Katsu and Mari sat at the long dining table, its surface a dark alloy polished to a mirror's edge.
Across from them—barely a hand's span away—sat Rei and Zuri Dravantiir, haloed by the flicker of lightning-fed candelabras.
Everything was set with military precision. Silverware aligned. Plates gleaming. Not a thread out of place—except for Katsu, relaxed, elbow nudging his plate, chewing as he glanced at Rei.
"…So," he said, "this whole House dinner—supposed to be symbolic or something?"
He tapped his fork against porcelain. "I worked with Rei in Group 32. We've risked our lives together. I don't see why that means I have to dine with him like it's some kind of diplomatic summit."
Mari's hand paused mid-cut. Zuri turned her head, gaze steady.
"For a Velthra heir…" Zuri began, voice cool.
"…He doesn't speak as professionally as the House would prefer," Mari finished, glancing sideways. "At this rate, he might redefine centuries of tradition with a shrug."
Katsu froze mid-bite, fork halfway up. For a moment, all he heard was the low hum of the chandelier and the faintest clatter of someone's spoon. He let the silence hang—felt the pressure at the back of his neck, the sense of a hundred invisible ancestors judging every move.
"…Damn," he said. "Didn't even get a second cup of water before you both started writing my obituary."
Mari pressed her lips together, a flicker of apology in her eyes. Rei's fingers drummed a slow pattern against his glass, tension leaking into the quiet.
Katsu leaned forward, voice low. "So that's how it is? Judged before I even show what I'm carrying."
He took another bite. The air felt heavy—not with magic, just discomfort.
"They're joking," Rei said. "But… they're not wrong." His tone was flat, but he wouldn't quite meet Katsu's gaze.
Katsu raised a brow, suppressing a sigh. "Oh?"
Rei folded his hands. "You're unorthodox. The Academy's never seen anything like you. And Velthra hasn't had a named heir in five generations."
Zuri added, "No one living has seen a Velthra heir act as one. Not since your father."
Katsu's grip tightened on his glass. A flicker of old resentment rose, hot in his throat. "My father didn't hide. He survived."
Zuri's voice cooled. "Some of us don't forget. We watch."
He met her eyes, jaw set. "Watching isn't the same as helping."
The room stilled. A storm rune pulsed faintly in the wall—a blue heartbeat, slightly out of sync with his own. For a second, Katsu became acutely aware of the size of the room, how far the doors were, how alone he really felt at the table.
Mari cleared her throat. "Maybe this dinner isn't about symbolism. The council wants to know if Velthra's heir will be a wild card—or a weapon."
Katsu smiled faintly, letting a breath go slow. "Why not both?"
Rei cracked a smirk, finally relaxing just a bit. "Spoken like someone who hasn't been hit with full Academy discipline."
Katsu lifted his glass. "Maybe I'm just waiting for it to try."
Zuri's fingers laced together, gaze unwavering. "You walk like someone with a leash that hasn't snapped yet. I wonder what you'll become when it does."
Katsu leaned back, smile fading. His pulse beat in his jaw—hard and fast, despite the show of calm. "Me too."
…
On the terrace, Katsu stood at the railing, the rear fountain below spinning silent arcs over obsidian glass.
He didn't speak. Just listened to his own breath fogging in the cold, heart pounding from the inside out.
A spark hissed. He moved—a sword suddenly at the hollow of a throat.
Zuri stood beside him, unmoved. She met his eyes, not flinching. If anything, she leaned forward a millimeter, as if inviting him to test her resolve.
Katsu's hand trembled, ghosting the memory of every ambush, every lesson about trust and power. He kept the blade there, jaw tight. "I've been hunted since I landed here. Not for what I've done, but for who my father was."
Zuri didn't blink. Only Dravantiir discipline—and something sharper, more curious—kept her perfectly still. She let it happen, measuring him. Letting him know she wasn't prey.
"You know how many came after me before I was named heir?" Katsu said. "And now, since that announcement? I know they're watching. Waiting."
He didn't look away. "Step outside the Academy, someone will try—assassins, bounty hunters, maybe another House making a statement."
He exhaled, his breath clouding in the air. "They'll risk their lives for the payout. That's what I'm worth now—enough to make dying look like profit."
Zuri's tone was flat, but her eyes never left his. "Then don't step outside unarmed."
The sword stayed. Katsu's mind raced—part of him wondering if he was really proving a point, or just desperate to feel safe for a breath.
"You think that's enough?"
"A sword is only as dangerous as its mind," she said. "And right now, yours is clouded."
He eased the blade back—just enough. "I'm not clouded. I'm cornered."
Zuri looked down at the water. "You mistake survival for clarity. You're not cornered. You're visible."
He lowered the blade, letting it rest on his shoulder. "Visibility gets you killed just the same."
She turned to face him. "Then make your name so loud that killing you looks impossible."
He studied her, silent. For a second, a memory of his father's warnings flickered in his mind—don't let them see your fear. The sword shimmered, unraveling into threads of mana, dissolving into air.
Zuri watched him, head tilting. The pause was long, but not awkward—weighted, almost expectant. As if she was waiting to see what he'd do when not pressed to the edge.
"My mother used to tell me a poem," Zuri said.
Katsu turned, wary. For a moment, he wished Sydney or Mari were there, just to give the world some warmth.
"A poem?"
She smiled—gentle, distant. "Yes. And I'm Rei's cousin, by the way. Not close enough to be remembered when it's convenient."
They stood side by side, both gazing at the still water. Katsu's mind wandered—remembering a different poem, a different night, another impossible burden handed down in words.
Her voice was careful, like she was reciting something she'd kept hidden:
"Can you imagine a rose that grew in winter? Born from the heat and powered by the heart of a sinner…
Though its petals blossom, there is no winner. It reached for the sun, but the skies were dimmer…
Its thorns drew blood from each would-be beginner. No bees would dance, no songs would shimmer. Just silence clung to the rose in winter…
It bloomed too late—or perhaps too soon. Its fragrance lost beneath a sallow moon…
Not dead, not living, but a ghost in bloom. A heart that beats inside a frozen tomb…"
She glanced at him, a rare flicker of vulnerability in her eyes.
"How sad it is," she finished, "to be the rose… that grew in winter."
Katsu didn't know what to say—so he let the words settle, letting the ache bloom and die quietly in his chest.
A pause. Silence—no commentary.
Just understanding.
Katsu turned, boots scraping stone. "That's the end of Velthra's stay in Dravantiir Manor," he said quietly.
Zuri's voice followed, steady. "Yes, it is, Katsu."
He hesitated, nodded once—a gesture of respect. He left, steps echoing into the storm-lit halls, part of him already reaching for memories that weren't so cold.
Behind him, Zuri remained by the fountain, her reflection caught in the dark water.
A rose that survived winter.
And somewhere in the night, a distant laugh or a remembered smile was waiting for Katsu, still warm, just out of reach.