Lares stepped out of the workshop into the cool mountain air.
In the distance, hoofbeats could be heard.
Fast. Urgent.
A moment later, Sebastian came riding toward them on horseback. That alone surprised Lares—Sebastian was not easily shaken, and he rarely hurried without reason.
Then he saw who was riding behind him.
An older man with white hair.
Golden eyes.
Sitting upright in the saddle despite his age.
Dressed in fine, clean clothes that set him apart from everyone else at once.
Tristan.
It seemed Sebastian had tried to stop him. Or at least to warn him. But the old king could not be shaken off. He had stayed close behind him the entire way.
Even from a distance, his voice carried across the wind.
"You insensitive grandson!" Tristan shouted. "What do you think you're doing, acting like the king already when your father isn't even in the ground yet?!"
Some of the workers flinched.
Lares, however, had to hold back a laugh.
Sebastian looked as if he had tried everything to keep him away—and failed. No one could handle Tristan once he had made up his mind. The old man had a sharp tongue, and everyone knew it.
"And you haven't even gone to see your grandmother!" Tristan continued. "Or me!"
Lares let out a quiet sigh, though a small smile still lingered.
He gave Sebastian credit for trying to shield him. But he also knew his grandfather was right.
As much as he saw his father as a stain on the family…
He was still his father.
And he deserved at least a final farewell.
And his grandmother…
Ysolde had always been there for him. Especially back then, when his mother had left them far too early. She had been the one who caught him when he fell.
Slowly, the smile faded from his face.
"I'll come back with you," he said quietly, before Tristan had even dismounted.
"Hm," the old man grunted. "That's what I expected. After all, I raised my grandson properly."
There was a hint of pride in his voice, even though he tried to sound stern.
But before they could say anything more, Garett and Zaun came rushing out of the workshop.
"Wait, young lord!" Zaun called.
Lares turned back to them.
"We understand your idea now," Garett said. "But what exactly are we supposed to build here? What's the first step?"
Lares glanced over the grounds.
The old buildings.
The broken forge.
The empty halls.
Then he gave a small shrug.
"By tomorrow morning, you'll have twenty ideas," he said calmly. "But if you ask me…"
He gestured across the area.
"A large foundry. Something for cooling. Bigger workshops where research can be done. New storage houses. And much more."
The two masters nodded slowly.
"I'll be gone for about three days," Lares continued. "During that time, build whatever you can."
His tone became more practical again.
"You'll get two meals a day. Tonight, it will just be bread and water. We don't yet know how many people we really have here."
He paused briefly.
"Once we know, we can plan. How much food we need. How to finance it."
He looked at them firmly.
"Think carefully about what we can bring to market quickly. Things that can be sold. The more money comes in, the more food and wages we can distribute."
A short nod.
"In the end, everyone benefits."
Lares stepped closer to his grandfather. At the same time, he reached out his hand to mount the horse.
Tristan studied him for a moment.
"Are you focused, boy?" he asked seriously.
Not that the clumsy fool gets trampled by his own horse, he thought to himself.
He waited.
Only when he saw that Lares was truly present—his mind steady and clear—did he take his hand and pull him up with a firm motion. Even then, he didn't let go immediately. He held him for a moment longer, like someone helping a beginner onto a horse for the first time.
With Lares, everything could seem calm one moment…
And the next, his thoughts would drift somewhere far away.
Over the years, Tristan had grown used to watching over him. The boy had stumbled too often, lost himself in thought too many times.
But today was different.
More alert.
Clearer.
Maybe because he had only one goal left before him.
Or because he no longer wanted to think.
Too much anger.
Too much frustration.
And the relief that it was finally over.
The years with his father had left their marks. Tristan knew that all too well. He had seen how far the reputation of their house had fallen. How other lands spoke of them. How even their own barons whispered behind closed doors.
Often, he had wondered what he had done wrong.
But when he looked at his grandson now…
And remembered how this boy could move an entire people in the next moment…
That frustration faded.
He turned his head slightly and allowed himself a quiet smile.
His wife.
And his daughter-in-law.
They had brought something special into this family.
And this boy was the proof of it.
With an unfamiliar sense of anticipation, Tristan looked toward the future.
Sebastian followed a short distance behind them. He seemed tense, even though he tried to hide it.
He was glad that Tristan, loud and wild as he could be, was soft as warm butter when it came to Lares. He scolded, yes. Sometimes he lectured like a strict teacher. But never out of cruelty.
Lares' father and grandfather had been much harsher in their own ways, even if they were no longer supposed to hold much influence.
And yet…
In some strange way, it was still a large family.
Sebastian glanced over at Lares.
He would protect him. Always.
Like a younger brother.
Lares himself let his gaze move calmly over the roads as they rode back toward the city.
So much had to change.
So much still lay in darkness.
But he would bring light.
He would give this city windows.
Streets, smooth and strong, that would last for centuries without magic.
Buildings of stone and glass.
In his mind, he could already see what the city would look like one day.
Visible from afar.
Full of life.
Full of culture.
Beautiful in a way magic alone could never create.
Today, he would say farewell.
To his father.
To his old self.
To a past that would never return.
And then he would step into a future he would create with his own hands.