After a few minutes, the council chamber slowly emptied. The heavy doors closed one by one, sealing the round hall in a deep, echoing silence. The throne at the far end remained occupied, its presence alone enough to weigh on the air.
Victor lifted a hand slightly.
"Dante. Stay."
Dante stopped mid-step. He turned back, his expression stiff but respectful, and walked closer to the round table.
Victor leaned back, fingers interlocked, eyes half-lidded as if measuring every breath Dante took.
"Tell me," Victor said calmly, "what do you think your children should do now?"
Dante frowned.
"What do you mean by that?"
Victor's eyes sharpened just a little.
"I mean training. Real training. Proper training. What happened in the mountains was no coincidence."
Dante's jaw tightened.
"If you're suggesting what I think you are—"
"We'll use your son," Victor interrupted smoothly, "as a foundation. An experiment, if you will. To create the strongest warrior Valmora has ever seen."
The words hit Dante like a blade.
He took a step forward, anger flashing across his face.
"I respectfully refuse. Lucas is six years old."
Victor didn't react. He simply looked at him.
"I'm not talking about Lucas."
Dante blinked.
"…Huh?"
Victor straightened slightly.
"Romeo."
The name alone shifted the mood.
"His weather manipulation," Victor continued, "is incomplete, unstable, but fascinating. With proper guidance, it could surpass even the standards of the imperial clans."
Dante hesitated.
"You want to take my son away?"
A voice cut in, calm and cold.
"Ten years."
Nelliel had spoken without changing her posture.
"Ten years away from home," she added, as if stating the weather.
Dante inhaled sharply.
"Ten— That's not training, that's exile."
Ragnar chuckled faintly from his seat.
"If the boy survives, he'll thank you later."
Dante shot him a glare.
"This isn't funny."
Victor raised a hand, stopping further comments.
"I won't force him," Victor said. "But I believe he'll accept."
Dante looked down, conflicted. After a moment, he sighed.
"…He probably will," he admitted quietly. "But don't treat him like an experiment. He's my son."
Victor nodded once.
"Agreed."
Dante then added, "At least wait until he graduates from the academy next year."
A pause.
"Fine," Victor replied.
Dante hesitated again.
"And the others?"
Victor's lips curved into a faint smile.
"I'll handle Lucas myself."
Dante's eyes widened slightly.
"And the girl," Victor continued, glancing sideways, "will be trained by Lumina."
Lumina tilted her head, a soft smile forming.
"I'll be gentle," she said sweetly—far too sweetly.
Before Dante could respond, another voice spoke up, slow and tired.
"…Excuse me."
All eyes turned.
Charles stood there, shoulders relaxed, eyes half-open, looking as though he'd just woken from a very long nap.
"I want the kid."
Silence.
Victor raised an eyebrow.
"Oh? And look who suddenly has motivation."
Charles rubbed one eye.
"He reminds me of someone," he muttered. "And I don't like unfinished things."
Victor studied him for a moment, then sighed.
"…Fine. I'll allow it."
Charles gave a small nod, already turning as if the conversation was over.
Dante stood there, overwhelmed, torn between fear, pride, and a strange, growing sense that his children had just stepped onto paths far beyond his control.
And somewhere far away, two brothers still slept—unaware that their lives had already been decided.