The private dining hall of the Slatemark Palace remained an oasis of warmth as the evening settled over the capital. High, narrow windows of enchanted glass stood open to the gardens, inviting the scent of blooming night jasmine to drift over the table. The silver chandeliers provided a steady, soft glow that caught the intricate carvings of white oak. There was no overwhelming pressure of power here. Instead, there was only the comfortable, domestic noise of a family sharing a meal.
Alaric was in the midst of a story about a sparring match he had witnessed earlier that afternoon. He gestured animatedly with a silver fork, describing a particularly clumsy parry from a junior knight. Elena sat across from him, her expression one of amused tolerance as she focused on peeling a sun fruit with a small silver knife. The fruit was ripe, its translucent flesh nearly glowing under the light.
"The poor man looked as though he were trying to dance with a bear rather than defend a position," Alaric said, letting out a short, genuine laugh. He looked over at Julius, his eyes bright with affection. "You should have been there, Julius. I suspect you would have found the structural flaws in his footwork within the first five seconds. It took the instructor ten minutes just to realize the man's center of gravity was leaning three inches too far to the left."
Julius took a small, measured bite of the honey glazed boar, the sweetness of the glaze balancing the savory depth of the meat. He noticed a slight smudge of ink on Elena's thumb, a sign she had been deep in her magical research before dinner. He smiled, his expression perfectly warm and attentive.
"Master Vane has always been a bit more focused on the spirit of the fight than the geometry of it, Alaric," Julius said, his voice smooth and carrying a genuine lilt. "Though I imagine Elena would have been even more bothered by it than I was. I saw the gravity well formula she was working on this morning. The level of precision required for that makes a knight's footwork look like child's play."
Elena's eyes brightened, and she offered a small, appreciative nod. "Master Vane's methods are certainly traditional. But as Julius says, they lack the mathematical rigor that defines a true practitioner. I saw those recruits in the infirmary today. They tried to use Mind Aspect reinforcement to compensate for a complete lack of physical conditioning. It is the perennial curse of our academy; everyone wants to be a scholar before they know how to stand still."
Julius played his part with a mastery that felt as natural as breathing. He was present, he was charming, and he made each of his siblings feel as though their interests were the most compelling topics in the world. He was a thirteen year old who understood the social architecture of his family better than the architects who had built the palace.
The King sat at the head of the table, silent and observant. He looked merely like a father who was enjoying the sight of his children together. He did not speak much as the main course was cleared and replaced with small bowls of chilled lavender cream. Only when the servants had retreated to the far corners of the hall did he set his silver spoon aside and lean back in his chair.
"The scouts from the eastern border sent their final report this afternoon," the King said. His voice was quiet, but it carried a sudden, anchoring weight that immediately pulled the attention of the room toward him.
The casual atmosphere shifted. Alaric straightened his back, his golden eyes sharpening. Elena's playful expression settled into something more analytical.
"They have reached the high plains," the King continued. "The Namgung family is not coming by sea. They have chosen the land route through the Neutral Territories, traveling in heavy, black iron carriages drawn by their iron scaled drakes. They intend to be at the gates of Avalon by the first light of the next festival day."
"The land route," Alaric mused, a frown creasing his brow. "That is a long journey for a diplomatic visit. Traveling through the Neutral Territories with drakes is a statement. They are showing the world that they can move an army across half the continent without anyone daring to stop them."
"They are the most powerful family in the Eastern Continent for a reason," the King noted. "The delegation is led by the Namgung Elder himself, and he has brought several of their most promising youth. This is a formal martial exchange, the first in over fifty years."
Julius sat perfectly still. For the first time in his memory, the three stars in his chest did not rotate in their usual, glassy harmony. One of them, the star anchored near his solar plexus, gave a single, sharp pulse. It was not a pulse of fear. It was a spark of recognition, as if his mana had sensed a vibration it did not recognize.
"The Namgung," Julius whispered, the name feeling heavy on his tongue.
He had read the vague texts on the Meridian system. He knew the rumors that they had abandoned the Mind Aspect entirely in favor of raw, physical instinct. He had dismissed it as an interesting but incomplete evolution. Yet, hearing that they were finally coming, his intellectual detachment flickered. The stillness he had felt in the palace all afternoon suddenly seemed brittle.
"I hear their youth are known for a technique that creates a localized rupturing of the air," Alaric said, his voice rising with a suppressed excitement. "They do not just hit you; they make the space around you collapse through pure physical pressure. It sounds like a barbaric amount of fun to see in person."
"Fun is one word for it," the King said. He looked at Julius, his expression turning into one of sobering intensity. "Julius, you have spent your life studying the beauty of our Star System. You understand the math and the spirit of our peace. But do not mistake the Namgung for a museum piece. They live in the East. They have spent centuries in a meat grinder, fighting demonic incursions. They abandoned the Mind Aspect because it was too slow for the reality of their survival. You cannot calculate the intersection of a mana circle when a demon is three inches from your throat. They chose to work with instincts because instincts are faster than maths."
Julius watched his father's silhouette against the moonlight. He felt the internal pulse again, stronger this time. The hunger he had felt in the garden, that unnamed desire for friction, was no longer a vague shadow. It was a physical heat.
"Father," Julius asked, his voice steady despite the thrumming in his chest. "If they have truly let the Mind Aspect die out, how do they bridge the gap? We are taught that the mind provides the structure for the body's strength. Without it, how do they stop their own power from tearing them apart?"
The King's expression softened slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing his face at the genuine curiosity in his son's voice. "They don't stop it, Julius. They endure it. It is not a symphony. It is a hammer. They have forged their bodies to be the circle and the spell simultaneously."
Julius went silent, absorbing the weight of the words. The idea of a system that discarded the very foundations of Slatemark's logic was fascinating. It was a challenge to the "perfect" world he knew.
The meal ended shortly after. Alaric and Elena were already discussing the potential matchups in the training circles, their competitive spirits ignited. Julius offered his goodnights with his usual charm, but as he walked back to his private wing, his pace was faster than usual. His red eyes were not tracking the familiar luxury of the halls. They were fixed on the internal map of his own stars.
He reached his room and dismissed his maid with a short, polite nod. He did not want the bath or the sun fruits. He walked to his balcony and looked toward the eastern horizon, hidden by the night and the distant mountains.
For years, Julius had felt like he was playing a game with the world that he had already won. Every person he met, every spell he studied, and every star he purified was a known quantity. He was the golden prince of a gilded world, and he was bored of the perfection.
He pressed a hand to his chest, feeling the three stars. They were dense, purified to a level that made the air around him feel thin. But they were restless. The news of the Namgung had not just added a new variable to the board; it had threatened the board itself.
He thought about the iron scaled drakes and the black iron carriages. He thought about warriors who did not use math, who did not care for the art of the Central Continent, and who lived in a world of constant, bloody impact.
"A hammer," Julius whispered to the night air.
He felt a genuine smile pull at his lips. It was not the warm, social smile he gave to the students or his mother. It was sharp, thin, and filled with a sudden, predatory interest. The air in the palace was still, but for the first time in his life, Julius felt like he was finally starting to breathe.