Banquet.
After waking from a dreamless sleep, Seven received a rundown from Iria.
It wasn't the kind of banquet he had imagined filled with nobles and guests from afar, but a private gathering held solely for the Harts.
According to her, the event was meant to welcome back the Archduke, Cade, who was returning from his long campaign (war) and his first appearance in six years.
"Every Hart is required to attend the Banquet, except for those under the Archduke's special order."
The message had been sent by a crow bearing the Archduke's crest to the servants assigned to his child.
Of course, the meeting place wasn't directly at the Main Castle, but at the grand entrance of the Dukedom. It was a deliberate choice to let the citizens witness the might of House Hart as they marched in.
- – — 777 — – -
Before the gate stood Cade's second child, Louis Anuelo Hart.
He had only just returned from Mercia Burg, once an independent stronghold under Camelot's banner, now seized in the name of House Hart.
Behind him stood roughly about seventy knights.
"Such a waste. I should've been resting if not for this sudden summons. What's going on anyway? Our youngest brother's Ceremony is still thirty-three days away."
"How should I know, shithead. We're just as clueless as you are."
Cade's third child, Thea Giselle Hart.
She stood before a formation of fifty-five knights, arms crossed and her silver hair fluttered in the wind.
Only yesterday, she had suspended her expedition in the southern frontiers; an operation meant to subdue the rebel houses that refused to pay tribute to the Dukedom.
To be recalled so suddenly, without reason or message, was an insult in itself.
"What could Father be thinking? To summon all his children from their stations… this hasn't happened in decades."
"Don't question Father's will."
Cade's fifth child, Nathe Rainier Hart.
He had just arrived with his dark-blue cloak sweeping lightly across the snow-dusted ground. Behind him stood thirty knights, their banners still marked by the dust of travel.
Nathe was known across the continent as a duelist who had never once been defeated in single combat. His silver hair was tied neatly behind his head.
He had been in the Royal Tournament Finals, where nobles and knights from across the continent gathered to prove their worth before the royal court. The grand prize was no small matter: a commission under the King's name and a title of his own.
It was supposed to be his day, and he could've won it.
But—
"Oh, brother Naaaathee, you're here already?"
Two figures approached from behind the line. Twins. They were unmistakably Harts by their pale silver hair and clear blue eyes. Behind them followed sixty knights, thirty under each banner.
The girl, Seris Hart, carried herself with polished grace. Not a wrinkle could be found on her white uniform nor a single strand of hair out of place.
"Sigh… you missed quite the celebration, brother. Right, Cyris?"
Beside her walked Cyris Hart, her twin in blood but not in manner. His coat was half-buttoned, tie loosened, and he kept scratching the side of his neck aggressively so that it bled.
"Right, Seris! They say you could've crushed the King's knight in three moves."
Nathe looked at them, deadpan.
"Should I have ignored Father's summon, then?"
"N-no, of course not! We're all bound by his call. Right, Cyris?"
"R-right, Seris! I almost feel bad for brother's opponent. They'll have to wait another year just to lose properly."
Nathe didn't reply.
Instead, his gaze drifted past them, following the line of his other siblings toward the horizon, where the faint sound of marching boots began to rumble through the cold wind.
The gray sky hung low, heavy with snowclouds.
Beneath it, a vast procession advanced. Banners of Hart fluttered faintly amidst the mist, and the steel of their armor glinted dully beneath streaks of dried blood.
At the front rode a lone figure, her presence unmistakable even from afar.
Cade's first child, Eden Hart.
The heir apparent of the House of Hart; if only she had not withdrawn her rights to succession.
Her silver armor bore the scars of war like dark smears of blood dried along the shoulder guards. Her hair, the same pale hue shared by every Hart, was streaked with ash, and her once-white cape had turned a muted gray tinged with red.
"She brought the full legion."
"Shitheads. Move your soldiers aside."
As she neared, the knights behind her slowed in perfect unison with not one of them speaking. Truth be told, not one even dared to lift their eyes higher than the horse she rode.
The knights of her siblings stepped aside, forming a path of silence. Eden dismounted without a word, her boots sinking slightly into the snow.
Blood dripped faintly from her hands as she removed her helmet and handed it to a kneeling knight beside her. Her irises were as blue as the bluest water in the bluest ocean, met the line of siblings waiting before the gate.
Even Louis straightened unconsciously, and Giselle's usual smirk faltered.
"Where is Father?"
"He's expected within the hour. The crows reached ahead of him."
Eden gave a faint nod to Nathe and turned toward her knights roughly more than a hundred, raising a single hand.
"Clean the path. No blood should remain before the gate."
At once, the knights obeyed. Some still limped from battle, their armor cracked and dented, yet not one hesitated. They began to wipe away the dark stains from the snow in utter silence.
Until—
All eyes turned toward the crest-engraved carriage rolling to a stop.
The door opened. From within stepped a slender boy dressed in a crisp white long-sleeved shirt and a neatly tied black ribbon around his collar looking far more like a clerk than a noble heir.
Seven blinked against the sudden light, squinting slightly.
He felt every pair of eyes on him.
Awkwardly, he tried to return a few stares, then quickly looked away and stifled a yawn, realizing just how absurdly out of place he looked among siblings who seemed torn straight from war chronicles.
In contrast, his attire was as simple as a white long sleeve with a black tie and a black pants.
'Uuggrgh. Why am I the only one dressed like a corporate slave?'