Next Day-
The lesson hall smelled faintly of chalk dust, old paper, and polished wood.
Chris decided that was the smell of important things.
Sunlight streamed in through tall, narrow windows set high along the stone walls, illuminating long tables arranged in neat rows.
Each table bore carved grooves from years of restless hands and absent-minded tapping. The rain from the night before had left the air cool and clear, and when the breeze slipped in through the open windows, it carried the distant sounds of the state waking ,voices, hooves, laughter.
Chris sat at the third table from the front.
He was supposed to be writing.
He was not.
Instead, he watched a drop of water slide down the glass, leaving a crooked line behind it. He followed its path until it vanished at the window's edge, then sighed quietly and picked up his charcoal again.
"Chris."
He flinched.
"Yes?" he said immediately, sitting up straighter.
The instructor did not look impressed.
Master Havel, a thin man with iron-gray hair and a perpetually tired expression, stood at the front of the hall with his hands folded behind his back.
His robe bore no noble markings. only the simple crest of the state's educational order.
"You've written the same sentence three times," Havel said. "And each time, it's wrong in a different way."
Chris glanced down at his slate.
The mountains protect the state because they are high.
He frowned. "I changed it."
"You replaced 'because' with 'since'," Havel replied. "That is not understanding. That is guessing."
A few quiet snickers came from the other tables.
Chris felt his ears warm.
"The correct answer," Havel continued calmly, "is not about height. It is about access. Mountains are valuable because they control movement. Geography is not poetry, Chris. It is leverage."
Chris nodded quickly. "Yes, sir."
Havel studied him for a moment longer, then turned away. "Rewrite it."
Chris did.
This time, he meant it.
There were twelve children in the lesson hall that morning.
Not all of them were nobles.
That, Chris had learned early on, was intentional.
House Falkerona believed children learned better when surrounded by people who did not live exactly as they did. So alongside the sons and daughters of minor officials sat merchants' children, a blacksmith's boy, and even a girl whose parents worked in the hospital wards.
Chris liked that part best.
It meant stories.
During the short break between lessons, he leaned back in his chair and twisted around to look at the boy behind him.
"Did your father really see a beast last night?" Chris asked.
The boy , broad-shouldered even at his age, with soot-stained fingernails that never quite came clean shrugged. "He heard one. Out past the eastern ridge."
"Was it big?"
"Big enough that he didn't go looking."
Chris considered that. "That's very big."
The boy grinned. "That's what he said."
Across the room, a girl with neatly braided hair was explaining very seriously that her mother had healed a man with a broken leg using only her hands and a faint glow of light.
"You're exaggerating," someone accused.
"I am not," the girl insisted. "My mother says it's just basic reinforcement magic."
Chris listened carefully.
Magic always sounded simpler when adults explained it. Less frightening. Less miraculous.
"Young master Chris."
He turned again.
Elis stood in the doorway, arms crossed, watching him with the familiar look of someone who had already anticipated trouble.
"It's time," she said.
"For what?" Chris asked.
"For not being late," she replied. "Which you are currently failing at."
He scrambled to his feet, hastily gathering his slate. "Sorry!"
As he passed Havel, the instructor paused him with a raised finger.
"You're observant," Havel said quietly. "That's not a flaw. But learn when to look and when to think."
Chris nodded solemnly, even though he wasn't sure he understood.
The corridors outside the lesson hall were busier than usual.
Servants moved in pairs, carrying linens and crates. A pair of knights passed by, helmets tucked under their arms, their voices low as they spoke. Chris caught fragments ,rotation, border, report,before Elis steered him gently away.
"Don't eavesdrop," she said.
"I wasn't," Chris replied. "I was listening."
"That does not make it any better" she replied dryly.
They emerged into the courtyard, where the stone was still dark from the rain. Sunlight reflected faintly off puddles left behind, and Chris stepped deliberately into one just to watch it ripple.
Elis sighed. "You're doing that on purpose."
"Yes."
She grabbed his sleeve. "Come on. Your mother's at the hospital today."
Chris's eyes lit up. "Can I watch?"
"You can stay out of the way," Elis corrected. "Which is different."
The hospital hall was warm.
That was the first thing Chris noticed every time he entered.
Not just physically warm.Because the wards kept the air steady and alive with quiet purpose. Beds lined the walls, separated by simple curtains. Healers moved between them, murmuring reassurances, checking sigils, adjusting bandages.
And at the center of it all stood
his mother.
Lyanna Falkerona moved with practiced grace, white hair tied back loosely, sleeves rolled to her elbows. Her hands glowed faintly as she pressed them over a man's injured shoulder, her expression focused but gentle.
"Easy," she murmured. "Breathe with me."
The patient did.
Chris watched as the glow faded and the women's tense expression softened into relief.
Lyanna straightened and turned,then noticed Chris.
Her face lit up.
"Chris," she said. "Did you finish your lessons?"
"Yes," he replied promptly. "Mostly."
She smiled in a way that suggested she knew exactly what mostly meant.
"Come," she said, gesturing him closer. "Wash your hands."
He did, scrubbing dutifully before standing beside her.
"Does it hurt?" he asked the women on the bed.
The women chuckled weakly. "Not anymore."
Chris nodded, satisfied.
Lyanna rested a hand on his shoulder, her touch light but grounding.
"See?" she said softly. "This is why the state matters."
Chris looked around at the healers, the patients, the quiet trust in the room.
"I like it here," he said.
Lyanna's hand tightened just slightly.
"So do I."
Later, as they walked back toward the palace, Chris glanced up at the walls, at the banners fluttering gently in the breeze.
"Mother," he asked suddenly, "do you think the state will always be like this?"
Lyanna did not answer right away.
When she did, her voice was warm and steady.
"It will be," she said, "as long as there are people willing to take care of it."
Chris nodded, accepting that.
He didn't yet know how much that care could cost.
___
Sometime during late afternoon Inside the estate audience hall.
The audience hall was not grand in the way traveling nobles expected.
There were no golden pillars, no raised throne glittering with gems. The stone floor was worn smooth by years of footsteps, and the ceiling arched high only because it needed to, not because someone wanted it to impress.
Edrian Falkerona stood at the center of the room, hands clasped behind his back.
He was not seated.
That, by itself, unsettled most people.
Before him stood two men and a woman, flanked not by guards but by space.
Intentional, measured space that gave them room to breathe and nowhere to hide. A few officials stood off to the side with ledgers and tablets, silent observers rather than participants.
Chris sat on a low bench near the wall, legs dangling, trying very hard to sit still.
Elis stood behind him, arms folded, expression carefully neutral.
"This is not a trial," Edrian said calmly. "No one here is accused of a crime."
The shorter man let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
"But it is a dispute," Edrian continued, "and disputes left unresolved rot into resentment. So we address it openly."
He turned slightly toward the woman.
"Marwen," he said. "Tell me why you're here."
Marwen swallowed.
She had rehearsed this in her head all morning, but standing here,under the gaze of the man who ruled the state made her mouth go dry. He did not look angry. That somehow made it worse.
"My lord," she began, voice tight, "my husband worked the lower terraces for fifteen years. When he died last winter, the land was reassigned."
Edrian nodded once. "To whom?"
"To him," she said, pointing to the taller man beside her. "Dalen."
Dalen shifted uncomfortably. "The land was vacant."
"It was promised," Marwen shot back. "To our son. Everyone knew that."
Edrian raised a hand gently.
"Marwen," he said, not unkindly, "tell me what you lost."
She blinked.
"My… my crops," she said. "My place. The only thing my husband left us."
Her voice wavered. She pressed her lips together, fighting it.
"I don't want charity," she added quickly. "I want what was earned."
Edrian' POV :-
Edrian listened without interruption.
He watched her hands which were calloused, trembling slightly.
Watched the way Dalen avoided her gaze, shame and defensiveness warring on his face.
He turned to Dalen."Why did you accept the reassignment?"
Dalen lifted his chin. "Because I was told I could. Because my family needed land too. Because if I didn't take it, someone else would."
"That's not an answer," Edrian said calmly. "That's a list of fears."
Dalen flushed. "M-my lord-"
"Look at her," Edrian said.
Dalen hesitated, then did.
"Now tell me," Edrian continued, "if you were in her place, would you be standing here?"
Silence stretched.
"No," Dalen admitted quietly.
Edrian nodded. "Good. That honesty matters."
He turned to the shorter man.
"And you," he said. "You filed the reassignment."
The clerk stiffened. "According to procedure."
Edrian's gaze sharpened. "Procedure is not justice. It is a tool. Tools can be misused."
The clerk swallowed. "The records showed no formal inheritance claim."
Edrian closed his eyes briefly.
This was the problem. Not malice,No- but neglect.
Chris'pov :-
Chris watched his father closely.
This was different from training. Different from the way knights listened. No swords. No shouting. Just words, moving slowly, carefully.
This is harder, Chris realized.
He tugged lightly on Elis's sleeve and whispered, "Why doesn't Father just tell them what to do?"
Elis leaned down, voice soft. "Because if he does that every time, no one learns to be fair on their own."
Chris frowned. "But he already knows what's fair."
"Yes," Elis said. "And so do they. They just need to face it."
Chris looked back at the adults. Marwen was crying now, quietly. Dalen's shoulders sagged.
Chris felt something twist in his chest.
____
Edrian stepped back, giving them all a moment.
"When a citizen dies," he said, "their labor does not vanish. It leaves behind weight, responsibility, expectation, trust."
He looked at the clerk. "The state failed to account for that weight."
He looked at Dalen. "You acted within the law."
Dalen straightened, hope flickering.
"And you," Edrian added, "acted without consideration."
The hope dimmed.
"The land will be returned to Marwen's family," Edrian said. "But not unchanged."
Marwen looked up sharply. "My lord?"
"You will share the terrace for one season," Edrian continued. "Dalen will assist in restoring it. The yield will be split."
Dalen opened his mouth-
"-and," Edrian said, voice firm now, "Dalen will receive priority reassignment elsewhere once the season ends."
Silence.
Marwen's confusion turned slowly into relief. Dalen's defensiveness melted into something like acceptance.
"And the records?" the clerk asked weakly.
Edrian's gaze hardened. "You will amend them. And you will review every reassignment made in the last year."
The clerk paled. "All of them?"
"All," Edrian confirmed.
Marwen dropped to her knees.
"My lord-"
Edrian stepped forward immediately, hands gentle but unyielding as he helped her up.
"Do not kneel," he said quietly. "This was not a favor."
She looked at him, eyes wet. "Then… thank you?"
Edrian allowed a small, tired smile. "You're welcome."
As the hall emptied, Chris hopped off the bench and ran to his father's side.
"That took a long time," he said.
Edrian looked down at him. "Yes."
"Was it hard?"
Edrian considered the question seriously.
"Yes," he said at last. "Harder than fighting."
Chris thought about that all the way back through the corridors.
Edrian' pov :-
Later, alone, Edrian rested his hands on the stone railing overlooking the state.
He could still hear Marwen's voice. See Dalen's face.
This, he thought, is what we protect.
Not land. Not power.
People trying not to be crushed by circumstance.
From behind him came the soft sound of footsteps.
"Chris learned something today," Lyanna said.
Edrian nodded. "I hope so."
She joined him at the railing. For a moment, neither spoke.
Then Lyanna said quietly, "This is why they'll come for us."
Edrian did not deny it.
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[A/N :- How do you like the chapter !? Make sure you comment about Whatever is on Your mind ! And yes Power stones pleaseee.]