Frosthold had always carried a rhythm. Boots in the courtyard, clatter in the kitchens, the low murmur of merchants and messengers at the gates. But today that rhythm felt… off. Conversations cut short when Aric passed. Eyes lingered a little too long, a little too curious.
In the corridor outside the kitchens, he caught two maids bent over a tray of clean cups.
"…failed to awaken," one whispered."Careful. You don't know who might hear.""Well, everyone's already saying it. Winterford won't stay quiet for long."
Aric tightened his hands into fists and walked past without a word. The silence that followed him was worse than the whispering.
[Well, aren't you popular, Host? Word spreads faster than spilled wine. And just as messy.]
He didn't move his lips this time. You can hear me thinking?
[Finally. Welcome to the club. Took you long enough to realize you don't have to mutter at walls.]
Aric almost smiled. You could've told me sooner.
[And rob you of that awkward phase? Never.]
That evening, Aric paused by his father's study. The door hadn't latched properly, and voices carried through the crack.
Elara's voice dropped lower. "By morning, everyone in Winterford will know. And then Highglade. The Veylins may not say it outright, but they'll be thinking it—our line is weakening."
Cedric's jaw tightened. He stared into the fire, the flicker of light carving sharp lines across his face."Then we make sure that's all they do—think. No rumors spreading beyond the servants' hall. No slip of the tongue in Winterford's market. If House Frost looks divided now, we'll have more than gossip to contend with. We'll have rivals testing just how strong we still are."
Bran's gravel voice cut in. "Then we tighten the patrols. Keep the roads clear, make sure everyone knows Frosthold's still sharp."
Aric backed away, his chest tight. They weren't cruel, but he heard it all the same: his failure had shaken more than just himself.
[Well, that was cheerful. Nothing like eavesdropping on your parents plotting damage control. Ten out of ten, Host. Would recommend.]
Shut up.
[Oh, don't sulk. At least now you know: you're a chess piece on the board. A slightly embarrassing piece, but still.]
At dinner, the air felt heavier than the food. Cedric's silence was louder than words. Elara spoke of grain counts and travel routes, smoothing the edges where she could.
Edrin glanced at Aric once, then back at his plate, muttering, "Could've gone worse."
Lyanna, bless her, beamed at him. "Aric still beats me at riddles. Class or no class, he's the cleverest one." She nudged her roll toward him like a peace offering.
A faint smile tugged at his lips.
[Awkward family dinner, my favorite genre. Eat the roll, Host. It's symbolic. Or maybe just bread. Hard to tell.]
Later, in the corridor, Serina stood waiting with her arms crossed.
"You didn't eat enough," she said.
"I ate plenty."
"Not enough for training. Not enough for today." Her tone softened. "Don't let their whispers break you. They don't know you like I do."
Aric blinked. "And how do you know me?"
"Because I've watched you," she said simply. "You keep getting back up. Always. That's worth more than a class."
He swallowed hard, then nodded. "Then I'll just have to prove you right."
[Keeper. Absolute keeper. Marry her when you're older. You're welcome.]
Aric's ears burned. Shut. Up.
That night, he lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling. The day's voices pressed in on him—servants, parents, Bran, Serina, even Lyanna's little defense.
The System's voice came again, softer this time.
[You've got a mountain to climb, Host. But you're not climbing it alone. Not anymore.]
Aric closed his eyes. For the first time since the ceremony, he didn't feel like he was drowning. The whispers still stung, but under it all, resolve hardened. Tomorrow, he would train. Tomorrow, he would learn. Tomorrow, he would start proving them wrong.
And in the back of his mind, the System purred, smug and patient.