Ren froze. The names landed heavier than expected. Not because they were unfamiliar. He had heard them before but because of the way the envoy spoke to them. Official. Recorded. As though those names no longer belonged only to his parents, but were entries in a ledger, marked and filed.
His mother's hand tightened subtly on his sleeve. She did not speak.
The envoy's attention returned to Ren. "Ren Calder. You will address the President directly."
The surname struck sharper this time. Calder. He had never thought of it as anything beyond his father's name, their family's anchor. But here, carried into the estate, it sounded like a label already judged.
Yato's voice cut through the pause. "Move. He does not wait long."
They ascended the steps together. Guards lined the entryway, their uniforms plain but threaded with faint mana glow. None carried weapons in sight, but Ren felt the same pressure he had at the gates, like every movement here was measured against unseen criteria.
The envoy led them through a vaulted corridor, the ceiling strung with pale crystal orbs that pulsed in rhythm, imitating a heartbeat. Their steps echoed, too loud in the silence.
Finally, they stopped before a set of tall doors. Not gilded, not ornate. Just dark wood, old, polished by years of touch.
The envoy turned. "Elias Calder. Serenya Calder. You will remain here until summoned. Ren Calder, Magister Yato. You enter first."
Ren's father's expression hardened, but he nodded. His mother crouched slightly, turning Ren toward her, whispering so only he could hear. "Remember who you are. Don't let them see fear."
Her words trembled at the edges, but her gaze held steady.
Ren swallowed, his throat tight. He managed a nod.
Then the envoy pushed the doors open.
Beyond them lay the chamber of the President.
Ren stepped forward.
The chamber was not what Ren expected.
No throne. No banners. No jeweled displays like the rumors claimed. Instead, the room stretched wide but plain, lined with bookshelves and long tables covered in papers, crystal interfaces, and stacks of mana-scribed tablets. The faint scent of ink and old parchment clung to the air, broken only by the sharper tang of mana wards humming in the walls.
At the far end stood a single desk. Behind it, the President.
Ren had only ever seen him on flickering holo-broadcasts. An untouchable figure framed by cameras and words that carried like law. In person, the man looked… smaller. Not frail, but deliberate. His hair was silver at the temples, his suit plain black, sleeves rolled slightly as if work had interrupted his reception. But his eyes… eyes were cold, precise, the kind that saw through numbers, people, lies. Those were sharper than any weapon.
The envoy stopped just inside the chamber, bowing low. "President Arven. The Calders are present."
President Arven set down the slate in his hand, gaze sliding over Yato first, then to Ren. He studied him for a long moment, silent enough that Ren's breath caught.
"You came," Arven said finally. His voice was low, steady, not loud but it filled the space like the walls themselves leaned to carry it. "Good. Sit."
Two chairs waited before the desk. Yato moved first, taking the left with measured calm. Ren followed, legs stiff, lowering himself onto the seat that suddenly felt too small for the weight pressing down on him.
Arven's attention did not leave him. "Ren Calder," he said, the surname again landing like a verdict. "You know who I am. Do you know why you are here?"
Ren opened his mouth, then shut it again. His hands clenched faintly on his knees. "…Because of what happened. At the square. With the—" He faltered. The storm. The thunder. The black sea inside him. Words seemed clumsy.
Arven saved him from finishing. "Because you woke up to the kind of storm that does not wait for permission." He leaned back slightly, fingers steepled. "And because your family has paid the price for far longer than you know."
Ren's breath stilled. "My family…?"
For the first time, the President's gaze softened. Not kind, but weighted with something heavier. He shifted a folder across the desk. A thin stack of old files, stamped with seals Ren did not recognize. He tapped it once with a finger.
"Elias Calder. Serenya Calder," Arven recited. "Not ordinary citizens. Survivors. Shield-bearers. They fled, hid, endured for you. Because once, long before you were old enough to understand, they stood against something they could not defeat. And they paid for it with exile."
Ren's pulse pounded in his ears. He looked at the folder, but did not move to touch it. His parents had never spoken of exile. Never spoken of… anything beyond Zone Five.
Yato broke the silence first, his voice flat. "So you finally speak it aloud."
Arven's eyes flicked to him, then back to Ren. "The time for silence is finished. Ren Calder cannot remain hidden. Not after what he has awakened."
The words pressed into Ren's chest, too heavy, too sharp. Hidden? Exile? His parents had carried this all these years. Without him knowing?
The President's voice lowered. "You are Calder. That name carries debts, and choices. Tonight, you will begin to face them."
Ren's mouth felt dry. He forced himself to whisper, "…What choices?"
Arven leaned forward then, his gaze piercing. "Whether to remain your parents' son or to step into what only you can become."
The room fell silent, save for the faint thrum of wards in the walls.
Ren stared at the desk, at the unopened folder that suddenly felt like it contained the weight of his entire life.
Ren's throat felt dry as stone. The word "exile" still clung to his chest like a nail. His gaze flicked from the President's unreadable eyes to the folder lying on the desk.
Before he could form the question building inside him, the door behind them opened.
Elias and Serenya Calder entered.
Ren's father looked older somehow than he had an hour ago. His shoulders squared but heavy, like he had been waiting years for this walk. His mother's eyes were rimmed with the shadow of tears she refused to shed. They stopped just inside, bowing with slow formality.
"President Arven," Elias said. His voice was rough but steady. "You've chosen the time."
Arven nodded once. "It could not be postponed any longer. He has awakened."
Ren rose half from his seat, words tumbling before thought could catch them. "Awakened? What are you talking about? What exile? You… you've known this all along?!"
Serenya flinched at the sharpness of his voice. Elias only met his gaze with that same iron steadiness.
"Ren," Elias said softly. "We were not from Zone Five. Not at first. We fled there. Hid there. To protect you."
Ren's hands clenched into fists. "Protect me from what?"
Serenya stepped closer, her hand hovering as if to reach for him, but she stopped midway. Her voice was quiet, but every word carried weight. "From the ones who hunted us. From the chains of our name. From the war we could not win."
Arven's eyes flicked to her, then he spoke, as if sealing her words in record.
"Your parents were not refugees of famine, as the neighbors believed. They were combatants, survivors of the Calder Division. That name once stood for defiance. For standing against the first Mage-King's inheritors. When the Division fell, only fragments lived. Elias and Serenya were among them."
Ren's pulse hammered. Calder Division? Mage-King's inheritors? The words twisted in his mind like pieces of a puzzle forced together.