Breakfast began the way it always did - quiet, orderly, and familiar.
Which was why Christopher noticed the differences immediately.
The long dining table gleamed beneath the tall windows, sunlight spilling across polished wood and porcelain plates.
Servants moved with practiced efficiency, placing dishes down without clatter. Warm bread, fresh fruit, eggs prepared exactly how his father preferred them. Everything was correct.
And yet.
His mother did not reach for her tea right away.
His father did not dismiss the servants as quickly as usual.
Elis stood closer to the wall than she normally did, hands clasped tight enough for her knuckles to pale.
Chris slid into his seat and swung his legs gently, eyes flicking from one face to another.
"You're staring young master" Elis muttered under her breath as she stepped back.
"I'm watching," Christopher replied just as quietly.
She gave him a look. "That's worse."
Across the table, Edrian Falkerona folded a napkin onto his lap with deliberate care. The red of his hair looked darker indoors, shadowed by the high ceiling and thick stone walls. He picked up his knife, paused, then set it down again.
"Rodric will join us," he said.
Chris blinked. "He eats with us now?"
"Today," Edrian replied.
Lyanna's fingers tightened around her cup.
That single word 'today' settled heavily in the room.
A moment later, the doors opened.
The man who entered carried the weight of armor even without wearing it.
Rodric Falkerona moved with the ease of someone who had spent his life in battle-ready posture. Broad shoulders, scarred hands, hair pulled back tightly to keep it out of the way. His presence changed the room subtly, like a drawn line.
"My lord," Rodric said, bowing his head slightly. "My lady."
"Sit," Edrian said.
Rodric did, his gaze sweeping the room out of habit before finally landing on Chris.
"Morning, young master."
Chris straightened instinctively. "Good morning, Commander."
Rodric's mouth twitched. "You don't need to call me that when you're not in training."
"But Father says-"
"I know what your father says," Rodric replied, glancing briefly toward Edrian. "I also know what you forget when you're excited."
Edrian snorted softly.
Chris smiled despite himself.
Rodric reached for bread, tore off a piece, and ate without ceremony.
"Maelis will be late," he said. "The runes kept him up."
That made chris look up. "Are the runes broken?"
"No," Rodric said immediately.
Too immediately.
"They're just… restless," Lyanna said gently.
Chris frowned. "Can runes be restless?"
Maelis answered from the doorway.
"they do-" he said, sounding tired, "when something is pressing against them."
Everyone turned.
Maelis Falkerona stood there with faint shadows beneath his eyes, pale fingers wrapped around a cup he hadn't realized he was still holding. His robes were neat but rumpled, as if he'd changed hastily. His hair was uncombed, mana residue still faintly visible along his knuckles like ash.
Chris had always thought Maelis looked like someone who forgot to eat when thinking too hard.
"Good morning," Maelis added belatedly.
Edrian acknowledged with a nod."You should sit."
"I should sleep," Maelis replied, though he did take a seat. "But it can wait."
Edrian studied him. "Report."
Maelis hesitated, then shook his head. "Not here."
Silence fell.
Chris's stomach tightened. Adults did that sometimes,stopped talking when he entered rooms,but never at the table. Never like this.
He poked at his eggs. "Is something wrong?"
Lyanna reached for his hand.
Edrian spoke first. "No."
Rodric spoke second. "Yes."
They looked at each other.
Rodric sighed. "Something is changing. That's all."
Chris tilted his head. "Changing how?"
Maelis rubbed his temple. "Like… when the air feels wrong before a storm."
Chris looked at his mother.
She smiled faintly. "That's exactly what it feels like."
He nodded, pretending that made sense.
Later, after breakfast ended and the adults lingered longer than usual, Chris found himself wandering the corridors with no particular destination in mind.
Elis had been called away to help in the kitchens. Alfred had disappeared into one of the administrative wings, expression unreadable as ever. Guards moved with purpose, voices lower, steps quicker.
Chris noticed everything.
He always did.
He paused near a wide window overlooking the training yard.
Rodric stood below, overseeing drills. The knights moved in precise formations, swords flashing in the sunlight.
Chris leaned closer to the glass, fascinated.
Rodric raised a hand.
The knights froze instantly.
Chris's eyes widened.
Rodric turned slowly, gaze lifting toward the palace windows. For a moment, Chris thought he was looking directly at him.
Then Rodric nodded - just once , and resumed training.
Chris's chest warmed at the acknowledgment.
He saw me, Chris thought.
Behind him, a soft voice spoke.
"You shouldn't lean like that."
Chris turned. Alfred stood there, hands folded behind his back, posture immaculate as ever.
"I won't fall," Chris said automatically.
"That is not what I meant."
Chris straightened. "What does that mean?"
Alfred walked to the window and stood beside him, looking out over the yard.
"When you lean forward, you focus only on what's below you. You miss what's behind."
Chris frowned. "But nothing's behind me."
Alfred's gaze remained outward. "Not yet."
Chris didn't like the way he said that.
"Alfred," he asked after a moment, "do you think Father worries?"
Alfred considered him carefully. "Your father worries constantly."
"Oh."
"He simply does not let it show."Alfred added.
Chris mulled that over. "Do you?"
"Yes."
That answer surprised him.
"About what?"
Alfred finally looked down at him, eyes sharp but not unkind. "About whether you are listening when people tell you to be careful."
Chris grinned. "I always listen."
Alfred raised an eyebrow.
"…Most of the time," Chris amended.
A faint smile ghosted across Alfred's lips. It vanished almost immediately.
"Come," Alfred said. "Your lessons begin soon."
As they walked, Chris glanced back once more at the training yard.
Rodric was sparring now.
Each movement was clean, decisive, controlled. Chris felt a strange ache in his chest watching him, like admiration mixed with something heavier.
He didn't know why.
High above the estate, unseen by those below, the morning mist thinned.
Sunlight warmed stone and steel alike.
And far beyond the mountains, something shifted.
Not a roar.
Not a scream.
Just a pressure.
subtle, patient,testing the strength of a world that did not yet know it was being measured.
Edrian Falkerona's pov :-
Edrian stood alone in the armory.
The room was cold in the way stone always was .
Indifferent and patient.
Racks of weapons lined the walls, each one cleaned and maintained to a standard that bordered on reverence. He had trained here since he was younger than his son Christopher was now.
He knew the weight of every blade without touching them.
He reached for his sword anyway.
The familiar grip settled into his palm like a memory. The weapon did not hum with power, did not blaze or roar. It didn't need to. At the eighth ring, power no longer announced itself.
It waited.
Edrian tested the balance, rolled his wrist once.
Perfect.
That was the problem.
Perfection left no room for excuses.
He sheathed the sword slowly and rested his forehead against the rack, eyes closing for the briefest moment.
Too soon, he thought again.
He had always known this day would come. House Falkerona did not exist without enemies. They stood between things that wanted to pass and people who never knew what almost reached them.
But he had expected more time.
Time for Christopher to grow taller.
Time for his stance to stop wobbling.
Time for his son to learn the difference between watching the world and understanding it.
Edrian exhaled through his nose.
A memory surfaced unbidden: Christopher at five years old, dragging a wooden sword too large for him across the courtyard, insisting he could protect his mother.
Edrian had laughed then.
He wasn't laughing now.
"You'll hate me for this," Edrian murmured to the empty room.
Not for the orders he would give.
Not for the lies he had already told.
But for surviving.
He straightened, composure settling back into place like armor. Whatever came next would not be faced with hesitation. He would not allow fear to make him sloppy.
Fear was for later.
For now, there was only duty.
___
Lyanna Falkerona's pov :-
Lyanna stood in the ritual chamber with her hands submerged in cold water.
The basin glowed faintly, runes along its rim responding to her presence. The chill bit into her skin, grounding her, pulling her thoughts out of the spiral they kept threatening to fall into.
She watched the water ripple with each shallow breath.
He noticed, she thought.
Chris had noticed this morning. The hesitation in her voice. The way she'd touched his hair as if afraid it might vanish beneath her fingers.
She clenched her jaw.
Mothers were not supposed to let children see fear.
But then again, Lyanna had never been just a mother.
She lifted her hands from the basin and flexed her fingers. Mana responded immediately, threads of pale light winding around her wrists like obedient serpents. Seals bloomed in the air.Layered, complex, old.
They were defensive.
Protective.
Desperate.
Lyanna let them dissolve.
She rested her palms against the stone altar and bowed her head.
If it comes, she prayed silently, not to gods' no -
she had never trusted them, but to the principles that governed the world, let him remember warmth.
Not blood.
Not screams.
Not the sound of barriers breaking.
Let Christopher remember mornings after rain.
The way Elis scolded him.
The calm in Alfred's voice.
The weight of Edrian's hand on his shoulder.
Let those memories anchor him.
Her breath hitched, just once.
"I should have held him longer," she whispered.
The chamber did not answer.
Magic never did.
____
Alfred Kaine's pov :-
Alfred Kaine walked the southern corridor and counted his steps.
He had been counting them for years.
Thirty-two from the servants' stair to the third pillar.
Seventeen from the third pillar to the concealed latch.
Five heartbeats to open it if one's hands did not shake.
His hands were steady.
That concerned him.
He stopped before a blank section of wall and rested his fingers against the stone, feeling for the subtle warmth that betrayed hidden mechanisms. The passage responded, silent and obedient.
Still functional.
Good.
He closed it again and continued walking, posture unchanged, expression calm.
Alfred had served House Falkerona long enough to recognize patterns. The tightening of patrols. The way orders became shorter. The way people stopped speaking freely in shared spaces.
Most importantly, the way Edrian had looked at him that morning.
Not as a lord.
As a man asking another man to be ready.
Alfred paused at a window overlooking the outer wall.
Christopher had been on that roof earlier.
The image surfaced unbidden: small legs dangling over a vast drop, eyes wide with wonder instead of fear.
Alfred's jaw tightened.
"I will not fail," he said quietly.
Not aloud.
Not to anyone who might overhear.
To himself.
He did not think of survival. That was a young man's concern. He thought only of execution,of timing, of routes, of how much pain a body could endure before slowing down.
If the order came, he would not hesitate.
Because hesitation was a luxury,Hesitation was defeat.
And Alfred Kaine had outlived every luxury he'd ever allowed himself and he will not be defeated.
____
Chris's pov :-
Chris decided the palace felt too big today.
Not because it had changed because it hadn't.
That was the problem.
The corridors were the same width. The stone under his boots sounded the same when he walked. The windows still let in light the way they always did, bright and clean after the rain. Everything was where it should be.
But it felt like walking through a house that was holding its breath.
Chris slowed near the western gallery, fingers brushing the wall as he walked. The stone was cold, grounding. He counted his steps without realizing it, the way he sometimes did when he felt restless.
One.
Two.
Three-
He stopped.
A knight stood at the end of the corridor, back straight, helmet tucked under his arm. Chris didn't recognize him at first, which was strange. He knew most of them. He made a game of memorizing faces.
The knight noticed him and immediately went to one knee.
"Morning, young lord."
Chris blinked.
"You don't have to do that."
The knight hesitated. "It's… protocol."
Chris frowned. "Rodric doesn't do that."
The knight smiled faintly. "Commander Rodric does many things differently."
Chris nodded, accepting that. Then he asked the question that had been sitting heavy in his chest all morning.
"Are you scared?"
The knight stiffened.
Just for a second.
Then he shook his head. "No."
Chris watched him carefully. Adults always thought children couldn't tell the difference between words and truth.
"That was too fast," Chris said.
The knight laughed, but it sounded wrong. "you should go on now young lord, You might be late."
Chris did go,but slower.
Everyone's lying today, he thought.
That made his stomach hurt.
Later at afternoon , he found Alfred near the inner stairwell, reviewing something on a narrow slate. Alfred looked up the moment Chris entered the space, as if he'd been expecting him.
"Are we lost young master?" Alfred asked.
"No-" Chris shook his head sloppy while frowning. "Just talking a walk"
Alfred set the slate aside. "What are you thinking "About young master?"
Chris hesitaed.
He wasn't sure how to explain it without sounding silly.
"It feels like… when everyone cleans the house really fast," he said slowly, "but no one tells you why."
"That is a very specific feeling," Alfred chuckled slowly.
"I know," Chris replied. "It happens before guests arrive. Or before Father gets angry."
Alfred nodded once. "And which do you think this is?"
Chris folded his arms and made a thinking pose. "I don't think it's guests."
Alfred was quiet for a long moment.
Then he crouched so they were eye level, something he rarely did.
"Chris," he said gently, "if I asked you to do something you didn't understand… would you do it anyway?"
Chris answered without hesitation. "Yes."
Alfred's throat moved.
"Even if it scared you?"
Chris paused.
He thought about the roof.
About the way the wards hummed last night.
About how his mother touched his hair like she might not get another chance.
"…Yes," he said again, quieter.
Alfred nodded, once. Slowly.
"That's all I needed to know."
He stood and placed a hand briefly on Chris's shoulder,not heavy, not lingering, just there.
Chris watched him walk away and had the strangest thought:
That felt like a goodbye.
The thought scared him enough that he shoved it away immediately.
Later, alone in his room, Chris sat on the floor with his back against the bed.
He pulled his knees up and rested his chin on them, staring at the door.
He didn't know what he was waiting for.
A knock.
A shout.
Someone calling his name.
Nothing came.
He glanced at the small mirror propped against the wall and caught his reflection again.
The boy looking back at him had red eyes that were too serious today. Hair too strange to belong to just one person. A face everyone said would be handsome someday, like that mattered.
He raised a hand and pressed it to the glass.
"Stop," he whispered to himself.
The feeling in his chest didn't stop.
If I behave, he thought, suddenly certain, maybe everything will stay the same.
He stood up quickly, determination settling in.
He would listen today.
He would stay where he was told.
He wouldn't climb the roof again.
If that's what it took.
Because ten felt too young for the world to change.
And somewhere deep inside, in a place he didn't yet have words for, Chris already understood something important:
Children didn't survive disasters because they were strong.
They survived because they were kept.
And for the first time in his life, Chris was afraid of what would happen when no one could keep him anymore.
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[A/N make sure to leave your comments and thoughts about anything yu find interesting or anything you might want to say - and yes if you do like the chapter please drop some power stones .]