Ten minutes later, Arin and Karl were still staring at each other.
The only real change was that the bloodlust rolling off Arin had gradually faded, sinking back beneath the surface like a tide retreating into dark waters. The pressure in the tent lessened, though the tension did not. That remained sharp enough to cut.
Karl calmly finished the last sip of his tea, set the cup aside, and finally broke the silence.
"Have you calmed down?" he asked. "If so, sit. We need to discuss the mission and the meeting. We leave in two hours."
His tone was smooth, almost casual, as if they had not just spent ten full minutes in a battle of wills.
He glanced at the sand clock resting beside him. It was beautifully crafted, polished wood and carved glass, more decorative than practical at first glance. Yet in this age, it was more reliable than most modern devices. Mechanical clocks broke too quickly now. Precision gears warped under mana exposure, became brittle, or simply stopped functioning. Sundials were no better, since even the sun no longer rose in perfectly consistent patterns.
So humanity had gone backward.
And in many cases, backward worked better.
"The mission went well," Arin said flatly. "I assume you've read the report."
He did not sit.
"As for the meeting, I'm not going."
His eyes narrowed.
"I'm exhausted. My social battery is dead. And no one informed me beforehand."
The venom in his voice was unmistakable.
Karl had expected resistance. Arin was usually easygoing. Most of the younger generation were. They grumbled, complained a little, then followed along. But Arin was different in one important regard.
When he truly disliked something, everyone knew it.
And changing his mind became a war of attrition.
"Yes," Karl said evenly. "Your father and I discussed what your mission's success means for the family. We decided to call a meeting with several trade families."
He folded his hands together.
"And as part of those discussions, it is important to bring a talented member of the younger generation."
A faint smile touched his lips.
"So naturally, we chose you."
There was pride in his expression.
Their family was unusually close-knit, with little of the infighting common elsewhere. There were no sons scheming against fathers, no cousins poisoning one another for inheritance. The only real competition left among the older generation was bragging about grandchildren.
And at the moment, Karl was winning.
Arin's expression did not soften in the slightest.
"First," he said, "I have a lot of questions."
He took one step forward.
"Second, if you wanted talent, take my brother. Or Jamie. He's fifteen and already shoots better than me. He hides just as well, too."
He crossed his arms.
"So take them. Because if I go, I'll shoot every smug younger heir in the head and save everyone the trouble of pretending to be impressed."
Karl nearly lost control of his expression.
His lip twitched.
It was difficult to maintain a patriarch's dignity when your grandson was threatening mass murder over a social obligation.
The absurdity was only made worse by the fact that Arin was exaggerating far less than most people would assume.
Many adults in the clan were not as skilled with bow or stealth as Arin. Among the younger generation, true rivals were rare. And the meeting itself carried implications. Everyone attending would understand that the youth brought forward represented future leadership.
Arin, in other words, was being displayed as a likely successor.
Karl had no intention of telling him that.
If he did, he suspected he would blink once and find only an empty chair where his grandson had been sitting.
His eyes shifted.
He noticed Arin scanning the tent.
Door flap.
Rear partition.
Vent slit.
Support poles.
Escape routes.
"Don't even think about it," Karl said dryly. "You won't make it three steps before being dragged back."
Arin visibly deflated.
"I know," he muttered. "But you can't blame a man for trying."
The moment he had entered the tent, the trap had already closed.
From the dim edges of the room, several elders stepped quietly into view. They had been standing still enough to vanish into shadow. Now they casually blocked every possible exit.
Arin stared at them.
Then at Karl.
Then back at the elders.
"…This family has trust issues."
"You are coming with me," Karl said. "Whether you like it or not."
He leaned back.
"And if you attempt anything troublesome, I will tell your mother that you refuse to respect your elders and reject healthy social interaction."
His smile turned dangerous.
"Let us see how she handles that."
A chill ran down Arin's spine.
That was low.
The women who remained with the clan were not people one crossed lightly. His mother, in particular, possessed a terrifying ability to weaponize disappointment.
Arin narrowed his eyes.
"Do that," he said slowly, "and I'll have a chat with Grandma."
Karl stiffened immediately.
Arin continued mercilessly.
"I'll explain how your private plant projects could better serve the clan. Maybe she'll reorganize your schedule so you can spend much more time together."
Karl shot upright as someone had stabbed him.
"You dare?"
His voice sharpened instantly.
"Try it, and you'll be attending daily strategy meetings with me for the next year."
"Then I'll mention the hidden greenhouse."
"You wouldn't."
"I already have examples prepared."
Karl looked genuinely offended.
Outside the tent, the atmosphere was entirely different.
Several elders stood nearby, supposedly guarding the exits, but in truth, they were struggling not to laugh out loud. Their shoulders shook. One old man had to turn away entirely and pretend to cough.
Inside, patriarch and heir were locked in a petty exchange of escalating blackmail.
Outside, everyone else was enjoying the show.
Teun, however, was not.
He stood with one hand over his forehead, feeling a headache build behind his eyes.
"My son and my father," he muttered. "Arguing like children."
Dennis stood beside him, trying and failing to look sympathetic.
"To be fair," he said, "it's entertaining."
Teun glared at him.
"Dennis."
"Yes?"
"Go see if Mother is still awake."
Dennis's smile vanished.
"No."
"If she is, tell her to sort out Dad and Arin."
"Absolutely not."
Dennis crossed his arms immediately.
"I value my life. I am not disturbing Mother while she is relaxing."
That was a reasonable fear.
The clan matriarch was a warm and capable woman when in good spirits. However, disturbing her rest unnecessarily was considered a profound act of stupidity.
Teun sighed.
"I need to stay here," he said. "Someone has to watch my son in case he does something reckless."
He glanced at the tent, where muffled arguing continued.
"To improve your chances," he added thoughtfully, "you can mention Arin's first suggestion."
Dennis blinked.
"You mean the part where he threatened to shoot everyone?"
"No. The part where this whole mess was Father's fault. and the plants would better serve the clan.
A slow smile spread across Dennis's face.
"That," he admitted, "does improve my odds."
Teun nodded solemnly.
"Go swiftly."
Dennis straightened, suddenly looking much more willing.
"Then I shall perform this sacred duty."
He walked off at once, visibly pleased to be redirecting incoming disaster toward someone else.
Back inside the tent, Karl and Arin were still glaring at one another.
Neither had yielded.
Neither intended to.
The sand in the clock continued to fall.
And in less than two hours, they were supposed to leave together.