Riven stood still as the two of them watched him.
The man spoke first.
"So you're the one they sent."
His gaze flicked briefly over the cloak.
"Take it off."
Riven didn't hesitate. He reached up and pulled the hood back, letting the fabric fall from his shoulders.
For a moment—
Silence.
The woman's breath caught.
"…You really do look like him…"
There was no attempt to hide the surprise in her voice. Her eyes widened slightly as she leaned forward, studying his face more closely, as if trying to confirm what she was seeing.
The man's reaction wasn't much different.
His eyes narrowed just slightly.
Then—
A faint nod.
"…This really could work."
His fingers tapped once against the armrest before he looked back at Riven.
"How much do you know about why you're here?"
That's direct.
But Riven didn't mind it.
He'd rather this than beating around the bush.
"Not much," Riven replied. "Just that I'm supposed to act as your manor's young master."
"Indeed."
The man straightened slightly.
"You will act as our son. Alric Silvercrest."
The name settled without weight.
"And you will represent us in the Knights Order's ten-yearly Ascendant Trial."
He paused.
"Are you aware of what that is?"
"No."
The man nodded once.
"It is a selection trial. Every clan, every manor, every affiliated faction under the Order may send their heirs to participate."
"Those who reach the top—"
"Are rewarded."
"Power. Resources. And most importantly—support from the Order itself."
His gaze drifted briefly across the hall.
"Our estate may appear… stable."
A short pause.
"But we are not."
"We have little left beyond this place."
"And this trial—"
"Is our only chance to remain relevant."
Riven didn't respond.
He simply listened.
The man continued.
"But there is a complication."
"We can only send direct heirs."
"And the only one qualified—"
He paused slightly.
"Is our son."
"But he got into an accident recently..."
"And lost his arm."
"And since then—"
"He has been very downcast..."
His eyes returned to Riven.
"In short. He's in no position to compete."
"And we cannot send anyone else."
"The Order knows his face. Knows about his arm."
"If we replace him with someone unrelated—"
"And they discover the truth—"
His tone remained calm.
"We would be executed for treason."
The woman spoke then, her voice quieter.
"That is why this is dangerous."
Her gaze lingered on Riven, more conflicted now.
"Even with you…"
A brief pause.
Then she caught herself, straightening slightly.
"…That said, you really do look like him."
Her eyes flicked once more across his face.
"It might work."
The man didn't hesitate.
"It has to."
Riven remained silent.
But his thoughts moved.
Something didn't line up.
If it were just about status—
Just about relevance—
They wouldn't be this desperate.
There was something else.
Something they weren't saying.
But before he could press further—
The door opened.
Abrupt.
Without warning.
The sound cut through the room, sharp and out of place against the otherwise controlled atmosphere.
"Father—"
The voice stopped mid-step.
A girl stood in the doorway, one hand still pressed against the wood as if she had pushed it open too hard. She couldn't have been much younger than Riven. Eleven, maybe. Her hair was tied back loosely, a few strands falling across her face from the force of her entrance.
Her eyes landed on him.
And froze.
For a moment, she didn't move.
Didn't breathe.
Then—
"…Brother?"
"You finally came out of your room?"
She stepped closer.
"Wait."
"You're not my brother."
"What-"
Her gaze snapped to the man at the end of the hall.
"What is this?"
Neither of them answered immediately.
That was enough.
Realization hit.
Her eyes widened, something sharp flashing behind them.
"You didn't—"
Her voice rose.
"You actually did it?"
She took a step forward, pointing straight at Riven.
"You replaced him?"
Silence followed.
The man didn't react.
The woman's fingers tightened faintly again.
The girl let out a short, incredulous laugh.
"You can't be serious."
"That's not him."
Her eyes flicked back to Riven, scanning him quickly, almost desperately.
"I don't care how much he looks like him—"
"That's not him."
Riven didn't respond.
Didn't move.
The girl's jaw tightened.
"You think they won't notice?" she snapped. "You think you can just send some—some stranger in his place and get away with it?"
"That's not how this works."
The man finally spoke.
"Enough."
One word.
Calm.
Flat.
It cut through the room more effectively than if he had shouted.
The girl stopped.
Not because she wanted to—
But because she had to.
Her lips pressed together.
Her hands clenched at her sides.
"He is our only hope," the man continued. "Whether you approve or not is irrelevant."
Her eyes burned.
"That's not a solution."
"That's a gamble."
"It is the only option left."
Silence.
The girl looked between them.
From her father—
To her mother—
Then back to Riven.
For a brief moment, something wavered in her expression.
Not anger.
Not just anger.
Something closer to frustration.
Helplessness.
Then she scoffed.
She turned.
The door slammed behind her as she left.
The sound echoed through the hall.
And then—
Quiet again.
The man didn't react.
The woman exhaled softly, almost inaudible.
Riven stood where he was.
The situation here clearly wasn't stable.
Not even close.
The man's voice broke the silence once more.
"That was our youngest daughter. Leyla. Your role's little sister. Ignore her for now."
Riven's gaze remained steady.
"…Understood."
The man gave a faint nod.
"Good."
A brief pause.
Then—
A shift.
"Back to the matter at hand."
His eyes settled fully on Riven now.
"What is your cultivation?"
Riven didn't hesitate.
"Mid Inner Condensation."
The man's shoulders eased slightly.
"…Good."
The woman's gaze flickered as well, her expression tightening for a brief moment before smoothing out again.
The man continued.
"We will handle your accommodations while you are here."
"You will remain inside the manor as much as possible."
"Train."
"Improve."
"There is no need for unnecessary exposure."
Riven listened.
"That includes the Knights Order itself," the man added. "Don't appear before them before the trial."
"To reduce the chance of… complications."
Riven nodded faintly.
The man continued without pause.
"The Ascendant Trial will take place shortly after the upcoming auction."
"A little over two months from now."
His fingers tapped once against the armrest.
"We will secure you a seat at the auction and provide the necessary funds."
Riven's eyes didn't change.
That was the important part.
The reason he came here.
"Use that opportunity to prepare yourself."
"Acquire what you need."
"Strengthen yourself as much as possible."
A brief pause.
"After that—"
"Ensure we place well."
Simple.
Direct.
Final.
Riven held his gaze for a moment.
"…Understood."
The man nodded once.
"Good."
Another pause.
Then—
"There is one more thing."
His eyes shifted slightly toward another part of the manor.
"You should probably meet Alric... to see how he is for yourself."
"And to be able to act more like him."
Riven didn't respond immediately.
Then—
"…Alright."
The woman spoke up too, her tone calmer now, but more involved than before.
"And your appearance will need adjustment."
Her eyes moved over him again, more critically this time.
"Our son can not walk around in… that."
A faint pause.
"Those clothes will not do."
Riven glanced down briefly at his simple training attire.
"…I figured."
The man stood.
The conversation was over.
"Come."
His voice carried no room for delay.
Riven followed.
"Put the hood back on," the man said as they moved toward the exit. "Until we prepare something appropriate."
Riven didn't question it. He pulled the cloak back up, letting the fabric shadow his face once more.
They left the hall in silence.
The corridors beyond were quiet, the atmosphere controlled, almost suffocating in its order. Servants stepped aside the moment they saw the manor head, lowering their gazes without a word.
Riven followed half a step behind.
Eventually, they stopped in front of a closed door.
"This is his room," the man said.
His tone hadn't changed.
But something else had.
Riven glanced at him briefly.
There was no warmth in his expression.
As if he didn't have to hold up a fake persona anymore.
No concern.
Just faint… disinterest.
Absence.
As if whatever was inside that room no longer mattered.
"Go see him for yourself."
Then he stepped back.
"I'm going to head off. My wife will let help you with your attire afterward."
There was no intention to enter the room on his face as he turned and left the place.
It was just Riven left now.
There was not even a servant around.
He slowly reached for the door and pushed it open.
The room beyond was dim, the curtains partially drawn, light filtering in through narrow gaps.
And at the center—
Someone stood.
Not sitting.
Not slumped.
Standing.
Still.
A straight posture. Controlled breathing. One arm missing—
But the rest of him—
Steady.
His gaze lifted the moment Riven entered.
Sharp.
Clear.
Focused.
Nothing like what he'd expected.
Riven's steps slowed slightly.
…How is this a depressed person?