Morning light filtered into Eric’s chamber through thin silver curtains, bathing the room in a gentle glow that contrasted with the restless storm in his mind. He had barely slept. Every time he closed his eyes, memories of Kael collapsing under his final strike flashed in jagged fragments. The pain of the right eye’s awakening still lingered in faint pulses, reminding him that nothing in his life was normal anymore.

  But today was different.

  Today, he would meet the head of House Ardyn.

  He stood, straightened his clothes, tied his hair back, and stepped into the corridor. Alex was already waiting, hands behind his back, posture relaxed yet impossibly sharp—as if he never slept at all.

  “You’re awake,” Alex said.

  “Barely,” Eric replied.

  “You’ll be fine.”

  Eric wasn’t sure if that was reassurance or fact, but he followed Alex down the long hallway lined with engraved stone lanterns. Their soft blue flames traced patterns on the floor that seemed to shift when he looked too long.

  House Ardyn was strange like that—everything felt enchanted, alive, watching.

  They descended a spiral staircase, passing guards who bowed slightly at Alex. That alone still shocked Eric; a butler receiving bows from trained house guards was not normal. But nothing about House Ardyn felt normal.

  They reached a tall set of double doors carved with flowing flame motifs. Alex raised a hand and opened the door.

  The room inside was not what Eric expected. It was circular, its walls lined with tall windows through which morning sunlight spilled in warm gold. But it was not empty.

  Two figures stood at the far end—a man and a woman—speaking in low, intense voices.

  Eric froze as the voices drifted toward them.

  “…he survived the Dark Priest,” the woman whispered sharply. “You assured me he would fall in the cave.”

  “He was supposed to,” the man replied calmly. “Kael continues to be an anomaly.”

  Eric’s heartbeat quickened.

  Kael.

  They were talking about Kael.

  He glanced at Alex, expecting some sort of reaction, but Alex’s face remained unreadable.

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  The woman continued, voice laced with irritation. “If he continues to grow, our plans for House Veyren will fail. The Lords have already begun questioning disappearances. We need him out of the way.”

  “And the other Lords,” the man added, “will fall once we secure the transition. Dawnreach will control the east, Ardyn controls the north. Everything will align.”

  Eric’s stomach tightened.

  They weren’t discussing a rivalry.

  They were planning a coup.

  The woman stepped closer to the man, lowering her voice. “When do we move?”

  “Soon. Very soon. But Kael must be removed. As long as he lives, the balance does not shift.”

  Eric inhaled slowly, steadying his breathing. His instincts screamed to step forward, but Alex raised a hand subtly behind his back—wait.

  Eric forced himself to stillness.

  The man turned slightly, enough for Eric to see him clearly now—silver hair brushed back neatly, sharp eyes like tempered steel, and an aura that felt ancient, controlled, dangerous.

  This was Don, head of House Ardyn.

  The woman was equally striking—Serenya of House Dawnreach. Her crimson cloak shimmered with runic thread, and her golden eyes burned with ambition.

  A heartbeat later, Don’s gaze flicked toward the door.

  Eric’s breath caught.

  Had he been discovered?

  Alex stepped forward and gave a crisp bow. “My lord. Forgive the interruption. I have brought the guest you requested.”

  Don turned fully toward them. His expression shifted—not surprised, not suspicious, but smoothly composed, as though he had known Eric was there the entire time.

  Serenya stiffened and quickly adopted a political smile.

  “Oh,” she murmured with false sweetness, “the guest from the southern house.”

  Eric said nothing. His jaw remained tight.

  Don waved a hand dismissively. “Serenya, our discussion is finished for today.”

  She hesitated. “But—”

  “I said finished.”

  His tone left no room for argument.

  Serenya bowed reluctantly, casting a final calculating glance at Eric before sweeping out through a side door. The soft click behind her echoed sharply in the room.

  Now only Don, Alex, and Eric remained.

  Alex bowed once more. Eric inclined his head politely, though tension still thrummed beneath his skin.

  Don approached slowly, eyes fixed on Eric with unsettling calm.

  “So,” he said, “you have finally arrived.”

  Eric straightened. “You know who I am.”

  Don’s lips curled into a small, knowing smile.

  “Of course I do. Welcome, Eric Vikram… Lord of House Vikram.”

  Eric’s heartbeat stumbled. He hadn’t expected such a formal greeting—nor the emphasis Don placed on Lord.

  Alex remained silent.

  Don circled once around Eric, studying him as though evaluating a rare specimen.

  “You have traveled far,” Don said. “Four days from House Vikram to Ardyn… a long ride for someone carrying so many storms.”

  “…storms?” Eric asked carefully.

  Don stopped behind him, his voice lowering.

  “You carry confusion. Fear. The awakening of something you do not yet understand. And guilt… a deep one.” His gaze flicked subtly to Eric’s right eye. “The eye troubles you.”

  Eric stiffened. His hand instinctively moved toward it.

  “You can see it?”

  “I can see many things.”

  Don moved back to face him.

  “Alex brought you here because you seek strength Answers.”

  Eric nodded.

  “But those things come with cost,” Don continued. “And before I allow training under my roof, I must understand the man standing in front of me.”

  Don’s eyes narrowed slightly.

  “Tell me, Lord Vikram… what drives you to pursue power so urgently?”

  Eric hesitated. The memories returned—Kael’s body falling limp, the final burst of rage, the pain of the eye awakening. His own weakness. His fear.

  And the fact that Kael was still out there, alive, growing stronger, while Eric stood behind.

  “I need to get stronger,” Eric said quietly. “Stronger than before. Strong enough to understand what’s happening to me. Strong enough to never feel helpless again.”

  Don watched him with unreadable eyes.

  “And…” Eric added, “because something is coming. I can feel it.”

  Don’s smile deepened—not warm, but satisfied.

  “So you do sense it. Good.”

  Alex glanced at Don but said nothing.

  Don clasped his hands behind his back and began pacing slowly.

  “You are more perceptive than I expected,” he said. “Most Lords go through life unaware of the threads pulling their kingdoms.”

  Eric frowned. “What threads?”

  “The threads woven between houses. Alliances. Betrayals. Quiet wars carried out in shadows.” Don paused. “The kind of battles that decide who controls not just a territory… but the future.”

  Eric stiffened.

  Images of the conversation he overheard flashed in his mind.

  Don turned to him again.

  “I know why you are here,” he said softly.

  Eric didn’t speak.

  “And I know,” Don continued, “what role you have played… in delaying us.”

  Eric’s pulse spiked.

  “What… do you mean?”

  Don stepped closer, voice dropping to a whisper that held both amusement and danger.

  “You have been foiling our plans since the beginning.”

  The words struck like a blade sliding into the dark.

  Before Eric could respond, Don’s gaze sharpened, cold and unwavering—like a predator finally acknowledging its prey.