the sigil of Kairus sewn across her heart. She drew her hair up tightly, then made the length into a tail that cascaded like ink down her back over her shoulder. There was nothing loud in it but a simplicity that made everything else look extravagant.
Kaelen cinched on plain white linen and a black vest covered in the Varossa tribe mark on the shoulder his mark, the one that he never left behind even here in this home. He caught himself gazing at Selene and smiled, that small, private smile that was reserved for family.
They carried Lucius in their midst and proceeded into the hall.
The eastern wing led into galleries that curved and rose, a color and marble genealogical tree. Steel and bone trophies over ancient-named niches Helian of the Five Winds, Maeron the Fire-Sworn, Ysra of the Tempest Veil. They strolled by glass boxes containing relics so old their stories had changed twice over from birth: a broken sword said to have been wielded by a monarch, a textile tapestry with dragons done in an art no hand remembered. Pride hung over the air like the rich velvet curtains. House Kairus was old enough to blur remembrance with custom.
The closer they came to the banquet hall, the more the house came alive. Voices exploded and dissolved. The firelight flashed down the corridor, danced off burnished shields. The scent of spiced meats and citrus glaze puckered the skin at the base of Kaelen's neck memory of winter feasts and watchful eyes.
They stopped before the double doors, some ancient beast's ribs carved across them, interlaced with gold wire. Selene leaned closer, as if counting the breaths within.
"Remember," she whispered near Kaelen's ear, "we must be spotless. Every flaw is a weapon here."
"We'll be casual," he murmured back. "But not careless."
She squeezed his hand. He pressed the door.
The room did not hush it cut to silence like a blade through cloth.
Two tables of large dimensions stretched the length, each covered in white linen, heavy with black-lettered, precise place cards. On three-step dais at the end were three chairs. Over the middle seat towered a throne crowned in gold and pierced with blades never so much as rusted, its frame bedecked in dragon bone inscribed in the twist of a wind. The two lesser seats framed it like servile hounds, copies done with art but not with audacity. Their gold did not glint the same.
There stood a woman in light-red, her gown brocaded in gold thread and the sigil of the House embroidered over the breast. Calista. The lust she fought to keep hidden flicked through her eyes as relief.
"Hello, Selene," she replied, for first things were always first. "I hope the invitation was not too presumptuous. You kept your child under wraps from us for over a week " she shot her sister a glare good for you even as her voice rang formal " I had to pretend to be a maid just to get a look at him. But come, my husband would like to speak with you."
Calista's gaze raked over Kaelen and cooled by a full ten degrees, as if she had stepped into a cold draft. He was familiar with the change in temperature.
They approached the dais. The man standing before the main throne turned.
Varian Kairus Head of House. Red robe beneath a white shirt striped in gold. Sigil clean. Hair black, eyes brown and as hard as flint, the sort that was used more often to strike than to be warm. He considered Selene first, then let his eyes fall to the bundle in her arm. His smile, if it was one at all, merely wrinkled his skin.
"Good to see you, Selene," he said, his voice traveling clearly to the last plate. "I was told that you were fine but perhaps not fine enough to venture out and greet me, hm? How lucky that healing proceeds quickly when a call is issued,"
Selene held her chin firm. "My son needed silence in his initial days. I needed it too."
Varian looked at Lucius. "So this is the young one. Your name is Lucius, I take it?" His lip curled. "I pictured you choosing a family name. But I suppose your sense of. freedom. got in your way.".
Space closed in on them. You could hear the oil spit where a candle flashed. Kaelen felt the weight of a hundred eyes like a stag feels lines in a glade adjusted, still, cruel.
"You're right," Selene said, not looking away. "My sense of freedom did intrude."
"It wasn't hers alone," said Kaelen, because some things have to be said even if they leave a bruise.
Varian did not shift his gaze he cut his glance sideways. "I do not recall asking for the opinion of the low tribes" he said. "Shall I pretend that a barbarian suggested something? When Selene spurned a marriage that would have granted this House absolute bargaining leverage, I did not imagine she'd sneak off with a man who smelled of a hundred pigsties and bring him home like a fool.". What's next for your act? Reading, perhaps? If you recite the letters, we could all keel over laughing.
There was a slight ripple in the hall—a respectful, embarrassed laugh that skirted anyone's eye.
"Sit down," Varian added without looking again. "And close your mouth."
Insult didn't disturb Kaelen. He had learned to put it outside of his ribs like a shield he did not have to carry. What mattered stayed safe in Selene's arms and looked around the world with brand new blue.
Selene elbowed Lucius aside, like a shoulder pushed against the wind, and stepped down to the bottom of the dais. She did not bow. She did not kneel. She merely stood beside her son and looked up the length of the room to the oldest chair there as if measuring it, and in that quiet act of rebellion there was one so old it had forgotten its own name.
Calista slipped to Selene's side, a small rebellion disguised as propriety. Isilda and Lyra peered from their places down table, eyes wide, bright as lamps.
"Head Varian," Selene said, keeping formal address to the syllable, "we're here, as summoned. Our son is healthy. We'll present him to the elders as tradition requires."
Varian drummed two fingers against the arm of the throne, a habit more suggesting impatience than anger. "Good. Then we shall see the First Blessing now, as is traditional." He spoke loudly. "Elders. Prepare."
There was a murmur that ran through the hall.
From the left table, there stood one man—tall, broad-shouldered for his years, his crimson cloak simple and unmotif. His hair was rimmed with silver, his face calm and unreadable.
Whispers were spreading among the visitors.
Taron Kairus.
The 3-Star Mage. The one who trod the Borderlands single-handed and returned unscathed. The one the House called Stormbreaker Selene's eldest brother.
Six years had passed since he had attended any family gathering.
Varian's jaw clenched nearly unnoticed, but he did not speak. When Taron moved to take action, even the Head of House was taught to keep quiet.
Taron descended the dais steps in silence.
No servants, no priest. Only the faraway thrum of mana that seemed to follow him everywhere, as if the very air itself were paying attention.
He stood before Selene and Kaelen. His eyes, grey as well-sharpened steel, measured the child—not the way an uncle sizes up a nephew, but the way a mage scans the horizon before the storm.
"What name?" he repeated. His voice was low, but it filled the space.
"Lucius Kairus," Selene stated, resolute and unflinching.
Taron bowed his head. He extended a hand, and the silver bowl held for the ritual lifted from its table and drifted toward him, drawn by unseen force. He dipped his fingers in perfumed water and let one drop fall upon Lucius' brow.
There was a moment of silence, with every person holding their breath.
The drop descended down the baby's body, catching the candlelight as it traveled—no sheen, no glint, no breath of air was disturbed to welcome it. The lantern flame nearest the cradle did not distort. The incense smoke did not stir.
Nothing.
Selene's fingers tightened about the edge of the cradle, a fraction. Kaelen stood quietly at her shoulder, his eyes upon Taron's face.
A murmur went through the hall—gulped down quickly, but alive.
No expression changed on Taron's face. He took a linen cloth, wiped Lucius' brow clean, and went through the ritual motion—spiral for breath, line for fire. The motions were precise, the pitch subdued. But instead of reaction—a spark, a breath—there was silence.
He leaned forward, speaking quietly enough that it came first for family and secondarily for House.
"Be welcome, Lucius Kairus," he said softly. "The flame does not answer, and the wind does not blow… but the world still breathes you. Let that be enough."
Then he rose and departed. He did not glance at Varian. He only nodded once, halfway caution and halfway promise, at Selene, and returned to his chair.
Varian exhaled, a low rumble on the verge of contentment. "No wind. No fire," he whispered, letting the words carry to the end of the hall. "A quiet child for a quiet branch."
The fiery silence that ensued.
Selene had her chin held high, yet her throat constricted. Kaelen's hand brushed against hers; his grip firm, earthy.
Taron's eyes blazed at them once constant, unreadable and then away, as if even he knew there was no answer to what the water had not said.
"Tradition is placated," Varian said. "Let the family eat."
The wedding spell was broken with plates with scrape and clatter and thankful murmurs. Music flew out of nowhere: a stringed instrument plucked behind a lattice, the player hidden. Servants moved with bottled elegance, refilling cups, setting down platters, not meeting eyes.
Calista inched close enough that her shoulder brushed against Selene's. "You were perfect," she whispered. "He hates that."
Selene let out the laughter she had trapped inside her ribs. "Thanks for not letting me drown."
"You never drown," Calista said. "You make water carry you.".
Kaelen looked from the cousins to the elders to the absurd, beautiful image of his son sleeping through it all, tiny chest rising and falling with impossible peace. Deep in himself, Kaelen reminded himself that silence did not equal emptiness. That maybe flame and wind had bowed their heads for something they did not yet understand.
At the head of the table, Varian lifted his cup.
To House Kairus, he declared.
The hall echoed it, compliant and loud. "To House Kairus."
Selene did not drink immediately. She kissed Lucius' hair with her lips, and against the noise and light and the old bones molded into chairs, she whispered a name into the night no tradition heard.
Then she raised her cup and drank like a woman who would instruct a world in new manners.