"How much do you know about reincarnation?"
The question hung in the situation room like a blade suspended by a single thread.
Cardinal Rodriguez stood perfectly still.
Across the table, the king slowly lowered his teacup.
Preston Locke, Supreme Archduke of Arcaelis and a man who had once faced an entire enemy cavalry charge without flinching, looked at his ten-year-old son as though the boy had suddenly begun speaking an ancient and forbidden language.
For several seconds, nobody answered.
Then the king leaned back.
"Well."
He rubbed his temples.
"That's certainly a change of subject."
Soma glanced at the closed doors.
"Considering the last two days, Your Majesty, I thought we were overdue for something mildly interesting."
Preston didn't laugh.
Neither did Rodriguez.
Wonderful.
Apparently, reincarnation is where everyone draws the line on humor.
The Cardinal moved first.
He approached the table slowly, his white-and-gold vestments whispering against the polished floor.
"Soma," he said, "what brought you to ask that particular question?"
Soma considered lying.
Not a complete lie, necessarily. Something harmless about his extensive reading or a strange dream he'd experienced.
But Rodriguez had mentioned a soul that didn't belong to this world.
And for the first time in ten years, someone had spoken aloud about the one thing Soma could never fully explain.
He looked at Preston.
His father was watching him with an expression Soma couldn't decipher.
Concern, certainly.
Perhaps suspicion.
The possibility frightened him more than he expected.
"Father," Soma asked quietly, "before I answer, can you promise me something?"
Preston stepped closer.
"What is it?"
"That you'll hear everything before deciding what to think."
The Archduke studied him.
Then pulled out the chair beside his own.
"Sit down, son."
Soma obeyed.
Preston sat opposite him.
"You have my word."
Rodriguez remained standing.
"In the oldest records of the Cathedral," he began, "there are references to the passage of souls between existences. Some describe reincarnation as a natural spiritual cycle. Others suggest divine intervention."
Soma listened carefully.
"But those records are fragments," Rodriguez continued. "They are not proof that a person retains awareness of a previous life."
"Has anyone claimed to?"
"Many."
"Has anyone proved it?"
"Not to the satisfaction of the Cathedral."
Soma nodded slowly.
That wasn't especially encouraging.
Rodriguez clasped his hands.
"However, there is something else."
The room grew quiet.
"Deep beneath the Cathedral in Providence are texts accessible only to the highest religious authorities. One speaks of a soul whose origins lie beyond Hallowcrown."
Soma felt his heartbeat quicken.
"Beyond?"
"Beyond this world."
The Cardinal's expression became solemn.
"The text warns of a time when great danger will threaten the order of the world. It speaks of a soul arriving from elsewhere, bearing a connection to divinity unlike anything found among ordinary mortal bloodlines."
Preston looked sharply toward him.
"You're speaking of a prophecy."
"Yes."
The king frowned.
"And you believe it concerns Soma?"
Rodriguez hesitated.
"I believe the similarity is too significant to ignore."
Soma stared at the table.
A soul from another world.
Divine blood.
A prophecy hidden beneath a Cathedral.
Fantastic.
Apparently, simply existing wasn't complicated enough.
"What exactly does the prophecy say?" he asked.
Rodriguez looked at him.
"One interpretation holds that the soul will someday ascend beyond the established divine hierarchy, becoming a protector in a coming age of darkness."
Soma blinked.
"That seems like an unreasonable amount of responsibility for someone who still needs help reaching the top shelf in the pantry."
The king laughed.
A single, startled bark.
Preston pressed a hand over his eyes.
Rodriguez's lips twitched.
But the Cardinal did not look away.
"Soma, I must ask you something."
"Yes, Your Eminence?"
"Do you believe you have lived before?"
The question struck him with surprising force.
Soma had imagined this conversation many times.
Usually while lying awake in his enormous bedroom, wondering why certain things seemed instinctively familiar despite having no recollection of learning them.
He had always known that his life hadn't begun in the delivery room where Aria Locke had given birth to him.
Yet the knowledge was incomplete.
He couldn't picture the world he'd left behind.
Couldn't name the people he'd known.
Couldn't remember the circumstances of his death.
Sometimes he sensed that certain things should have meant something to him. A phrase. A pattern. An unfamiliar feeling of loss without an identifiable cause.
But when he reached for those memories, there was nothing solid to grasp.
Only the certainty that there had been another life.
Soma looked at his father.
Then at the king.
Finally, he met Rodriguez's eyes.
"Yes."
The Cardinal drew a slow breath.
"Tell me."
Soma swallowed.
"I wasn't always Soma Locke."
Preston's expression changed.
The boy hurried to explain.
"I mean, I am Soma Locke. I'm your son. I know that. But before I was born here, I existed somewhere else."
He rubbed his palms against his trousers.
"I don't remember much about it. I know there was another world. I know I lived there. And somehow, that life ended."
His voice grew quieter.
"Then I woke up here."
Nobody interrupted.
"I remember being a baby. I remember Mother holding me and Father's ridiculous mustache hanging over my face."
Preston blinked.
"My mustache?"
"It was very traumatic."
The king snorted.
Soma managed a small smile.
"At first, I thought I was dreaming. Then I realized I couldn't wake up. I was actually a newborn child."
He looked down.
"But I knew I'd been alive before."
Rodriguez stepped closer.
"Do you remember the other world's name?"
"No."
"Its people?"
"No."
"How you died?"
Soma hesitated.
"Not clearly. Sometimes I think there's something there, but every time I try to remember, it disappears."
The Cardinal studied him.
"Then what do you remember?"
Soma took a breath.
"Knowing things."
He glanced toward his father.
"Not everything. I still had to learn how to speak, read, and understand this world. But some ideas made sense to me before anyone taught them. Patterns. Problems. Ways of organizing information."
He paused.
"And I remember feeling older than I was."
The room fell silent.
Finally, Soma lifted his head.
"I don't know why I was reborn, Your Eminence. I don't know whether the gods did it. I don't even know whether the other person I used to be was important."
He looked at Preston.
"But I'm telling you the truth."
The silence that followed seemed endless.
Preston stared at his son.
His fingers rested motionless against the table.
The king's expression had become unreadable.
Rodriguez looked as though someone had opened a door into a room he had spent his entire life believing was sealed.
Soma felt his stomach tighten.
This was a mistake.
Perhaps he should have kept quiet.
Perhaps there were truths that simply couldn't be shared, even with people who loved him.
The thought frightened him.
"Father?"
Preston didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he leaned back and stared toward the ceiling.
For several seconds, he appeared to be searching for something among his memories.
Then he spoke.
"There were complications when you were born."
Soma froze.
"What?"
Preston lowered his gaze.
"The physicians were worried about your mother. The delivery wasn't progressing as expected, and for a time, they feared we might lose you."
His voice grew rough.
"Aria was exhausted. I remember standing beside her, holding her hand, wondering whether there was anything in all my wealth and influence that could help."
Soma had never heard his father speak about that day in such detail.
Preston continued.
"Then the room filled with light."
Rodriguez straightened.
"What kind of light?"
"I don't know."
Preston shook his head.
"It wasn't anything the physicians recognized. It passed through the protective wards without disturbing them. For a moment, everything became so bright that I couldn't see my own hands."
"And afterward?" Rodriguez asked.
Preston looked at Soma.
"You were born."
His voice softened.
"Healthy. Quiet. Looking around as though you were trying to understand where you'd landed."
Soma swallowed.
"That sounds like me."
"It does."
Preston smiled faintly.
"Your mother thought you were the most beautiful baby she'd ever seen."
"And you?"
"I thought you were going to be trouble."
The king burst out laughing.
"For once, Preston, your judgment was flawless."
Soma stared at his father.
Preston's smile faded into something gentler.
"Then you grew."
He leaned forward.
"You learned to walk earlier than your siblings. You began speaking before anyone expected it. By the time most children were learning their letters, you were practically living in the library."
Soma lowered his eyes.
"I know."
"You asked questions I couldn't always answer."
"Still do."
"And at four years old, you somehow convinced that foul-mouthed old bastard Igor to start training you."
"That was a diplomatic achievement."
Preston chuckled.
Then his expression became serious.
"All those years, I knew you were unusual."
Soma waited.
"But unusual never meant unwanted."
The words struck harder than Soma expected.
He looked up.
Preston reached across the table and took his hand.
"Listen carefully, son."
Soma's throat tightened.
"I don't know who you were before you came into our lives. I don't know whether the gods sent you here or whether something happened that none of us can explain."
The Archduke paused.
"But I do know who you are."
Soma's eyes began to sting.
"You're the boy who used to fall asleep with books covering his bed. You're the little menace who terrorized the servants by learning to walk before anyone was prepared. You're the child who spent six years getting knocked into the dirt by Igor and kept going back."
A faint smile touched Preston's face.
"You're the brother Serena adores. The son your mother worries about every night."
He squeezed Soma's hand.
"And you're my boy."
Soma stared at him.
Preston leaned closer.
"Whatever happened before you were born doesn't change that."
For several seconds, Soma couldn't speak.
He had never realized how frightened he was of hearing the opposite.
"What if..." His voice cracked. "What if the person I used to be was someone terrible?"
Preston's expression softened.
"Then I suppose we'll have to be grateful you've become someone better."
The king laughed quietly.
Soma tried to smile.
His face crumpled instead.
Preston rose and pulled him into an embrace.
Soma wrapped both arms around his father.
He didn't cry loudly.
He simply held on.
And for a moment, the enormous situation room, the golden blood, the assassination attempts, and the prophecy all seemed very far away.
The king allowed them their moment.
Then he cleared his throat.
"Well. I suppose that settles the most important question."
Soma wiped his eyes and looked toward him.
"What question?"
"Whether Preston is going to continue being an insufferably proud father."
The Archduke glared.
"Your Majesty."
"Oh, don't pretend otherwise. You've been bragging about the boy since he learned to hold a spoon."
"He was remarkably coordinated."
"He threw soup at your face."
"That was an accident."
Soma raised a hand.
"Actually, Father, the soup was deliberate."
The king roared with laughter.
Preston stared at his son.
"You little traitor."
Soma smiled.
It felt good.
For the first time since the ambush, his chest seemed a little less tight.
Rodriguez watched them with an expression Soma couldn't quite interpret.
Then the Cardinal spoke.
"I am relieved."
Everyone turned.
"Why?" Soma asked.
"Because I was afraid the prophecy might cause us to forget that you are still a child."
He approached the table.
"And I think your father has reminded us of something important."
Soma studied him.
Rodriguez knelt so they were closer to eye level.
"Whatever the Cathedral's oldest texts may suggest, I cannot tell you with certainty that you are the soul described in the prophecy."
"Even with the blood?"
"Even with the blood."
Soma nodded slowly.
"Then what can you tell me?"
"That your existence is extraordinary. That your blood carries a divine nature we don't fully understand. And that there may be forces in this world interested in you for reasons unrelated to your family's position."
That last part was considerably less comforting.
Soma glanced toward Preston.
"So we keep it secret."
"Yes," the Archduke said.
The king nodded.
"Your golden blood, your previous life, and the Cardinal's suspicions remain confined to those who already know."
Rodriguez straightened.
"I will report only what is necessary through the Cathedral's most secure channels. I will not declare you the subject of any prophecy."
Soma exhaled.
"Thank you."
The Cardinal smiled gently.
"You're welcome."
The king returned to his seat.
"Now we need to discuss what happens next."
Soma's stomach tightened.
He had a fairly good idea where this conversation was heading.
"Am I being locked inside the manor?"
Preston frowned.
"Of course not."
"Because I should mention that I am spectacularly unpleasant when confined indoors for extended periods."
"That's hardly news," the king remarked.
Soma ignored him.
"I still want to train with Jaspar and Kara. I want to learn about the world outside Highmere. And I don't want everyone treating me like a priceless vase that might shatter if someone breathes too loudly."
Preston folded his arms.
"You were nearly kidnapped."
"I remember."
"You were stabbed."
"Also difficult to forget."
"And then you followed us into a dungeon full of assassins."
Soma hesitated.
"That last one may have been a questionable decision."
"Questionable?"
"Deeply questionable."
The king covered his mouth.
Preston pointed toward his son.
"That is precisely what concerns me."
Soma lowered his gaze.
"I know."
The admission seemed to surprise his father.
Soma continued.
"I thought knowing how to fight meant I was prepared. Then Samantha got hurt, and I realized I wasn't."
His voice grew quieter.
"I killed someone because I couldn't find another way to stop him."
Preston's expression softened.
"And Simon nearly died while I stood there doing nothing."
"You weren't doing nothing," his father replied.
"It felt like it."
Soma looked toward the window.
"I don't want that feeling again."
No one spoke.
"I want to become stronger," he continued. "But I don't want to become someone who thinks strength solves everything."
He looked toward the king.
"Jaspar's been teaching me that. Igor too, in his own deeply offensive way."
The king smiled faintly.
Soma's expression grew serious.
"I want to learn how to protect people. How to recognize danger before it happens. How to lead without treating lives like pieces on a board."
He paused.
"And I want to understand the people we're supposed to protect."
Preston studied him for a long moment.
Then nodded.
"Good."
The Archduke reached for a parchment on his desk.
"Your original training arrangement will continue."
Soma blinked.
"It will?"
"With changes."
There it is.
Preston spread the parchment across the table.
"Jaspar will continue teaching you fieldcraft, reconnaissance, survival, and combat. Kara will oversee your practical education in craftsmanship, equipment, and engineering."
"Excellent."
"Igor will remain responsible for your foundational physical conditioning."
"Less excellent."
The king laughed.
"And your academic education will not be neglected," Preston continued. "You will continue studying governance, trade, diplomacy, and the history of Arcaelis."
Soma nodded.
"What changes?"
"You will begin accompanying supervised expeditions beyond Highmere once the healers clear you."
Soma's eyes widened.
"Really?"
"Yes. But not until we strengthen the security arrangements."
"And Samantha?"
"Her reassignment will be reviewed when the investigation is complete."
Soma accepted that reluctantly.
Preston continued.
"I also intend to involve you more directly in certain administrative discussions. You asked how the outer districts were funded. You'll have opportunities to learn."
Soma straightened.
"Thank you, Father."
"Don't thank me yet."
The Archduke's mustache twitched.
"You'll be expected to work."
Soma smiled.
"I already do."
"Then perhaps you'll discover that reading a tax ledger is considerably less entertaining than arguing with Igor."
"Father, I once read a three-hundred-page report on grain storage."
"And?"
"The ending was surprisingly emotional."
The king groaned.
"Gods help us. He's becoming a bureaucrat."
Rodriguez listened to the discussion without interrupting.
Eventually, he spoke.
"There is one more consideration."
Soma looked toward him.
"Your Awakening."
The word shifted the atmosphere.
Five years.
That was how long Soma had before the mana limiter imposed during childhood would be lifted and his true abilities could begin to emerge.
He had spent his entire life looking forward to that day.
Now, for the first time, the prospect felt complicated.
"What about it?"
Rodriguez folded his hands.
"Your divine blood may influence the results. Or it may not. We have no reliable way to predict what will happen when you undergo the ceremony."
Soma nodded.
"Then we prepare for the possibilities."
"Precisely."
The Cardinal smiled.
"Until then, I recommend discretion. Don't discuss your previous life. Don't deliberately demonstrate your blood. And avoid drawing attention to any unusual abilities you may discover."
Soma glanced toward his father.
"So basically, don't do anything interesting for five years."
Preston raised an eyebrow.
"Is that what you heard?"
"More or less."
The king chuckled.
"Then perhaps you should spend those five years learning how to be interesting without getting yourself killed."
Soma considered that.
"A challenging assignment."
"One I expect you to take seriously."
He smiled.
"Yes, Your Majesty."
The meeting finally ended when the afternoon sunlight began turning golden through the high windows.
Rodriguez departed first, promising to review the sealed Cathedral records and communicate privately with Preston.
The king remained to discuss security matters with the Archduke.
Soma was dismissed.
He rose slowly, careful of the bandage beneath his tunic.
Before reaching the door, he stopped.
"Father?"
Preston looked up.
"Yes, son?"
Soma hesitated.
Then asked the question that had been troubling him since the confession.
"Will you tell Mother?"
Preston's expression softened.
"Yes."
Soma's stomach tightened.
"Will she be upset?"
"Probably."
Soma stared.
"That's not reassuring."
Preston smiled faintly.
"She'll be upset that you've been carrying something so heavy without telling us."
Soma looked down.
"And if she thinks I'm not really her son?"
His father crossed the room.
He knelt and placed both hands on Soma's shoulders.
"Your mother carried you. She gave birth to you. She held you through your first fever, taught you to laugh, and spent ten years loving you with everything she has."
He brushed a stray lock of dark hair away from Soma's forehead.
"Whatever soul came into this world, it became her child."
Soma swallowed.
Preston smiled.
"And I suspect she'll be considerably more concerned about the fact that you followed armed assassins into a dungeon."
Soma winced.
"Ah."
"Yes."
"Perhaps we could omit that part."
"Absolutely not."
"Father, I'm begging you."
"No."
"Have you considered bribery?"
Preston laughed.
"Out."
Soma grinned and slipped through the doorway.
The corridor outside was quiet.
A pair of Vanguard guards stood beside the doors, their armor gleaming beneath the enchanted lanterns.
Soma walked slowly toward the medical wing.
He intended to visit Samantha.
Then Simon.
And afterward, assuming his mother didn't murder him for his recent behavior, he planned to find Igor.
Not to train.
The healers had made their opinion on that subject abundantly clear.
He wanted to talk.
About surviving.
About fear.
About what it meant to become strong enough to protect someone without losing yourself in the process.
For the first time since the ambush, the thought of his future didn't feel like something he had to face alone.
He still had questions.
Hundreds of them.
About his blood.
The Cathedral's prophecy.
The world he'd forgotten.
And why a life he couldn't remember had somehow led him to House Locke.
But he could live with unanswered questions.
He'd been doing it for ten years.
As he approached the medical wing, the familiar sound of someone swearing echoed down the corridor.
"WHAT DO YOU MEAN HE'S NOT ALLOWED TO HAVE PASTRIES?"
Igor.
Soma stopped.
A slow smile spread across his face.
"Gods above," he murmured. "He's arguing with the healers."
Another shout followed.
"THE BOY GOT STABBED, NOT CURSED! GIVE HIM A DAMN TURNOVER!"
Soma began laughing.
His side immediately protested.
"Ow. Damn it."
Some things, apparently, would never change.
And for that, Soma Locke was profoundly grateful.