ESPERSIA, YEAR 1899
"High Oracle, I am sorry for any offense I may have caused you, for I lacked respect earlier due to a failure of my memories—or rather a forgetting of who you are. Perhaps the punch I took was the cause of such carelessness, or maybe it was my preemptive punishment."
Raamiz uttered these words almost the instant his mother was beyond the infirmary doors and out of earshot. It was rare—no, not just rare, but completely out of character—for Raamiz to address someone in such a way. He had no other choice, though. It was a defensive, strategic tactic to maybe regain any potential favor with the High Oracle. After all, she was a woman of extreme influence, even for a boy of Raamiz's of own standing.
The High Oracle turned to Raamiz, her gaze gliding over him as if she were studying the contents of a book. Raamiz met her eyes confidently, forcing a calm mask over the flicker of anxiety and misgivings in his chest.
After a long, quiet inspection, her expression shifted. One eyebrow arched, and the corner of her mouth curved into a glum little smirk.
"Child," she said softly, "your memories could hardly have failed you. They worked just as intended. You are not meant to remember every passing moment in life… that would simply be too much to store. We humans must sometimes shed dead weight. An overburdened mind is a useless one—and I wouldn't be a very good Oracle if I encouraged that, would I?"
She let the words hang for a moment before tilting her head, clearly amused. "After all, you were just this big the last time I saw you." She held her hands apart, mimicking the size of a small child. "Those memories were meant to be gone long ago…
"Though to think," her smirk widened slightly, "when I saw you then, and when I see you now…"
The High Oracle trailed off, her voice fading as if she'd lost the thread—or perhaps simply chose to leave it hanging.
Raamiz waited silently, halting the urge to speak, as he expecting her to finish. She didn't. She only stood there, that faint smirk still on her face, as if daring him to speak first.
Unable to help himself, he took the bait, annoyance flickering across his face.
"What? Do I surprise you or something?"
The High Oracle's smile grew wider as she shook her head slowly.
"No, I wouldn't say I'm surprised," she said, voice warm with a trace of amusement. "Rather, I am… impressed. I had heard stories…but I can see firsthand that you have grown into quite an inquisitive and clever boy, Raamiz."
A faint heat crept into his cheeks before he could stop it.
"…And quite the little orator, too."
The High Oracle let out a soft laugh at her own remark, the sound lightly filling the infirmary with an ease that only made Raamiz more self-conscious. He realized, with a sinking little twist in his stomach, that his attempt at flattery—no, recovery—had been rather dumb. The High Oracle, of course, was far too perceptive for such a simple ploy.
"I've been told that many times," he said lightly, "usually with the added warning that I should shut my mouth for the rest of the conversation."
A small laugh passed between them before a short pause settled in.
"I can tell you that maturing is realizing that sometimes the best response is no response. That is something I am sure you will learn in the future."
Raamiz gave her a puzzled look but, perhaps learning on cue, chose not to respond.
The Oracle's smile widened just a little. "So," she said, leaning back, "judging by how hard you're trying to butter me up, I'm guessing you've got questions, child."
It was really that obvious? Well, might as well push onward and try to get some information.
"Well, yes, there is something I want to ask High—"
"There is no need to be so formal," she interrupted, her tone smooth and gentle. "Simply refer to me by name."
Raamiz swallowed hard. The High Oracle carried herself with the utmost casual ease—especially for someone of her standing. Yet her casual nature did nothing to calm his nerves. If anything, it only made him more uneasy.
It was always the casually confident types that unsettled him the most—those who needed no reminders of their power, who lived in a world where assurance was unnecessary. The High Oracle didn't need to be told who she was. She knew.
"Alright… so, Calvessa, I'll get right to the point. Why are you here?"
The words came out blunt, and he knew they were blunt. In another setting, someone might have called the question rude. But Raamiz doubted that would be the case here.
Though the Oracle did develop a particular look on her face.
"What an odd question, child. I am here because of you, of course."
Raamiz narrowed his eyes.
"Well, to be more precise, I am here for your brother as well." She glanced at Zeliot, still unconscious in the cot beside him. "The pair of you were gravely injured, and so my services were required to heal you." A faint smile touched her lips.
Raamiz added a frown. She's playing dumb, he thought.
It made no sense for someone of her standing to travel all this way just for a simple healing, even for the Duke's children. The High Oracle resided in the Holy City of Eryndral, far from the estate, and waiting for her to arrive would have been a dangerous gamble for their health. After all, the estate healers and priests likely had everything under control, and summoning the literal head of the church would only add unnecessary risk.
No one would take that chance unless—
Wait… if that's the case…
"You were already in the area because you're needed at the Prose Summit, aren't you?"
High Oracle Calvessa raised her eyebrows ever so slightly. Raamiz took that he was on the right track and pressed forward.
"And since you were already nearby for the Summit, Father must have asked you to come—to make sure nothing was left to chance."
Calvessa gave a small smirk, which Raamiz took as confirmation that he was right.
"Very impressive," she said. "You're clever, just as I said. Though… you are wrong about one thing. Your father is not the one who requested me."
Raamiz's brows furrowed.
Not Father? Then who…?
Who else could even have the authority to summon her?
Before he could ask, the infirmary doors swung open with a sudden bang. An estate guard stumbled in, slightly out of breath. The High Oracle turned her gaze on him, her expression shifting to a cold, silent glare that froze the man in place.
The two priests who had been standing quietly against the wall moved toward him, one stepping forward with a frown.
"You had better have a good reason to enter with such commotion," the priest said sharply.
The guard dropped to a bow.
"My apologies. But the High Oracle is urgently needed."
Calvessa exhaled softly, a small, knowing sigh.
"Is it the Duke?"
The guard nodded with almost comical enthusiasm.
"Yes, Your Eminence. I have been told to immediately guide you to where he awaits."
"He's always been such an impatient man."
Raamiz blinked between them before speaking, realizing he had been completely left out of the conversation.
"What about me?"
The guard jerked his head toward him, clearly startled, and dropped into another hasty bow.
"Oh—Lord Raamiz! I… I didn't realize you were awake. The Duke gave no instructions about you, so I—"
"I am sure it will be fine if he accompanies us," Calvessa interrupted, completely unbothered. "After all, I imagine much of this meeting will concern him."
The guard hesitated, then nodded quickly.
"Of course, my lady. If that is your wish, Lord Raamiz is welcome to come."
Raamiz tilted his head toward the Oracle, confused.
How did she even know I wanted to listen in? Also, she's done me a favor twice now—first with my mother, and now this. Does she… like me, or something?
They set off through the estate in silence. Raamiz followed a step behind Calvessa and the guard, climbing one flight of stairs, then another. His mind wandered the entire way, circling back to her earlier words.
The meeting will be about me, she'd said. What could that even mean?
By the time they reached the top landing, realization settled over him—they were heading toward the Duke's war room. Despite the name, it was rarely used for planning battles. Most of the time, it served as the Duke's meeting chamber, reserved for serious discussions with nobles, envoys, and other important figures.
Two guards stood at the double doors, spears in hand. At the party's approach, they straightened, then stepped aside in perfect unison. Both men gave a brief bow before pulling the heavy doors open.
The trio entered the chamber.
A long table of dark oak dominated the center, its surface polished to a muted sheen and flanked by high-backed chairs bearing the Valoria crest. Maps and sealed documents lay scattered across it, alongside a few untouched goblets of wine.
There were four people inside.
At the head of the table stood Duke Valoria, one hand braced on the oak surface, the other holding a folded letter he hadn't bothered to seal. His eyes flicked to the doorway the instant the hinges creaked. Duchess Amelia stood just beside him, her gloved hands resting lightly against the table's edge. The pair seemed to be engaging in an intense conversation, and the arrival of the new guests only paused it temporarily.
Off to the right, two noblemen stood close together, speaking in low voices. Raamiz recognized them—though only vaguely, in the way that he often saw them but rarely ever interacted with them. Having said this, he knew they were important, and that their current presence here brought along interesting implications.
Lord Halveth, the Duke's treasury advisor, was a short, stocky man with a small cap perched on his head and a monocle over one eye. His face might have been incessantly plain if not for the large, bushy mustache that dominated his upper lip. He held a scroll tube loosely in one hand, tapping it against his other palm as he listened.
Beside him stood Lord Cindral, the Duke's chief military strategist. He was tall and lanky, with neatly combed black hair. From first glance, he would seem like the sort of man you wouldn't expect to have seen many battles, at least until your eyes caught the scar cutting beneath his right eye. One hand rested on the pommel of the sword at his hip as he leaned slightly toward Halveth, murmuring something Raamiz couldn't hear.
To Raamiz's surprise, his own mother was not among the company present in the room.
A chain of questions flickered through his mind at the realization, but he pushed them aside. Dwelling on her absence would be useless, especially since there were far more important matters on hand.
Duke Valoria finished whatever he was saying to Amelia before finally turning his attention to the newcomers. His gaze went to Calvessa first—acknowledgment with the smallest dip of his head—then it slid past her and caught on me.
He paused.
"I am beyond happy to see you on your feet already, Raamiz. Thank the Gods—it seems the blessings have worked wonders." He cast a brief side glance toward the High Oracle. "Still, I thought you'd be in the infirmary… which, for now, would probably be for the best," he said, mildly surprised.
"I thought you might say that, Kaelor," Calvessa replied smoothly, sparing me the need to speak. "But in my opinion, he needs to be here. It makes this whole matter far simpler—though I know that isn't to everyone's benefit."
As she spoke the last line, her gaze cut deliberately toward Amelia. Raamiz was certain the other members of the room noticed, but if Amelia had, she gave no sign beyond a small, polite smile.
The Duke didn't take it so pleasantly. His jaw tightened, like he might object—but to Raamiz's surprise, he didn't. A short breath left his nose instead, and he turned back toward the table.
"While your provocations are certainly… appreciated, High Oracle," he said, his voice carrying a faint note of wry humor, "for now, I would hope you leave them at the door."
Calvessa rolled her eyes, but said nothing.
"Regardless," the Duke went on, "if you believe Raamiz's presence here serves a greater purpose, and he is physically able, then I will defer to your judgment."
For a moment, the room settled into a solitary silence. In this brief moment, Raamiz's eyes started to drift, and caught onto Lord Cindral. The 'Strategist' as he was often nicknamed, saw Raamiz's eyes with a sideglance, and his thin, sharp face split into an easy grin.
"Glad to see you alive and breathing, boy," he said with a little chuckle. "If I had a coin for every time I had to get your father out of trouble at your age…"
"Cindral," Father said with a low warning in his tone.
The strategist only lifted a hand, still grinning.
"Just trying to lighten the mood. Honestly, I prefer Indra's potential heirs walking and talking—that's a bit of a pride point for me."
Raamiz liked him immediately. He seemed like the kind of man who would grin with a knife at his throat—until the grin slipped, and the room realized how dangerous he really was. Now that he thought about it, Raamiz recalled hearing in passing that only Duchess Amelia had ever beaten him at chess among the nobility – they didn't call him the 'Strategist' for no reason.
Lord Halveth, standing just beside him, was a stark contrast. He only gave Raamiz a polite nod and adjusted his monocle, saying nothing at first. His rounder frame and reserved demeanor made him seem almost harmless—but Raamiz knew better. Halveth was a numbers man through and through, and numbers could be just as deadly as swords in the wrong hands.
"It is good to see you awake, Lord Raamiz," Halveth said finally. "The estate has already run the tallies for last night's damage. You and your brothers recovery, of course, being the most important figure among them."
Raamiz wasn't entirely sure if that was meant to be comforting, but he gave a small nod anyway.
He realized, with mild amusement, that everyone had spoken and somehow he'd managed to keep quiet longer than usual. For him, that was an accomplishment. But he was done with that now.
"So… why is everyone here?" he asked. "Is this all because of what happened last night?"
"Why, of course," Amelia said lightly. "A member of the Valorian family being attacked within his own home is not a small matter, Raamiz. We must consider —"
"—the implications," Halveth finished, nudging his monocle higher as he stepped closer to the table.
"If word spreads before the Summit, the other houses may see it as weakness. House Corvane is already pressing along the trade routes, and House Rennoc will seize any excuse to question the Duke's security. One rumor in the wrong ear, and the ledgers will show it first—shipments delayed, merchants hesitant, coin bleeding before we even—"
"Enough."
The Duke's voice cut through Halveth's rambled words like a drawn blade. Silence fell instantly.
"My sons' lives have been put under threat not once," he said, his voice rising with each word, "but twice in the last three moons. It is the greatest insult a Duke—and a father—can face."
Insult? Raamiz thought bitterly. Of course it's about pride. Gods forbid our safety matter more than his ego.
His fist struck the table with a dull thud, rattling the goblets.
"And that is why we are here. I will hear no more talk of the 'implications' of this attack. Not today."
Lord Halveth's shoulders stiffened, and he dipped his head. "My apologies, my lord."
Raamiz gave a small shrug, then crossed the room and let himself drop into the nearest chair, stretching his legs out like he owned the place.
"Well," he said, leaning back into the seat, "it's good to know you care about me a little, Father."
Lord Cindral's low chuckle slipped out immediately.
The Duke's head turned, his stare sharp enough to cut the sound off.
Taking this as her cue, Amelia glided a step closer, her voice soft but carrying.
"Raamiz, we care for you deeply. To me, you are as my own flesh and blood—an inseparable part of the Valorian family and its pride. And now, with it plain that someone means to threaten your life or Zeliot's, we must decide our next steps. Our defenses must be tightened… and you boys kept under closer watch."
Raamiz's faint smile vanished with an accompanying snort. He didn't like where this was going.
"Weren't we already on heightened alert after the suspected attack on Zeliot months ago? What good did that do?"
The moment the words left his mouth, he regretted them.
The Duke's eyes narrowed, his voice dropping to a slow, intimidating cadence.
"And how," he said, "did you know about that?"
Raamiz froze.
Gods, I really don't know when to shut up,
Suddenly Calvessa's voice echoed in Raamiz's mind: "Maturing is realizing when the best response is no response."
I was just told that piece of advice and I'm already failing the lesson before lunch. Well, looks like I'll have to get through this the old fashioned way: talk some more.
He opened his mouth, ready to present a customary bluff—but then another voice echoed in his head. Zeliot's.
"Do not ever try to lie to Father. Ever."
Shit! I forgot he said that!
But why? What did he mean?
What am I supposed to do?
Should I just lie anyways? What's going to happen if I do?
His thoughts tangled, panic rising like a tide. Sweat prickled at his brow, and for a moment, it felt like the room had shrunk around him.
"Raamiz."
The Duke's voice cut through the noise in his head.
"Answer me."