The dining room was ridiculous.
That was Cale's first thought when he stepped in — and also his last coherent one before he was too busy stuffing his face to form more.
The table was long enough to seat a war council. The chandelier above looked like it had been stolen from a cathedral. And the food…
Gods above, the food.
He hadn't even known half the things on the table had names, let alone ones that sounded like foreign poetry. Golden-baked bread with some kind of fruit glaze. Eggs poached in spiced oil. A tower of layered pastry stuffed with honeyed almonds. Slices of soft fish smoked in herbs he couldn't identify.
Cale had tried — he really had — to approach the meal with dignity.
But then his stomach growled loud enough to scare Mira off her perch, and all pretenses vanished.
Now he was hunched over a plate with both hands, tearing through bread and meat like the gods had declared breakfast illegal.
Mira sat on the mantle, watching in mute horror.
"This is an offense," she muttered.
Emis, lounging on the back of an armchair, purred. "It's performance art. Let him work."
Aleric sat at the head of the table, perfectly composed, sipping dark tea from an obsidian-glazed cup. He hadn't touched most of his food. His plate looked arranged by a sculptor.
He watched Cale.
And—just faintly—smiled.
Cale, mouth half-full, glanced up and paused mid-chew. "Mmrph—what?"
"Nothing," Aleric said. "I find it refreshing."
Cale swallowed and wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve before realizing what he was doing. He reached for a napkin far too late.
"Sorry," he muttered. "I didn't think nobles had breakfast like this."
"They don't," Aleric said dryly. "Most survive on wine and whispers."
Cale snorted, almost choking on his tea.
They ate in silence for a while longer, Mira offering the occasional disdainful remark, Emis licking syrup off his paw.
Then, casually — too casually — Aleric set his cup down and said, "I've already sent word to your parents."
Cale stopped mid-bite.
"I let them know you're alive," Aleric continued, tone even. "Safe. And recovering under my care."
Cale stared at him.
"They… they know?"
Aleric nodded.
"I sent Mira the morning after your arrival. She flew straight to Ime. Your mother cried when she saw the letter."
Cale looked down at his plate.
The warmth in his chest wasn't from the food anymore.
"And Lukas?"
"Still too young to know the full truth, but he was told you were helping someone very important. He thinks you've become a knight."
Cale laughed — wet, sudden, and surprised.
"Of course he does," he murmured.
Aleric refilled his cup. "They want to see you. Naturally. And I expect they will, soon. If all goes well, I can arrange for you to return to Ime in a few days."
Cale blinked.
"Really?"
"I'll arrange the ship. And protection. You'll be back at your doorstep with barely a bruise to show."
Cale looked down again, fork paused in his hand.
He should be happy.
So why did his chest feel… tight?
Emis, as usual, said nothing.
But Mira watched him closely.
And Aleric — quiet and unreadable — simply sipped his tea.
_________________
The guest room was quiet again.
Cale sat on the windowsill, knees pulled up, fingers tracing the spiral mark on his wrist. The breeze from outside carried the scent of wet stone and pine.
Behind him, Emis lay curled on the edge of the bed, his tail flicking lazily.
"So," the Yvelin said without lifting his head, "are we packing for Ime, or what?"
Cale didn't respond right away.
Him being unresponsive to a question was not unheard of. So Emis tried once more.
The Yvelin yawned. "Because if you're going back to that fog-choked vegetable graveyard, I'd like a proper farewell. Something dramatic. With fire."
Still no answer. Now Emis was growing a bit concerned. What could possibly be going on inside that thick skull of his?
"…Cale?"
Cale looked down at his hands. "I made a promise."
Emis blinked, then rolled over, watching him with lazy azure eyes.
"I said I'd go to Theros. You helped me escape. So that means I owe you. That was the deal, right?"
So that is what's been occupying his thoughts this entire time? Emis thought.
While the Yvelin liked to pretend otherwise, he was starting to develop a teeny tiny soft spot for Cale somewhere deep inside his heart.
"Technically," Emis said, "I promised to help. You never said how long you'd take to keep your end."
"Well," Cale muttered, "I don't want to wait."
The silence that followed wasn't mocking. It wasn't sarcastic. It was… approving. In the Yvelari way — which meant no direct praise, just silence too long to be indifference.
Emis lifted a paw and licked it slowly. "You're not so bad, for a squishy meat-sack."
"Thanks."
"You'll still probably die, but points for enthusiasm."
Cale turned back toward the room, standing up fully now.
"I need to get stronger," he said. "I want to protect the people I care about. I can't do that if I keep passing out every time someone swings a sword."
"Or sneezes."
"Emis."
"I'm just saying."
Cale rolled his eyes and headed toward the door. "I'm going to talk to Aleric."
"Oh? Going to beg the dark prince of death for training now?"
"If I have to."
He left the room and wandered down the long corridors of the manor, the silence only broken by the echo of his boots against stone. He passed closed doors, shadowed portraits, and more halls than he could count.
Finally, near a corridor marked by hanging banners — black cloth embroidered with silver spirals — he saw her.
Mira.
Perched on a statue like a grim little gargoyle, watching him approach.
"You're looking for him," she said before he could speak.
Cale nodded. "I want to ask him something."
"He's in the training hall. Down the west wing. You'll hear the sound of metal."
Cale hesitated. "Thanks."
Mira didn't move, but her voice followed him as he walked.
"Don't waste his time."
"I won't," Cale said.
He didn't look back.
________________
The sound reached him before the room did.
Metal, crisp and clean — not like two blades clashing, but a blade cutting air. Precise. Rhythmic. Almost… musical.
Cale followed the sound down a narrow hall to a set of double doors carved with sigils he couldn't read. He pushed one open.
And froze.
The training hall was nothing like he'd expected.
It was cathedral-like in height, the ceiling arching far above in vaulted beams of black stone. Mirrors lined parts of the far wall, cracked and aged, while racks of weapons rested on stands shaped like outstretched arms.
And at the center of it all — moving like a shadow given form — was Aleric.
He wore a sleeveless coat now, trimmed in silver, the spiral of the Veyrathi etched along the spine. His hair was tied back, loose strands falling into his face as he moved.
His weapon wasn't a sword, not exactly.
It was a curved blade, almost like a scythe merged with a saber, sleek and dark and deadly.
He swung it once — a low arc.
Then again — vertical.
Each movement flowed into the next. No hesitations. No wasted motion.
It was like watching water take the shape of violence.
Cale stood there, jaw slack. This was what a person like Aleric could do. Smooth and precise swings. Stable form. No wasted movements.
How?
Aleric stepped, turned, spun the blade across his back, then let it slide down his arm like it weighed nothing.
Then — mid-step — he paused.
His eyes met Cale's in the mirror.
"I thought you might come," Aleric said, not turning.
Cale stepped in, slowly. He knew why he was here. Cale's heart was beating rythmically. Maybe a beat too fast to be called normal.
Cale keep on reminding himself inside his head — His reasons, his determination...
"I didn't mean to interrupt." Cale started.
"You didn't."
Aleric lowered the blade, reversed the grip, and slid it into a sheathe on his back in one elegant motion.
Silence fell again.
Cale rubbed his arm, suddenly aware of every bruise on his body. "That was… amazing."
Even though he was never trained with the sword, Cale's untrained eyes quickly percept the mastery in Aleric's techniques.
Aleric walked to a rack, picked up a cloth, and wiped the sweat from his brow. "It's practice."
Cale was a bit offended. Because why did someone like Aleric felt the need to humble himself in front of Cale?
"No," Cale said, almost before he could stop himself. "It's… control. You're not just strong. You own it. I want that."
Aleric raised an eyebrow.
Cale took a breath.
"I want to train. I want to get stronger. I want to control this power before it controls me."
The words hung between them.
Aleric folded the cloth. His expression didn't change, but something in his stance… eased.
He nodded once.
"Then we begin tomorrow."