Down below, standing in the sunlight, was the face he had last seen on a cloudy morning before the ambush. The bone structure, the skin tone, the stature...
— Kaelus... — the name escaped Cordelia's lips like a breath of agony.
She gripped the parapet so tightly that her knuckles turned white, the marble cracking under the pressure. Her eyes overflowed with a violent mixture of relief and dread. To the siblings, the fact that the registration system displayed "Aslam Radianthe" was irrelevant—a technical glitch or a transcription error that their minds didn't even process. What mattered was the impossible presence of the youngest brother they had mourned as dead.
The ancient master walked through the stone tunnel with rhythmic steps, ignoring the clamor that still vibrated in the stands. His forearms were still warm from the induction. Far from hiding in noisy taverns or seeking the refuge of a common inn, Aslam opted for the shortest route to the Noble District.
He knew that Marcus's panic and Cordelia's desperation would drive them back to their quarters to organize an official search. Anticipating the chaos was the most efficient way to contain it.
In the luxurious hotel intended for houses of high lineage, Marcus Sylvaris paced back and forth. His combat armor, which he had refused to take off, creaked with every abrupt movement. The Military Commander barked short orders to two subordinates, demanding the exits of the capital be blockaded and any white-haired youth apprehended.
— He was there, Cordelia! — Marcus exclaimed, his raspy voice cutting through the silence of the room. — Alive. Breathing. But that punch...
Unlike the coldness he used to dominate mana, Aslam Radianthe possessed a wisdom that did not ignore the heart. He understood that, for Marcus and Cordelia, those three months had been a desert of grief and silence. Upon arriving at the royal suite of House Sylvaris, the master paused for a moment. He adjusted his tunic, wiped the sweat from his forehead, and took a deep breath, allowing Kaelus's gentle essence to flow to the surface of his features.
The knocks on the door were light, almost hesitant, echoing the old rhythm of the youngest sibling.
Inside the room, the sound of something breaking preceded the silence. Marcus opened the door with a restrained violence, his face transfigured by urgency and despair. Upon seeing the figure before him, the Military Commander froze.
Aslam did not recoil. Far from maintaining the icy posture of a combatant, he offered a warm, sad smile—the kind of expression Kaelus used to wear when returning home after a long day of study.
— I took a long time to come back, didn't I? — he said, his voice thick with an emotion that was half the body's memory and half the soul's compassion.
The impact of those words shattered Marcus's final barrier. The man who faced titans without blinking let out a stifled sob, surging forward to pull his brother into a crushing embrace. Cordelia appeared right behind him, letting out a muffled cry before throwing herself at them both, tears flooding her face in a relief that bordered on agony.
— You're alive... you're here... — Cordelia repeated the phrase like a prayer, burying her face in the shoulder of Aslam's dusty tunic.
The master closed his eyes, returning the embrace with a strength that sought to convey security. He felt the trembling in Marcus's shoulders and the heat of Cordelia's tears. In that moment, he abdicated the authority of the First Sorcerer to be simply the safe harbor they so desperately needed. The three months of mourning transmuted into collective weeping, a discharge of tension that purified the heavy air of the luxury suite.
— How? — Marcus finally pulled back, keeping his hands firm on the boy's shoulders, examining every inch of his face as if fearing he might evaporate. — We searched everywhere. Where have you been, Kael?
Aslam held Marcus's gaze, feeling the weight of that question. Far from resorting to a fabricated lie, he searched for a truth in his words that his ancient soul could sign without compromising the mystery of his origin.
— We'll have time for everything, Marcus — he said, lightly patting his brother's arm. — But I want to tell this story only once, back in Calonia, with the whole family. What I went through... well, it's a story for more than one dinner.
Marcus nodded, his furrowed brow gradually relaxing. The promise of a conversation at home served as a temporary ceasefire for the military interrogation. The morbid tension that filled the room began to dissipate, replaced by the domestic routine that time had failed to erase. Cordelia, after wiping her tears, stepped back and analyzed her brother from head to toe with a clinical, stern gaze.
— By the gods, Kael... have you been eating? — she questioned, frowning as she touched the coarse fabric of his tunic. — You smell like dust, pine, and something I can only describe as "not having bathed in three days." You look like a wanderer who was tossed from a moving wagon!
Aslam let out a short laugh, a sound that brought vivid color back to Cordelia's face.
— Life on the roads of Tirath doesn't have the luxuries of Eldria, Lia — he joked, using the nickname Kaelus's body held in its memory. — I swear I tried to maintain my elegance, but the swamp wasn't very cooperative.
Marcus, however, was not distracted by the outfit. He gripped Aslam's arms, pulling the sleeves up with the authority of someone who trains soldiers. His eyes hardened as he noticed the reddish marks and the remnants of mana perforations.
— Your hands are full of calluses and your shoulders... you're stronger, kid — Marcus observed, squeezing Aslam's biceps to test the density. — That punch in the arena didn't come from reading in the library. Your body is denser. Whatever you did in this time, it left you stronger than many a veteran knight out there.
Cordelia ignored the technical talk and went straight to the side table, bringing a tray of fruit and bread that Marcus hadn't even touched.
— Eat. Now — she ordered, shoving an apple into his hand. — And then Marcus is going to drag you to the bath.
Aslam bit into the fruit with a hunger that surprised them both. The hunger of the young body was insistent and real.
— If I knew being presumed dead entitled me to a banquet and your exclusive attention, I would have vanished sooner — he commented between bites, making Marcus let out a boisterous laugh that echoed off the walls.
Marcus shoved his brother's shoulder, nearly knocking him off the chair. — Don't get cocky, brat. Since you're here, we're going home tomorrow. I'll speak directly with the King to inform him of our departure...
The shared laughter filled the room—a melody House Sylvaris hadn't heard in a long time. That night, far from titles and ancient mysteries, they were just three siblings rediscovering the comfort of being together.
Marcus, however, soon resumed his sentry posture. He approached the ebony desk, reaching for a Resonance Crystal kept in a velvet box.
— I'm going to send a signal to father in Calonia right now — Marcus stated, his voice carrying military urgency. — And I'll take the opportunity to speak with the King. We leave Eldria on the first carriage tomorrow. This place is a nest of snakes.
Aslam let out a short sigh and shook his head, stopping Marcus with a hand gesture.
— Marcus, relax a bit — Aslam said, with a casualness that disarmed his brother. — No one out there knows I'm a Sylvaris. You saw the panel; my name appeared. To everyone in that arena, I'm just some weird foreigner who got lucky.
— But your appearance... — Marcus began, but Aslam interrupted him.
— House Sylvaris is almost anonymous here in the heart of Eldria, Marcus. We have a name in Calonia, but here? We're just another noble family from the countryside. No one recognized me. If we flee now, that is when we'll raise suspicion.
Aslam took a sip of tea, feeling the warmth travel down his throat.
— After everything is over, we'll travel home calmly and I'll explain everything. Staying now is safer than running away as if we'd stolen the crown.
Marcus exchanged a thoughtful look with Cordelia. Aslam's logic was cold and pragmatic, overriding the older brother's protective instinct. Cordelia shrugged, silently agreeing with the idea of maintaining the disguise instead of precipitating a noisy military escort.
He then exhaled forcefully, yielding to the argument, but not to the suspicion. He put away the Resonance Crystal and crossed his arms over his leather cuirass.
— Tomorrow, at six o'clock, in the lower courtyard — the Commander sentenced. — If you want to stay and compete, I need to know if your body can sustain what I saw in the arena. I won't let you die again for a lack of physical preparation.