Sister?
The single word echoed through Arthur's frozen processor like an unresolved logic loop.
Within the silent architecture of his mind palace, Arthur superimposed the facial geometry of the two figures. Transparent wireframes drafted across his vision, mapping the planes of cheekbone, jaw, and brow. They shared an undeniable phenotypic resemblance: the razor-sharp definition of their cheekbones, the slight, aristocratic lift at the tip of the chin, and an identical bone structure around the nasal bridge. Yet the points of divergence stood in violent contrast: Celeste's wild, chaotic locks of luminous teal against Leon's styled, midnight-black tresses; her pure, unblinking amber-gold irises against his striking heterochromia, where incandescent yellow-gold sat paired with deep, abyssal sapphire.
Celeste tightened her grip. Small, calloused fingers cinched into the dark tailoring of Leon's back, contracting with terrifying kinetic pressure.
Leon continued to speak, though his vocal register began to strain against the constriction around his ribs.
"Sorry I stayed away," Leon wheezed, his velvet drawl thinning as he tapped her shoulder with an arm rapidly losing circulation. "That expedition ran long. Nobody bothered mentioning the Grand Duke and Duchess shipped you off to the Academy until last week."
Celeste did not loosen her hold. Instead, she pressed her face deeper into the fine fabric of his chest, her words emerging muffled against the wool as she squeezed him harder still:
"It's fine. I've been taking care of their portraits."
Leon's smile hitched. A strangled squeak hissed through his teeth as the hydraulic compression reached his King-rank ribcage. His sapphire eye flared wide, a solitary bead of nervous sweat tracing down his sculpted temple.
"You... were?" Leon managed. "That's... wonderful. Really."
He cleared his throat with great difficulty, desperate to divert her momentum before his thoracic cage caved.
"And school?" he choked out through clenched teeth. "You... having fun?"
At the question, the crushing lock eased slightly. Celeste leaned her head back, looking up at him with unblemished radiance.
"Yeah!" Celeste beamed, her sharp white teeth flashing in the moonlight. "Lots of fun!"
Behind them, Arthur composed himself.
Guided by the seamless camouflage of the Saint, he lowered his leveled Arcanite blade without a sound. He rotated his wrists, sliding the bare steel smoothly back into its matte linen sheath, and tucked his thumbs loosely into his sash. Smoothing down the front of his coarse tunic, he adopted an unhurried, gentle, and utterly harmless bearing—the picture of patient pastoral curiosity.
Arthur stepped forward across the frosted turf, clearing his throat with polite, measured deference:
"Celeste... who is this?"
Hearing Arthur's voice, Celeste immediately unlocked her arms from Leon's neck. She wheeled around with bouncy cheer, pointing an open hand toward the wheezing prodigy as he rubbed his aching ribs.
"He's my brother!" she declared with unvarnished pride. "Kalisto Leon Vieraux!"
Kalisto Leon Vieraux.
Arthur's Autonomic Merged Processor snapped onto the name, immediately initiating a comprehensive analytical sweep of continental geopolitical ledgers.
Politics are messy, and news is biased, but there is no prince in the war of succession for the Vieran throne named 'Kalisto' or 'Leon'.
The deduction advanced with cold, algorithmic precision.
Celeste is the only heir of House Devreux, and her parents head the house.
Arthur cross-referenced the variables: Leon had referred to the Grand Duke and Grand Duchess not as mother and father, but with distinct, formal detachment. The two shared unmistakable facial markers, yet exhibited stark phenotypic divergences in hair and ocular genetics. Above all, while Celeste carried the grand ducal name of Devreux, this man bore the royal dynastic surname of the Viera Kingdom: Vieraux.
He refers to their supposed parents with distant formality, and they share core bone structure, but diverge in ocular and follicular traits; yet, he carries the surname Vieraux.
The data converged onto an inescapable conclusion.
It points to a singular reality: he is an illegitimate child.
Leon turned his gaze back down to Celeste. He winced slightly, adjusting the ruffled velvet collar of his coat with a long, elegant hand, and exhaled an exaggerated sigh:
"How many times do I have to tell you?" Leon chided gently, rolling his eyes in easy amusement. "Don't use that name. It's Leon."
Arthur maintained his serene, deferential mask. He tilted his head slightly, furrowing his brow in a studied display of pastoral confusion—the picture of an innocent disciple attempting to reconcile polite courtly etiquette with broken ledgers.
"Vieraux?" Arthur echoed, his voice mild, harmless, and laced with quiet curiosity. "Not Devreux? I was under the impression... doesn't your house possess only a single heir?"
Celeste did not linger on the courtly lineage. Having released Leon from her crushing lock, her erratic focus drifted back toward Arthur. Her boots shuffled across the frosted turf, closing the distance between them with quiet, unhurried steps. Slipping behind his silhouette, her small hands gathered the coarse black wool cloak where it had fallen on the grass. Wrapping the thick fabric around her shoulders, she cocooned her frame against the freezing alpine draft that swept the rampart.
Leon appeared completely indifferent to Arthur's inquiry. Rather than addressing the dynastic contradiction, his heterochromatic eyes—sapphire and radiant gold—flicked lazily over Arthur's silhouette, conducting a slow, appraising audit of his posture, stance, and attire.
A patronizing smirk played at the corner of Leon's lips.
"Decent recovery on the composure, kid," Leon murmured, sweeping an arched brow over Arthur's stance. "Still needs polish, though. Especially around the hairline. If you leave it alone until you hit my age, you might manage a cut half as magnificent as mine."
With practiced, dramatic flair, Leon raised a hand, threading slender fingers through the glossy midnight-black locks that cascaded past his shoulders, letting the tresses spill luxuriously through the moonlight before tossing his head in brazen vanity.
Arthur's eyelid gave an imperceptible twitch, though his pastoral smile remained firmly pinned in place. He cleared his throat softly, keeping his tone measured.
"Right," Arthur murmured. "Though about my question—"
"Don't sprain your mind over it, little mage," Leon cut in smoothly, waving a dismissive hand through the freezing air as if brushing away a stray gnat.
"And we didn't drag our boots out onto this godforsaken ledge to audit bloodlines," Leon drawled, his velvety purr rolling over the alpine gale with unbroken nonchalance. "I'm here to collect you both for the Summit."