The eastern wing of the Mortani palace was quieter than the rest—its corridors long, lined with tall windows that let in a pale light, reflecting the chill of winter.
Kaizlan walked at a slow pace, the folded note still in his pocket.
He hadn't opened it since morning, but its words lingered in his mind the way dawn's frost lingers at the edge of one's fingers.
From the far end of the corridor, a boy appeared—perhaps a year or two older—wearing a deep blue cloak bearing the crest of House Verik.
His steps were measured, his gaze steady, until his eyes met Kaizlan's.
They stopped for a moment, as though measuring the space between them in words unspoken.
The boy spoke first—polite, yet cold:
"Valryk… I didn't expect to see your family here."
Kaizlan replied evenly:
"We were invited."
The boy repeated the word, as if testing its weight:
"Invited… an interesting choice."
Kaizlan kept his calm.
"And what about your family?"
With quiet confidence, the boy answered:
"We… are never absent."
The words were neither compliment nor insult—something in between.
For a brief moment, the boy's eyes flicked toward Kaizlan's pocket, so quickly it was hard to tell if he had noticed anything. Then he shifted slightly aside to let him pass.
With a smile that barely showed—and never reached his eyes—he said:
"I hope you enjoy your stay."
Kaizlan walked on, but the weight of the encounter stayed with him,
as if the note in his pocket had grown heavier than before.