The boy's spine is iron, even if they all think it's silver.
Hadrian observed from the far end of the corridor, hidden in the shadow of a towering column carved with scenes of conquest and faith. Cassian's footsteps echoed through the vastness of the Imperial Palace's marble halls, crisp and unfaltering despite the fever haze beginning to cling to his frame. Hadrian saw the faint sheen on Cassian's skin, the slight stagger in his gait—the signs of an impending heat. He narrowed his eyes and hummed, mentally marking the time.
Something was changing. No, something had already begun.
The Empire was shifting, quietly, like a mountain groaning beneath snow. Hadrian had felt it in the locked tension of the guards at the antechamber doors, even Cassian had sensed it. He had seen it in the Emperor's unusual request for a private audience with a border-born heir, in Marshal Orven's sudden mobilization of reconnaissance teams, and in the deliberate traces left behind by the Ashen Coil. But most of all, he saw it in the return of the Caerwyn heir—the butterfly effect no one had predicted.
He moved, silent as a breath of wind, crossing a gallery lined with portraits of dead emperors. All had watched their empire decay in gilded silence. Hadrian, however, had no intention of doing the same.
He turned into another corridor, pausing just long enough to catch a sliver of Cassian disappearing through a door—the meeting with the Emperor had begun. Whatever was said behind those sealed doors would set the tone for what came next.
---
Cassian did not speak of the meeting afterward, but Hadrian read it in the way he carried himself—shoulders tight, gaze faraway. Later that evening, as the palace cloaked itself in golden dusk, Hadrian found him in the east garden balcony. Alone, for once.
The evening wind played with Cassian's silver-blonde hair as he leaned over the balustrade, breathing deeply. He hadn't heard Hadrian approach.
"You stood straighter today," Hadrian said.
Cassian turned, startled but not alarmed. "It was the Emperor. I didn't want to look like I belonged in the garden."
"You didn't. You looked like you belonged at the center of the court."
A faint flush tinged Cassian's cheeks, whether from the fever or something else Hadrian couldn't tell.
"Don't tease," Cassian said, too quietly.
"I'm not." Hadrian tilted his head. "You don't understand the effect you have. Not yet."
Cassian didn't answer right away. His eyes, usually clear, held the weight of old things. "He doesn't favor his son," he said suddenly. "The Emperor. He spoke of his cousin like he were already heir."
"I noticed." Hadrian's gaze didn't shift.
"Do you think it was on purpose? The summons?"
"Yes. You're a test. A tool. Maybe a threat."
Cassian exhaled. "Then I'll be all three.
---
The palace gardens were a quiet kind of opulence—stone paths wound between rose arches and ancient trees that whispered in the breeze. Hadrian walked a few paces behind Cassian, as was his habit when they were in view of others, though his eyes never left the omega's back. Cassian's heat clung faintly to the air—masked well, but not from him. Not now.
A quiet rustle sounded from behind a column of ivy-covered marble. Cassian, distracted and caught in thought, nearly collided with a figure emerging from the shadows.
"Oh—I'm sorry—" Cassian began, then paused, blinking as he took in the stranger.
The young man standing before them was dressed plainly, his imperial crest tucked discreetly at his collar, not worn on display like so many others. His pale blond hair fell loose around his shoulders, and his eyes—a deep violet unlike any Hadrian had seen—flickered with surprise, then curiosity. There was a softness to him, but not weakness. It was something quieter, forged in silence and distance.
"No harm done," the young man said, voice calm but measured. "You're Duke Caerwyn's son."
Cassian straightened instinctively. "Cassian Caerwyn."
"Luceris," he replied simply. He did not offer the weight of his title. "You carry yourself differently than the others from the border."
Cassian's brow furrowed slightly. "I suppose borders teach you to stand firm, even when the ground shifts."
Luceris smiled faintly at that. "Then I hope you continue standing."
There was something odd in the way he said it—like a puzzle laid gently at Cassian's feet. Then his gaze slid sideways, locking momentarily with Hadrian's. He didn't flinch at the strange intensity in the Enigma's eyes. If anything, he inclined his head, as if acknowledging something unsaid.
"I won't keep you," Luceris said, turning. "But... tread carefully, Cassian. Some stones in the garden are not just decorative. They remember."
With that cryptic remark, he walked away, his figure disappearing down the shaded path.
Cassian exhaled slowly. "He seemed... different."
Hadrian watched until Luceris vanished behind the hedge, his expression unreadable. "He is."
---
Later, as he walked back to his quarters, Cassian passed through the corridor leading to the west wing.
Hadrian, watching from the shadows once more, murmured, "They're watching the wrong Caerwyn."
From the rooftops to the marble halls, the Empire's old blood stirred—and Hadrian, whether ghost, spy, or guardian, was ready for the reckoning to come.
---