The wind howled across the ramparts of the Caerwyn stronghold, trailing ice along the ancient stone. Cassian stood in silence as the gates opened, revealing the courtyard of his ancestral home. Knights in silver and ash stepped forward in perfect formation, saluting their heir, but their eyes were tired. The border had always carried its burden in silence.
He dismounted with practiced grace, his cloak billowing behind him. Ilyas and Veryron disembarked behind him while the remaining party continued toward their own postings. From the keep's great doors emerged a lean figure clad in battle-worn plate—Leontius.
"Cassian," his voice was clipped.
"Leontius," Cassian replied, bowing slightly.
The greeting lacked warmth. Leontius' golden hair, neatly braided, was a stark contrast to the perpetual storm in Cassian's eyes. The air between them was thick with unspoken memory.
"The Duke awaits you in the war hall," Leontius said, turning sharply without waiting. Cassian followed.
---
Inside the keep, firelight danced along the walls. Servants murmured welcomes. At the top of the marble stair stood the Duchess—tall, elegant, with pale green eyes that watched Cassian like a hawk.
"How our prodigal heir returns," she said, lips curving in a smile that never reached her eyes.
Cassian bowed with stiff courtesy. "Duchess."
She leaned in, voice low. "You should be careful what shadows you invite, dear Cassian. This house has little tolerance left."
Before he could reply, she vanished into one of the side halls.
---
The war hall had changed little. The great map of the Empire still stretched across the central table. The Duke—graying and thinned by time—stood at its edge, fingers steepled.
"Cassian," he said, softer than expected.
"Father."
The meeting began. Cassian recounted their findings in Old Virelynn. The room grew cold as he described the Moribrae and the strange altar. Older knights muttered prayers. Leontius leaned against a pillar, watching.
"And you believe the Ashen Coil is responsible?" one councilman asked.
"The evidence points that way," Cassian replied.
"Then we may be at war again," murmured the Duke. "The Coil has long been a shadow. We must act."
Cassian nodded. "We need coordination between the border families. House Aestis has grown bold."
"Aestis," Leontius repeated, voice sharp. "Do you mean to provoke a noble house without the Emperor's sanction?"
Cassian turned, eyes cool. "I mean to protect our borders."
The Duke raised a hand. "Enough. We will consult with the others. For now, caution."
---
Later, Cassian stood on the battlements, wind tugging at his cloak. Leontius joined him, silent.
"You resent me," Cassian said finally.
Leontius's jaw tightened. "I obey our father's will. Nothing more."
"You think I'm unworthy."
"I think you are... different. You don't see war as we do. You think in shades."
Cassian smiled bitterly. "And you see only the sword."
Leontius hesitated. "I was raised to protect. Not lead. You were chosen. Not me. That is the truth. But don't expect my loyalty unless you earn it."
Cassian nodded, accepting the words. "Then we begin here."
---
A squire approached with a sealed letter bearing the imperial crest. Cassian broke it open. His eyes narrowed as he read.
"What is it?" Leontius asked.
Cassian folded the letter. "The Empire wants a report. And something more. We leave at dawn."
Far beyond the Caerwyn walls, in the snow-laced peaks, a shadowed figure looked down at the border with pale eyes—watching.