The Patriarch's hall loomed at the heart of the clan estate, carved from whitewood so old and dense it shimmered faintly under the touch of moonlight stored within its grain. Every step Caelum took toward it felt heavier, like the stones themselves were pressing his lateness into him. He had lingered too long in his mother's quarters. Now the sound of voices, laughter, and the clatter of utensils drifted out ahead of him, reminding him of what awaited inside.
He straightened his tunic, brushed off invisible dust, and forced a small breath past his lips. You're not late, you're just… not early, He told himself. It didn't help it.
Two guards in polished silverwood armor crossed their spears as he approached, but their eyes softened at the sight of him. He bowed politely.
"Third Young Master," one said, his voice respectful but neutral.
"Is the table already filled?" Caelum asked, his voice steadier than he felt.
"Nearly," the other replied.
He gave a nod, lips pressed thin, then walked inside.
The dining hall stretched vast and high, banners of green and silver flowing down from carved beams overhead. The long table dominated the center was polished so well it reflected the glow of mana-lamps suspended above. Around it, clan members filled the seats: men and women, youths and children, elders draped in robes that marked their status. The smell of roasted meats and spiced grains mingled with fragrant wines, an aroma that might comfort anyone else.
For Caelum, it felt like a stage.
He was noticed the moment he stepped in. Some faces softened briefly with courtesy, others remained impassive, and a few particularly among the children tilted with quiet sneers. Two boys leaned close together, whispering behind their hands, eyes flicking toward him before laughter was swallowed quickly.
Caelum's stomach tightened, but his steps never faltered.
"Caelum," Elias's voice rang out from halfway down the table, firm as iron. His sharp eyes turned on the children, silencing their whispers with nothing more than a glare. Seren sat beside him, calm as ever, though Caelum caught the faint furrow of his brows.
Caelum gave the smallest smile to both before pressing forward.
At the head of the table sat the Patriarch, his presence a mountain no words could climb. His hair, streaked silver-white, fell past his shoulders, and his eyes, piercing yet calm, rested on Caelum with an unreadable weight. He was not cold in cruelty, but cold in discipline. For him, affection was not warmth, but protection sharpened into silence.
Caelum stopped a step short of the dais and bowed low. "Patriarch."
A small nod was the only reply, but it was more than most could claim. To Caelum, it felt like armor slipped around his shoulders.
He slipped into his seat between Seren and a girl whose name he didn't know well but who looked away the instant his eyes met hers. His plate was already set, filled with steaming rice, roots, and most importantly—meat. His eyes brightened. Roasted venison, thick cuts, juices pooling in the plate. He had never known why meat called to him like nothing else, but whenever he ate it, something deep in his body sang, like fire kindling in his veins.
He picked up his utensils eagerly. Meat, he thought, with childlike joy. Finally.
The first bite was divine, tender, smoky, rich with fat. He closed his eyes briefly, savoring it. If the table noticed his unguarded happiness, he didn't care.
Yet peace, as always, was fragile.
Conversation had been low until then, respectful under the Patriarch's silent watch. But it shifted when a woman seated beside him spoke. She was beautiful—striking in a quiet way, with eyes like pale glass and hair bound in intricate braids. Her robes marked her as a branch elder, younger than most but still high-ranked.
"The younger generation is making good progress," she said lightly, as though it were mere observation. Yet her words opened a floodgate.
Parents straightened in their seats.
"My Taron advanced to his fourth circulation just last week," one man said proudly.
"My daughter has already learned to channel healing streams," another added.
One after another, voices filled the air, each extolling their children's talents. Some girls, some boys. Each achievement laid bare on the table like offerings. Laughter grew, pride swelling.
Caelum kept chewing quietly, his fork stabbing into meat again and again. The taste dulled as unease crept in. He knew where this river was flowing.
And he was right.
It came from across the table, where a girl about his own age leaned forward. Her features were delicate but her eyes burned with curiosity and a little too much boldness. She tilted her head, speaking sweetly, almost innocently.
"I'm sure you'll be far ahead of us, Caelum. Considering…" She let the words trail, her smile unblinking.
The sound of her voice seemed to echo. For a moment, no one else spoke. Forks paused in midair. Cups hovered near lips but did not touch.
Caelum's chest clenched.
He knew what she meant. Everyone knew. His mother's bloodline, his father's position, the whispers that he, sickly or not, should have been gifted beyond compare. That he should be more than he was.
Even the Patriarch's eyes slid toward him. Not indifferent but also not curious.
Caelum swallowed hard. His hand shook around his fork. The urge to answer, to laugh it off, to pretend, clawed at his throat.
....
But Elias moved first. He leaned forward, mouth opening, ready to throw in a distraction. Knowing his character, it might not be something pleasant. Seren's gaze flicked to Caelum, lips parting as if he too might step in.
Neither got the chance.
"Silence."
The word was not shouted. It was barely more than a breath, spoken from the Patriarch's seat. Yet it rolled through the hall like thunder, commanding every ear, crushing every whisper.
The girl who had spoken froze, her smile vanishing. Parents dropped their gazes to their plates. Even the laughter that had lingered in corners evaporated.
The Patriarch did not look angry. His expression was calm, carved from stone, but his eyes lingered a heartbeat longer on Caelum before he turned back to his own meal.
The message was clear. The boy was not to be cornered here. Not under his roof.
The conversation resumed eventually, but subdued, cautious. Caelum sat stiffly, hands curled in his lap, the taste of meat gone from his tongue. His heart beat fast. He wanted to thank the Patriarch, to say something ...anything—but his lips stayed shut.
Elias leaned against his shoulder slightly, a quiet reassurance. Seren, on his other side, finally spoke in a whisper only Caelum could hear.
"They see more than they should," he murmured. "But they don't see clearly."
Caelum blinked at him, unsure if the words were comfort or warning. The only comfort is the taste of the meat in his mouth.
The meal stretched on, filled with clinking and murmured words. But Caelum barely tasted another bite. He sat beneath the weight of invisible eyes, knowing two truths pressed on him at once:
He was shielded.
And he was marked.