The fire crackled inside the ornate hearth, casting jagged shapes across the stone floor. Zwalter Vasco poured himself a glass of black plum wine, eyes lingering on the flicker of flames like they held prophecy.
His armor was off, but the presence he carried still bent the room around him. Behind him, the heavy doors opened with a soft groan.
The man who stepped in wore a deep maroon cloak, a golden pin glinting near the collar — the crest of House Joshua.
His beard was graying, and his spine slightly bent with age, but his eyes held the clarity of a man who'd survived more than one era of blood-soaked politics.
"Elias Joshua," Zwalter said, not looking back. "I was wondering when you'd crawl out of your cave."
Elias chuckled, removing his gloves. "I suppose even old snakes come to visit the wolves when they start hunting their pups."
Zwalter turned then, eyes gleaming. "Careful. You're in my den now."
They sat across from one another. The tension was familiar—comfortable, even. Like two retired swordsmen meeting for a last drink, pretending the war wasn't always one insult away.
Elias took a long sip before speaking.
"The arranged marriage. Between your boy and our heir."
Zwalter raised an eyebrow.
Elias sighed. "The Senate… they're reconsidering."
Meanwhile, upstairs, in a quiet guest room, Aden listened through the echo-charmed wall rune Rudeus had carved earlier.
Egmund: 'Eavesdropping? Naughty boy. Your uncle would be so proud.'
Aden: 'Shut up. I need to hear this.'
Egmund: 'Pfft. You already sliced up their golden goose. What more do you want, a wedding invite with a bloody ribbon?'
Back in the study, Elias swirled his drink, watching the liquid ripple.
"They saw the arena," he said. "Saw what your heir has become. That boy… is not just a soldier. He's a storm. And our Senate doesn't like marrying into storms. Especially the kind that cut the wind's throat."
Zwalter chuckled, slow and gravel-deep. "Is your house run by you or the senate?."
Elias didn't deny it.
"But I still believe in the union," Elias added. "That alliance was built on legacy. Stability. It would be stupid to abandon it now."
"Then lead your house," Zwalter said, voice sharpening. "Or admit you're just another name under their thumb."
That hit the mark.
Elias stiffened. He set down his glass harder than necessary. "Don't mistake my calm for cowardice, old friend. You should know better."
"Then act like the patriarch," Zwalter said evenly. "Not a mouthpiece."
A long silence.
And then Elias stood, adjusting his cloak. "The fire in your boy's eyes... if your bloodline doesn't devour him, the court surely will. I only hope he lives long enough to decide if power is worth the grave it digs."
Zwalter raised his own glass as a toast. "He'll outlive all your senators."
Upstairs, Aden leaned back against the wall, arms crossed. The shadows of candlelight danced across his face.
Egmund: 'Well, guess your in-laws are thinking of ghosting you. Ouch.'
Aden: 'They're not in-laws. They're pawns.'
Egmund: 'Okay calm down, Sauron.'
Aden: 'If they're smart, they'll keep the alliance. If not…'
Egmund: 'Then you'll cut more than wedding cake. Got it.'
Aden exhaled slowly, gaze drifting toward the window. Outside, the moon sat heavy and full.
"I don't need their heir. I don't need their alliance. I'll carve my name into the Empire with or without them. But it'd be easier if they didn't stand in the way."
Egmund: 'Got it, but what if she's a beauty?.'
And as the old noble left the mansion, the night grew colder—
Not from wind, but from the silence that follows a dying alliance.
A storm didn't need consent.
Only room to grow.