Lord Rodel, dressed in brilliant silver plate armor engraved with his family's crest, leaned against a mahogany table that looked expensive enough to buy half a village. His piercing eyes locked onto the two visitors, sharp as ever.
The chamber fell silent as servants bustled about. Sunlight spilled through stained glass, painting the stone floor in red, blue, and gold.
"Sit down, Reiran," Lord Rodel commanded. His voice still carried the weight of a commander who expected armies to obey.
Rioran—known here by another name—bowed lightly. Same room, same man, just with more silver in the beard, he thought. "All right, thank you. Aelar, sit."
Aelar obeyed stiffly, trying to look proper, though his boots squeaked on the polished floor.
The silence stretched until Rodel suddenly barked, "Waiters!! Bring coffee!"
The echo rang through the hall.
Aelar blinked. "Coffee?" he whispered to his father.
Rioran leaned close, murmuring, "He's always been like this. Shouts for drinks like he's summoning an army."
Rodel raised an eyebrow. "I heard that, Dayan."
Rioran smirked. "Good. I meant you to."
Moments later, a servant appeared with steaming cups on a silver tray. Aelar stared at the elegant porcelain, whispering, "Do we drink… now? Or wait? I don't want to start some noble ritual by mistake."
Rioran chuckled quietly. "Relax. It's just coffee, not a blood oath."
Lord Rodel, catching this, grinned. "If it were a blood oath, boy, you'd already be bleeding."
Aelar nearly choked on his first sip.
Once the servant left, Rodel's expression hardened again. He leaned forward, fingers drumming the table. "Now, Reiran… why only now?"
The weight of the question made the air heavy again. Aelar could hear his own heartbeat.
Rioran deliberately took his time, sipping the coffee like it was the most important task in the world. "Your coffee is very tasty."
Rodel slammed a fist onto the table. The cups rattled, though not a drop spilled. "Don't dodge me, old friend!"
Aelar jumped slightly, but Rioran just sipped again, utterly calm. "Still as dramatic as ever. Do you practice that table-slam every morning?"
For a split second, the corners of Rodel's mouth twitched upward. Then his eyes narrowed again. "Answer me."
The two veterans locked gazes, unspoken memories flashing between them. Finally, Rioran muttered, "All you need to know is that I'm alive. That should be enough."
Rodel leaned back, his armor creaking. "You always were infuriating."
"And you," Rioran countered, "were always too nosy."
Aelar glanced between them, bewildered. "Wait—you two sound like bickering uncles. Weren't you supposed to be war heroes?"
That actually drew a laugh out of Lord Rodel. A deep, booming laugh that made the windows tremble. "The boy's got spirit! I like him."
Rioran sighed, rubbing his forehead. "Don't encourage him."
But it was too late. Aelar, seeing Rodel laugh, grinned despite himself. "So, uh… am I supposed to drink this like normal coffee? Or will I suddenly be knighted if I finish the whole cup?"
Rodel gave him a sly look. "Finish the cup, and maybe I'll tell you a story about your father that he doesn't want you to know."
Rioran shot his son a warning glance. "Don't even think about it."