Shock flickered across both their faces.
'Why is he so calm? A simple insult like that should have rattled him… he should be lashing out'.
Edwin and Liliana exchanged uneasy glances.
Something had changed, maybe Darian had changed.
The sounds of knives and forks filled the hall, the weight of silence pressing heavy. Firelight flickered against the stone walls as servants moved like shadows, careful not to break the tense calm of the Duke's table.
At last, Liliana tilted her head, her voice smooth but edged with cruelty.
"Tell me, Darian, what miracle brought you here tonight? You've avoided this table for months."
Darian set down his spoon and met her eyes. There was no bite in his voice, no scorn. Only a faint smile, calm and unhurried.
"Because it's been too long since I've sat with my family. I thought… perhaps it was time."
For a moment, silence followed. Edwin's sneer faltered into confusion. Liliana's smirk slipped, her brows knitting. This wasn't the bitter, self-pitying brother they remembered.
Edwin gave a short, harsh laugh.
"Family? Don't dress your weakness with sweet words. You can't wield mana—you're a disgrace to our name."
Liliana recovered her poise, smirking again though it rang hollow.
"Yes, Edwin's right. Don't pretend a smile makes you anything more than a cripple at our table."
Darian's smile didn't waver. He only inclined his head slightly, voice soft but steady.
"Perhaps so. But mana or no, I am still your brother. Aren't I?
Both siblings stiffened, their retorts caught in their throats. The words were too disarming, too unexpected.
The Duke's knife touched the plate with a quiet clink.
The atmosphere suddenly became dense, a sensation of power, overflowing mana showing the Duke's dominance.
"Enough," He announced, his voice cutting clean through the tension. His eyes swept the table—stern, unreadable.
"This is no place for petty quarrels. You will conduct yourselves as Redmonds."
"Sorry father" their voices sang in unison.
The hall fell silent again, though the air still hummed with unease.
"Darian, you've recently turned eighteen so you will have to attend an academy". The Duke spoke.
'Academy?' Darians thoughts drifted.
It was compulsory for a noble to attend an academy by the age of eighteen.
There were four different noble academies.
The Runeward Academy, Academy of the sword, Celestial Academy and Academy of the arcane.
Each Academy specializes in their own faction of magic combat and teachings.
"Since you have no mana, the only academy willing to accept you is the academy of the sword" The Duke continued.
"You'll leave tomorrow by dawn with an escort".
Darian's expression didn't falter, though his grip around the spoon tightened just slightly before he laid it down again. His siblings' eyes glimmered with barely veiled amusement—'of course they'd savor this. Sending the "cursed" heir off to the one place he'd surely be mocked, measured, and dismissed' he thought.
'An academy… tomorrow?'
His chest tightened, not from fear, but from a hollow sort of weariness.
'First, I'm thrown into this body. Then, forced to face this family. And now I'm paraded into an academy filled with noble brats'.
He drew a slow breath, hiding the sigh behind a faint smile. His face betrayed nothing, but inwardly, the words curled like smoke in his mind.
'Can't I catch a break?'
Then, with a steady voice, he said, "As you command, Father."
The Duke's knife paused midway to his plate. His brows knit ever so slightly, a flicker of surprise breaking through the iron calm of his features. He had expected defiance—resentment, perhaps even one of Darian's old tantrums. Instead, he was met with composure. Compliance. Acceptance.
"...Good," the Duke said at last, his voice measured, though a faint trace of curiosity lingered behind the word. His gaze stayed on Darian a moment longer, as though studying this strange change in his son.
Edwin and Liliana exchanged bewildered looks once more. Liliana trying to find the weakness in his calm, while Edwin's jaw tightened, the mockery he'd been preparing swallowed in silence.
The meal dragged on, firelight and steel cutlery filling the void of words. Yet, in that silence, the unspoken truth weighed heavier than stone: something in Darian had shifted, and none of them—not even the Duke—could quite decide if it was for the better or worse.
.
The meal ended not long after. Servants cleared the table, their movements delicate and silent, while the family dispersed to their chambers without another word.
Darian walked the quiet corridors alone, the echo of his own footsteps a strange comfort against the emptiness. By the time he reached his chamber, the weight of the evening pressed down like an old cloak.
He lay on the bed, staring up at the ceiling beams lost in the shadows. His body felt heavy, still aching from the spar with Aldren.
'If Aldren had gone all out, I would of died'
He thought. 'I need to get stronger'
'An academy of swords…' His hand drifted to his chest, feeling the steady thrum of a body that was not his own.
The fire in the room chimney burned low, throwing long, restless shadows across the chamber walls. Darian closed his eyes at last, letting the silence of the night wash over him.