"Did you hear? He's dead."
— Who?"
— The head of the family. Velmut Lionheart. He was stabbed in the office.
"My God... is that true?"
"The servants are silent, but... the door was sealed, the body was not removed, and Kalen left with a sheet in his hands. He didn't even cry."
"That boy... he's become strange. After the academy. After the Victoriad. After everything."
The whispers spread like mold on a damp wall. Down in the kitchen, between the maids. In the stables, between the old guards. In the corridors where no guests had set foot in ages.
Everyone knew, but no one spoke out.
At the same time, in the upper hall...
Alessia Lionheart sat in a chair, her hands clasped in front of her, her fingers slightly trembling. In front of her stood a notary, a gray-haired man with cold eyes.
"Are you sure this isn't a mistake?" she whispered.
"No, my lady. Your husband's will is clear and unambiguous. All..." he paused, "all of his property, land, accounts, titles, and control of the family is passed on to your son, Kalen Lionheart."
She was staring into space. Her face was marble-like, expressionless. Only her eyes were burning.
"He... didn't know what he was doing."
"I'm sorry, but the documents are signed with a magical seal. They're not forged. Your husband completed everything a month before the Victoriad. It's still valid."
Silence.
Then there was a sharp rustling of fabric.
She stood up slowly, as if she were coming up from underwater.
"Leave me alone.
The notary nodded silently and left.
The room was empty except for her and the anger that spread through the air like smoke from a slowly burning powder keg.
"So you knew, Velmut," she whispered, her fists clenched. "You knew he wasn't yours."
The next day, at breakfast, it was as if the world had gone mad and no one had noticed.
Celia muttered, frowning at her omelette:
"Well, how is our heir?"
Norea gave her a reproachful look.
"Celia, shut up."
"What? Everyone knows. Father's dead. Kalen's silent. Mother's furious. The servants are trembling. Rumors about the will have already spread throughout the capital. Everyone is waiting for him to start giving orders. Or for him to be poisoned."
Kalen entered as if on cue.
He was dressed in black, with no unnecessary details, his eyes were hard, and his lips were pressed together.
"Good morning," he said. "Sit down."
No one answered.
Only Reina, sitting next to him, touched his hand under the table. A subtle touch. Silent support.
He nodded slightly to her. Again, silence.
In the evening, in the old armory, he stood before the senior servants. Everyone was waiting for his words.
"Mr. Kalen... we... we're sorry for your loss..."
He raised his hand. He stopped me.
"I know what you've heard. About the will. About my father. About the future of the family."
Some of them looked at each other.
"From now on," Kalen continued, "I am the head of the Lionheart family. All decisions are made through me. Anyone who tries to act behind my back will be punished. Clear?"
Silence.
"Is that clear?" he repeated more harshly.
"Yes, sir," came the reply.
— good.
He turned away and went out.
Later, in his room, he sat on the floor, surrounded by shadows.
"You didn't flinch," said Ward. "You're preparing. But we can feel... you're still angry."
Kalen stared at the floor.
— I'm not mad.
He looked up. His eyes were filled with darkness and red veins.
— I'm waiting."
Thirk stirred in the shadows, his spider legs scraping softly on the floor.
"When you give the order, master, we will carry it out."
Meanwhile, at the other end of the mansion, in her dark room, Alessia Lionheart was writing a letter.
"The situation has gotten out of control.
The inheritance went to the boy.
Helmut is dead.
It's time to activate Porokhora.
Let him think he won."