The door opened with a soft, muted click.
The winter breath that had followed Kel throughout the corridors of Vanhart Manor slipped past him like a pale specter of the snow outside. He stepped into the main discussion chamber—calm, composed, coat still dusted faintly with frost from the return march.
Inside, Count Edward Vanhart and Viscount Lorian Malloren were seated at the long table, several parchment scrolls and ledgers laid open in front of them—the latest reports regarding the accelerated cultivation of harlroot, projected grain yield, trade route recalculations.
The moment Kel entered, both men rose instinctively.
He took half a step forward, lips parting to speak—
They dropped to one knee.
Not deferentially.
Not because custom dictated it.
But because something in them had already resolved, before words could be shaped.
Their heads bowed.
Their right fists came to their hearts.
Soundlessly, every candle flame in the room flickered.
Kel's expression froze—momentarily, ever so slightly. His boot halted mid-step.
The breath that had been leaving him stilled completely.
"From this moment onward…"
Count Vanhart spoke first, voice steady and low, carrying the weight of a decision not made in haste.
"Kel von Rosenfeld," he said without lifting his gaze, "before you speak of harlroot, before you speak of strategy… allow us to speak of allegiance."
Lorian Malloren followed without hesitation.
"We kneel not before the son of a duke," he continued quietly, "but before the man who guided our hands even when we doubted their strength."
Edward's eyes remained lowered, but his voice grew firmer.
"From this moment onward—house Vanhart swears loyalty to you. Not under coercion or law. But as ruler to whom this land will grow when the era shifts."
Lorian's shoulders straightened.
The man who once carried war and resentment now spoke with tempered conviction.
"And House Malloren follows," he said. "From this moment forth, we vow our blades, our influence, and the life of every man beneath our banner—"
Both:
"—to Kel von Rosenfeld."
And then, softer—more human.
"We submit not as vassals."
"But as men who chose to follow before being commanded."
Reaction
Kel did not move for several breaths.
The snow outside fell against tall windows, muting the world.
His fingers—relaxed at his side—subtly curled inward.
Just a fraction.
His gaze lowered, and within his eyes, something shifted.
Not triumph.
Not arrogance.
Rather—
An echo of weariness.
A weight he had expected to bear alone suddenly felt… less solitary.
But that, too, he buried.
Slowly, he stepped closer, boots making little sound on the polished wood.
"Stand," he said quietly.
They did not.
So he repeated—voice like low winter wind, calm yet immovable.
"Stand."
Both nobles rose.
Not fully straight—they remained with heads slightly lowered, waiting for his judgement.
Kel's hands moved.
He shut the ledger they had left open.
Gently.
As though to place the conversation of profit beneath what had just occurred.
His tone remained steady.
"I did not set out to earn loyalty," he said.
Lorian looked at him, eyes unflinching.
"Which is precisely why you have it."
Kel's gaze met theirs.
Dark.
Deep.
A faint, unfathomable glint near the edges.
Kel's Answer
He did not smile.
But his voice was softer than they had expected.
"I will not command you," he said. "I will not demand sacrifice."
To that, both men nodded.
Kel continued.
"But I will move forward. Toward changes that this empire will not accept easily."
Count Vanhart's eyes sharpened.
"Then let them deny. We did too. Now we see."
Kel let silence settle for a heartbeat.
"When the world rejects me," he said at last, "you must be prepared to be rejected with me."
Lorian straightened fully.
"Then we will burn with you in winter."
"Or rise with you into spring."
Kel's eyes narrowed subtly—expression unreadable.
Then, quietly:
"Very well."
Final Moments of the Oath
He reached out, not to grant blessing or enforce command, but to place a hand briefly on the table.
"A vow made in kneeling," he said, "must live while standing."
The lantern light flickered.
Outside, the wind shifted.
Inside the chamber, two high nobles bowed their heads—not to kneel again, but in acknowledgment.
"Then let us stand, Lord Kel," Edward said solemnly.
"And act," Lorian added, "before the board changes."
Kel turned toward the reports.
His voice resumed—as if seamlessly returning to strategic flow, though now the words carried a different gravity.
"Then regarding harlroot…"
He traced the map laid open.
"We begin phase two."
The nobles moved closer to observe.
Their posture had changed.
Not as lords meeting a strategist.
But as generals standing behind the future sovereign of their era.
Kel's side profile was dystopian stillness.
But deep, deep within—
Sairen stirred.
You did not expect this.
No.
And yet…
Kel's thoughts shifted with distant fragility.
It was necessary.
Not for them, the ancient guardian whispered, but for you.
The air around him grew quiet.
Very, very quiet.
He spoke aloud, but to himself.
Low.
Almost inaudible.
"So be it."