The silence lingered between them, heavy but no longer suffocating. It pressed at Rowan's chest, yet not with the same weight of dread he had felt upon first entering the chamber. Instead, it seemed as though something invisible was shifting, an unseen balance tilting slowly in his favor.
At last, the king leaned back, his gaze steady upon Rowan. His eyes, piercing yet not cruel, searched for every truth the boy carried, as if measuring the steel hidden behind his quiet posture.
"There is one more thing," Hector said, his tone shifting—less confessional now, more decisive, carrying the weight of command. The kind of voice that left no room for doubt. "You must understand, Rowan. You no longer bear the name of Vexlaar. That house has disowned and exiled you. From this day forward, you are Rowan Ashvall, prince of Nirathal. Of my blood. That is who you are, and who the world will know you as."
Rowan's breath caught, his heart stuttering in his chest. The words struck harder than he expected, like a hammer shattering invisible chains that had bound him for years. For so long he had lived beneath the shadow of the Vexlaar name—a shadow of scorn, whispers, and cruel dismissals. Now, for the first time, he felt something loosen, as though the ground beneath him had shifted. Slowly, deliberately, he nodded, his voice quiet but steady.
"Yes, Uncle. Rowan Ashvall."
The name felt unfamiliar on his tongue, yet strangely right, as though it had always been waiting within him.
For a moment, the king's eyes softened, a faint flicker of pride glimmering there before he straightened again, reclaiming the authority of a ruler.
"I have also heard of your progress," Hector continued, his voice measured. "That you are already at disciple rank at such a young age. Impressive."
Rowan blinked at the unexpected praise, uncertain how to respond. His training had been more survival than discipline, yet here it was being acknowledged. The king's lips curved faintly—almost a smile—before he pressed on.
"In time, you will be given a personal knight-trainer, one worthy of guiding a prince. That will come soon. Also"—his expression sharpened—"you will be turning twelve in less than a year and will go through the Magic Awakening Ritual. You must not ignore it simply because your early tests showed low magic potential. You must not think of skipping it. Miracles have happened before. Early tests are not always true."
Of course, he would not be skipping it. He knew the truth behind his flawed potential test. In fact, he was looking forward to it. He was already known for his low potential—it couldn't get worse than that. He nodded again, firmer this time. "I promise."
"Good." Hector's voice eased, though the edge of command never left it. "From this day forward, you will live in a special residence suited for a prince. Servants will see to your needs, though I expect you to remain disciplined."
The words settled on Rowan like new armor, both heavy and protective. He dipped his head, the weight of it pressing down yet filling him with a strange strength.
After a pause, Hector leaned forward slightly, his gaze narrowing with intent. "Do you have any questions for me?"
Rowan hesitated, then lifted his gaze, his young face steady with quiet resolve. "Uncle… do you truly believe my mother died because of illness? I never even saw her body. What if she was killed?"
The king's expression darkened, his brows drawing together. For a moment, silence ruled the chamber once more, heavy as stone.
"For Vexlaar to kill her would not be difficult," Hector admitted at last, his voice low and grim. "They are known as the cruelest for a reason. But… I do not think they would in this case. She was their hostage. They had no reason to end her life."
Rowan's hands curled into fists on his lap, his knuckles whitening. His voice came steady, though an iron edge ran beneath each word.
"Then I will find out the truth myself, in time. Whether they killed her outright or not, their sins are no less. She was locked in a prison cell because of them. Her illness worsened because of them. She suffered for years… because of them. Either way, her death lies on their hands."
The king studied him in silence, as if weighing the boy's soul on unseen scales. At last, he exhaled, leaning back with a faint heaviness.
"I heard what you said in Vexlaar's court," Hector murmured. "Farris told me. You remind me of my eldest son. Remember this, Rowan: there is a thin line between fearless and reckless. Fearlessness has worth only if you have the power to back your words. Without it, it becomes recklessness—and that can cost you your life."
His tone hardened once more, regaining the authority of a ruler. "If you have no more questions, you may go. An attendant outside will show you to your new residence. Wait for the queen's invitation. She was more eager than I to meet you."
Rowan rose slowly, bowing his head in respect. "Yes, Uncle."
With that, he turned and walked toward the great doors. His steps echoed faintly, carrying him into a future heavier—and yet freer—than the past he left behind.
When the chamber's doors closed, silence reclaimed the hall. The king sat unmoving for a long moment before speaking quietly, his voice carrying into the emptiness.
"Come out."
At his command, a young girl slipped from the shadows, her concealment spell unraveling like mist.
"How many times," Hector sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, "have I told you not to eavesdrop with concealment spells?"
"Come on, Father," she said with a mischievous smile. "I return after more than a year, and this is the first thing you say to me?"
"Well, at least you remember you have a family," Hector replied dryly. "I was beginning to think you'd forgotten us after being accepted into the Crownland's order."
She stepped forward and embraced him tightly, a warmth in the gesture that softened the king's stern features. "You know that's not true. I've just been busy. But look—now I'm here."
The king's hand rested on her shoulder, grounding her. "So what's the occasion?"
"Mother sent me a letter," she said lightly. "Cyrus is joining the Crownlands Academy this year. I came to pick him up… and to visit the family."
"Good. Then make sure you keep an eye on him while he's there. You know his personality."
"Don't worry," she said with a knowing smile.
Then her expression sobered. "Father… do you really think Aunt Elira died of disease?"
Hector's gaze hardened, his voice dropping to a grim register. "No. How can someone die of a simple disease while under Vexlaar's watch? They have all the resources, all the power to keep her alive. A lowly sickness would be the last thing to claim her. But they also had no reason to kill her outright. I am sure they are hiding something."
The girl's lips pressed thin, her eyes clouding. "Poor Rowan. How much he must have suffered… Father, it was the right decision to bring him here. But even so, our own court isn't kind. Politics will swirl around his name. Many won't be happy to see him. And some will try to use him."
The king chuckled dryly, though his eyes glinted with sharpness. "I have already thought about that. And I don't need political advice from someone serving the cunning Crownland. I'll listen when you finally accept being my successor—and the next ruler of Nirathal."
She huffed, folding her arms. "Hmph. I've told you already, I'm not interested. I'm going to see Mother now."
With that, she turned and strode toward the doors, her footsteps echoing lightly before vanishing into the corridor beyond.