The door to the dining hall slammed open with a bang that echoed throughout the enormous room.
"Hey! What the fuck is this letter supposed to mean?!" Soren's voice boomed as he strode in, his boots clattering against the polished floor, and his eyes blazing.
At the long dining table, the trio paused mid-bite.
Plates of roasted meat and fine pastries sat before them, untouched for the moment.
Sofia Arden sat in the centre, her posture perfect, as her long black hair fell over her shoulders like a shadow.
Her red eyes narrowed at him, a faint curl of amusement at the corner of her lips.
Alice Arden, seventeen and every bit the spoiled brat, leaned back in her chair, her long blonde hair shining in the afternoon light.
Her red eyes, similar to her mother's, sparkled in delight at Soren's sudden outburst, and she smirked, clearly enjoying the spectacle.
Osric Arden, the last member of the family and Soren's father, didn't even lift his gaze.
He sat with his hands resting idly on the table, his short, dirty blonde hair, hazel eyes, and neatly trimmed beard on full view.
His entire posture screamed indifference.
Soren may as well have been air to the man.
The room was dotted with servants, standing stiffly along the walls.
A few dared to glance at Soren as he stormed in, their faces tight with suppressed disgust.
One girl barely covered a sneer as she muttered something under her breath.
Another man's hand twitched toward the hilt of a sword at his belt, not to threaten, but as if to physically remind Soren that he was an unwanted presence.
Soren stopped in front of the table before taking a seat at the so-called seat of honour, causing Sofia's eyebrow to twitch in response.
As his eyes swept the room, he glared at each of his new family members in turn.
"You, your letter, what the fuck did you mean by it?" His voice was sharp, refusing to let them escape his question.
Sofia's eyes flicked toward him, her lips lifting into a thin, condescending smile.
"Soren, language, darling. Even in anger, one must remember decorum."
"Fuck decorum," Soren snapped, his fists clenching the table tightly. "I don't give a shit about that right now. You suddenly tell me I've got a fiancée, and that if I don't accept it, you'll throw me away? Did you think I'd just sit around and accept it?"
Alice leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand.
"Oh, look at you, all puffed up and angry. You really think that swearing like some sort of filthy commoner makes you intimidating?" Her voice dripped with mockery.
Osric continued to ignore him, the cutlery still on his plate the only acknowledgement of Soren's existence.
Sofia, however, rose slowly from her chair, the movement graceful but controlled.
Every step she took exuded authority, the sheer presence making the room feel colder.
"Soren," she said, her voice sweet but sharp. "There are ways to express one's concerns. Yet, you choose a… rather unrefined approach. How unfortunate. But I suppose such things cannot be expected from someone of your… background."
Soren's teeth ground together.
He could feel his chest tightening,
He had been cooped up, locked in a room and fed nothing but the anticipation of whatever twisted game they were playing,
And now, here they were, sitting there, acting as if his fury was nothing more than a minor nuisance.
"I'm not here to listen to your haughty bullshit," Soren growled. "What the fuck is the meaning of that letter? What's your goal, huh?"
The servants shifted uneasily, exchanging glances.
None had ever seen Soren acting so aggressively.
Though it had been years since he had last been home, they all felt a sense of dissonance from his actions.
Sofia's red eyes glimmered, her smile widening just slightly.
"Patience, Soren. All in due time. However, do remember that one's language is a reflection of one's mind. Perhaps we should work on refining it before your next outburst, hm?"
Soren stared at her as mana flickered in his palm.
It was the first time in his life that he had ever had so much rage.
He knew that he wasn't thinking clearly, that something was clouding his judgment, but he couldn't stop himself.
A magic circle pulsed in his hand, the unstable energy of an incomplete circle sparking faintly in the air.
The servants stiffened at the sight, some flinching back, while others placed their hands on their weapons.
Alice leaned forward, her lips curling in amusement, red eyes wide with intrigue.
"Oooh… are you actually going to do it? Finally show us what you're really worth? Go on, I'd love to see."
Sofia, on the other hand, tilted her head ever so slightly.
Her voice was taunting, each word dripping with mockery.
"Such a lack of control. Such recklessness. If you cannot even restrain your temper at the dining table, Soren, how do you expect to stand as a noble of the Fialova Kingdom?"
The circle in his palm grew brighter as the tips of his fingers flickered in and out of visibility, until…
Shatter
He took a deep breath and closed his palm, crushing the magic circle.
Instead, Soren slammed his fist into the long, overly fancy table.
The impact cracked through the room like thunder.
Wood splintered, plates clattered, and silverware flew.
The once-pristine table split under the weight of his rage.
Gasps rippled from the servants.
Alice's smirk widened, delighted at the chaos.
Yet Sofia only lifted her chin, her condescending smile untouched.
"Pathetic," Alice sneered. "All that noise, and for what? You couldn't even follow through."
Soren snapped his gaze toward her, teeth bared.
"Shut your fucking mouth, brat. Did I say a single word to your trashy face? And besides, what do you know?"
She laughed in response.
"Oh, I know enough. I know you're nothing but a stray who stumbled into our house and thinks he belongs here. Honestly, watching you throw a tantrum is the most entertainment you've ever given me. Wait… now that I think about it, I have a question. How does it feel being responsible for Freya's death?"
Soren's eyes went cold, freezing the atmosphere entirely.
He didn't say any words, didn't twitch, he just stared at Alice intently.
The silence was worse than an explosion.
It pressed down on the room like a weight, squeezing the air out of everyone's lungs.
The flickering lamps seemed to dim, and the servants near the walls paled, some instinctively retreating half a step, as if an invisible blade had been drawn and pointed at their throats.
Bloodlust oozed from Soren's body.
Not wild, not flaring, but sharp and suffocating, like the moment before a guillotine fell.
Alice's mock grin faltered.
She had wanted to provoke him, to watch him snap and flail, but what she hadn't expected was the chilling stillness, the kind of killing intent that didn't belong in a dining hall, or even in the home of nobles.
Her lips trembled, her words caught in her throat.
For the briefest moments, Soren wasn't himself.
The hostility in his eyes wasn't his; it was older, heavier, born from the person who had inhabited the body prior to him.
It stared through his eyes, silent and merciless.
Alice averted her gaze first.
Her nails were digging into the arm of her chair, her knuckles white, though she forced a scoff through her trembling lips.
"...Scary," she muttered, but the false bravado sounded paper-thin.
The oppressive atmosphere lingered.
Every servant was drenched in sweat, yet none dared to move.
Finally, Sofia broke the silence.
Her voice rang out smoothly, cutting through the bloodlust like a knife through butter.
"My, my. How dramatic." She brushed the shoulder of her dress as if the tension in the air were nothing but dust to be swept away. "So much noise, so much spectacle… over so very little."
Her red eyes flicked to Alice, then back to Soren.
"Alice, you truly should learn restraint. Taunting your… brother is unbecoming." Her words sounded like a rebuke, but the little smile tugging at her lips betrayed satisfaction.
Then her gaze sharpened on Soren.
"And you, darling… If you cannot control yourself in your own household, how do you expect to do so in society? One's temperament reflects one's station. Remember that."
The bloodlust wavered.
Soren blinked, and the crushing pressure dissipated like smoke on the wind.
His chest rose and fell heavily, though his face remained set in a scowl.
The original's emotions had slipped away, leaving him raw, confused and furious, but at the very least, grounded once again.
He let out a deep breath through gritted teeth.
"Whatever, it's clear I'm not going to get a proper answer through all of your fancy talk."
He turned sharply, boots pounding toward the door.
Just as his door gripped the handle, Sofia's voice rang out once more, smooth and commanding.
"Oh, Soren. Before you go sulk in your room, there is something you should know."
He froze, his shoulders tense.
"There will be a gathering next week," she said, every word deliberate. "A banquet, where the noble houses of Fialova shall convene. It will be quite the event." She smiled faintly, her tone dripping with satisfaction. "You shall meet your fiancée there, and your engagement will be announced. Do try, for once, to behave yourself."
Soren's jaw clenched shut.
He didn't look back, he didn't answer.
He shoved the door open and stormed out, the slam echoing throughout the vast halls.
••✦ ♡ ✦•••
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▶̶͈̺͇̬̞͚͗̀̕̕͠ ̶̨̥̳̟̦͒ứ̴͉͈̫͎́̓͐̎o̸͕͈͈̬̙̎̀̍̋̐l̵͔̬̮̣͌̅S̷̡̻͇̟̺̒͐̆́͐̾ ̸̨̖̓̀͛͠ì̴͚̪n̷͕̠͔̖̤̥̾̑e̶̙̲͑͊̎͐͒g̸̨̡͖͔̯͙̈́̓͆̀̒͝r̵̮͙̼̰͗̄Ḿ̵̛͇̌̃͋g̶̬̒̔ ̸̼͎͛ō̶̫̜͕̬̠̇̉̈́f̵̢̭͍̮͈̈́̅̍̚ ̸͇͒̋̌͐̾Ì̴̛͖̮͒s̷̡̼̤̺̠̼̅̾͒̋a̵͇̯̼͖̲̍̋̊a̶̫̘̙̞̥̺̓͆͠c̵͍̰͈̎̌͝ ̸͖̐̊̆̐̕a̷̧͈̹̅́̒͘n̴̨̢̛̒͋̓d̴̲̊͊̅́ ̵̝͌͆̒̽͊̑S̷̤̓̂̋̓͜o̵͇͇͒͂r̴̭̻̈́̋̉̈́ḛ̶͎̪̐n̸̪͈̞̒̊͛͝:̸̢̭̩͖͖̫̿ ̴̛̋̄̑̒͜2̵̢̞̖̪̿́0̶̩͕͋%̶̨́̽͑̋͝ ̶̣͖̱̹̟͜͝◀̸̱̬̮̥̯̱̇͗͐̐̄͘
————「❤︎」————