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Chapter 5: Chambers and halls

  The study of Lord Theo Caelum was a room of hard lines and cold light.

  A heavy desk of dark wood anchored the north wall, its surface buried beneath neat bundles of parchment — contracts, reports, sealed missives bearing the wax crests of half the noble houses in Eden.

  Behind the desk, a tall arched window framed a view of the estate's immaculate gardens, the world beyond washed in the soft glow of morning.

  A low, polished coffee table stretched across the middle of the chamber, flanked by two long sofas of deep blue velvet — one facing east, the other west.

  The heavy desk loomed directly north, between the sofas like a silent guardian.

  The double doors to the south remained shut, muffling the sounds of the world outside.

  At the far end of the room, seated with the disciplined stillness of a statue, was Lord Theo himself.

  He wore a dark, high-collared coat trimmed in silver, and a heavy signet ring glinted coldly on his right hand as he moved his pen across a sheaf of documents with mechanical precision.

  The nib scratched faintly in the stillness, the only sound in the room.

  Across from him, sprawled carelessly across the east sofa, sat Duke Hudson of House Clearwater.

  Hudson wore armor even now — battered sky-blue plate with silver trim, thrown on like a second skin he never truly took off.

  His river-blue hair was slicked back in a lazy wave, and a thick, neatly-trimmed beard framed his strong jaw, streaked through with the same vibrant hue.

  He looked — and often acted — like a man built more for battlefields than polished salons.

  Hudson drummed his fingers against the coffee table in a loose, thoughtless rhythm.

  "You sure that one's really yours, Theo?" Hudson drawled, voice thick with a lazy southern accent.

  "Kid's sharper than a spearhead — and twice as dangerous. Damn fine work, I say!"

  Lord Theo didn’t look up.

  He continued writing, his voice cool, detached.

  "Lucius is performing adequately."

  " 'Adequately’ he says" Hudson chuckled, shaking his head, the sound low and rough.

  Publicly, Hudson was a storm — loud, laughing, impossible to pin down.

  Privately, in rooms like this, when the masks came off, he was sharper than anyone gave him credit for.

  He leaned forward slightly now, the smile never leaving his face, but his eyes — sharp and steel-blue — studied Theo carefully.

  "You ever gonna admit you're proud of him?" Hudson asked, casually — too casually.

  Theo set down his pen with mechanical precision.

  'Pride. What a foolish, dangerous word.'

  In Theo's world, there was no room for pride.

  Only standards met, or standards broken.

  He leaned back in his chair, folding his hands neatly over the desk.

  "Lucius was created to be perfect," Theo said quietly.

  "Whether I am proud is irrelevant."

  Hudson snorted — a short, rough sound.

  Always so damn clinical, this one.

  There was a time, long ago, when Theo had been different — a boy who laughed too loud at the wrong jokes, who swung a sword too recklessly during training.

  That boy was long dead.

  Buried beneath titles, expectations, and the crushing weight of legacy.

  Hudson leaned back again, armor creaking faintly.

  "You keep raising statues, Theo," he said, "you best pray they don't learn how to bleed."

  Theo said nothing.

  The silence between them stretched — not awkward, but heavy.

  Finally, Hudson slapped a hand against the coffee table with a metallic thud.

  "Tell ya what," he said, grinning wide, voice lighter again.

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  "How ‘bout we set up a friendly duel? My boy, River, against your Lucius. See which one’s got the sharper edge, eh?"

  "River Clearwater," he added proudly, thumping his armored chest once for emphasis.

  "Strong, stubborn, stupid when it counts — like his old man."

  Theo rose smoothly from his chair.

  "That can be arranged... later." he said, voice like a blade drawn quietly from its sheath.

  "Today is Lucius’s day."

  Hudson laughed loudly, throwing his head back.

  "YEAH! Let the boy have his parade. He’s earned it!"

  Theo said nothing.

  Only turned and walked toward the tall window behind his desk.

  He clasped his hands behind his back and looked out.

  Below, in the sun-drenched gardens, a cluster of children trained under the watchful eyes of Ventors — the elite instructors of Eden’s noble houses.

  Young nobles in gleaming tunics and polished boots sparred in neat lines, laughing, shouting, living.

  Among them, one figure stood apart.

  Lucius Caelum.

  Silver hair and armour catching the sun

  devastatingly perfect.

  Sword pointing to the everlasting blue.

  Every inch measured.

  No hesitation.

  No wasted effort.

  A blade in human form.

  Theo watched in silence.

  Not with warmth.

  Not even with satisfaction.

  But with the cold, analytical gaze of a craftsman inspecting his work.

  To love the blade would be to weaken it.

  And Lord Theo Caelum had no room for weakness.

  *****

  The halls of House Caelum stretched long and silent, the polished stone catching the muted reflections of the morning sun.

  The stillness was broken only by the quiet shuffle of footsteps — two figures moving at an easy pace toward the garden.

  Master Orien led, hands tucked lazily into his sleeves, his gait unhurried.

  He moved like a man carrying no burdens, though the years weighed heavy on his shoulders if one looked closely enough.

  Beside him walked Elise, her steps lighter, quicker, as if the simple act of moving through the grand halls was a joy all its own.

  Her long bangs framed a bright face, her eyes darting curiously across the endless rows of painted tapestries and marble statues.

  There was an innocence to her wonder — the kind that made even the coldest stone feel a little warmer.

  "You’re dragging your feet again, Master Orien." Elise said lightly, clasping her hands behind her back.

  Orien let out a rough hum, not even bothering to deny it.

  "Old war wounds" he muttered, smoothing a hand over his coat with mock dignity.

  "Hard to walk proud when you've carried the weight of Eden on your back."

  Elise grinned up at him.

  "You carried wine barrels during the city festivals," she teased.

  "Heavy ones" Orien said solemnly, and she laughed — a soft, honest sound that seemed out of place against the severe walls of House Caelum.

  The old master walked a little straighter after that without quite realizing it.

  Trailing behind them, silent and unhurried, was Lucius Caelum — but the boy might as well have been a ghost for all the attention the other two gave him.

  They made their way through the inner sanctums of House Caelum — places few outside the bloodline were ever allowed to tread.

  At one bend of the hall, they passed a long gallery where massive oil paintings lined the walls.

  Portraits of the Caelum bloodline.

  Each figure stood proud and unbending, draped in fine garments, swords at their sides, cold eyes staring down across the generations.

  "There's old Lord Aetius" Orien said in a low drawl, jerking his chin toward one portrait — a gaunt man with sunken cheeks and a cruel mouth.

  "And Lady Helena" Elise added, pointing to another — a sharp-featured woman whose painted eyes seemed to judge everyone who passed.

  Orien snorted.

  "Bet neither of 'em could lift a sword half their own weight," he muttered.

  Elise giggled, covering her mouth politely even though they were alone.

  "Careful" she said with mock seriousness.

  "Their spirits might still be lurking, waiting to scold you."

  Orien leaned down, whispering theatrically, "If they got somethin' to say, I'll introduce 'em to my sword."

  Elise laughed — a bright, free sound that bounced off the high stone walls and made the ancient gallery seem just a little less oppressive.

  Orien grinned at her sideways, pride gleaming behind the lazy tilt of his mouth.

  Neither of them spared a second thought for the stern faces in the paintings.

  The dead demanded too much attention from the living already.

  But further behind them, Lucius walked slower.

  His silver hair caught the golden light that streamed through the high windows, giving him an almost ethereal glow.

  He studied each portrait intently.

  Measured them.

  Imagined his own image among them — but grander.

  Brighter.

  Perfect.

  Not just another frame on the wall.

  Something more.

  Something greater.

  A savior.

  A hero.

  He blinked, clearing the thought before it could take root, and moved on.

  Orien and Elise were already ahead, laughing quietly over some shared joke about the ridiculous armor worn by one of the older lords in the paintings.

  Orien pantomimed a stiff walk, pretending to drag a sword twice his height across the marble floor.

  Elise nearly stumbled trying to hold in her laughter, hand pressed tight over her mouth.

  "Don't you dare fall now" Orien teased, wagging a finger at her.

  "I wouldn't" Elise said, breathless. "I’m not old like you."

  Orien clutched at his chest with mock agony.

  "Another wound to my honor," he gasped.

  "Someday, girl, you'll regret bullyin' a defenseless old soldier."

  She stuck her tongue out at him — just for a second — before darting ahead, skirt swishing.

  The warmth between them was subtle but unmistakable — an easy companionship, built not on duty or blood, but something rarer: choice.

  They reached the final hallway, where a tall set of ornate doors waited — the entrance to the Caelum gardens.

  Elise reached for the handle, hesitating just a moment.

  Orien caught her glance and smirked.

  "You first" he said, bowing with exaggerated grace.

  "Ladies always first into battle."

  Elise rolled her eyes but laughed softly, pushing open the door.

  Orien mirrored her on the other side.

  The old wood creaked faintly as the doors swung wide.

  Blinding light poured into the hallway — gold and white, pure and sharp — setting the dust motes dancing wildly in the air.

  From the shadows behind them, Lucius stepped forward.

  He paused at the threshold for just a breath, the sunlight burning against his eyes. as Lucius sees Elise and Orien silhouetted against the light, laughing

  Then he moved through — into the waiting day.

  END OF CHAPTER V

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