The morning came quiet, but not peaceful.
Mist clung to the valley like a living thing. It coiled between the trees and hung low over the river, swallowing sound and light alike. Even the crows that nested in the Blackveil woods refused to caw that morning.
Inside the grand estate, the servants moved carefully, whispering to one another as if afraid to disturb the silence. The night before had left strange marks across the land — blackened soil, fractured wards, and the faint metallic scent of lightning that still lingered in the air.
Elara stood by the window of her chamber, gazing down at the courtyard. Her reflection stared back at her — tired, beautiful, and cold with worry.
Kael entered quietly, fastening his cloak. "The wards are flickering again."
"I felt it," Elara said. "They're nervous."
"The spirits?"
She nodded. "They whisper like children afraid of punishment."
Kael walked to the window beside her. Beyond the mist, the family's ancestral sigil glowed faintly on the gate — a black veil over a silver moon. It should have been steady. Instead, it pulsed like a heartbeat.
"They'll come," he murmured.
Elara looked at him. "The Council?"
"Yes." His tone carried no surprise, only inevitability. "They felt the surge. Every necromancer in the valley did."
Elara's fingers tightened around the window frame. "And what will you tell them?"
"The truth."
She raised an eyebrow. "That a five-year-old resurrected lightning?"
Kael's lips twitched. "Perhaps not the whole truth."
They stood in silence for a moment. The air was heavy, as if the world itself were waiting for something to break.
Then — a faint tremor beneath their feet.A shift in the wards.
Kael closed his eyes. "They're here."
Outside the manor, a low horn echoed across the mist.
Two dark carriages approached along the cobblestone path, wheels grinding against the damp earth. The horses that pulled them were pale as bone, their eyes hollow and glowing faint blue.
Servants hurried to the doors, their movements precise but fearful.
The first to step out was Councilor Morvain — tall, thin, and dressed in robes of black silk stitched with faint silver runes. His hair was slicked back, and his eyes — pale gray, almost white — had the unblinking sharpness of a predator.
Behind him came Councilor Lyssia — younger, poised, her cloak trimmed with frost-white fur. Her expression was unreadable, but her gaze was that of someone who missed nothing.
Kael met them at the steps of the estate, Elara standing just behind him.
"Councilors," Kael said with a polite bow. "I didn't expect your visit so soon."
Morvain's thin smile didn't reach his eyes. "When the sky cracks with divine light in the dominion of the dead, one learns to move quickly."
Kael's voice was calm. "Lightning. Nothing divine."
Morvain's gaze drifted past him toward the manor. "Lightning doesn't carry sanctified resonance, Lord Blackveil. Unless the gods themselves were paying you a visit."
Elara's eyes narrowed slightly. "Do you plan to inspect our home or simply insult it from the doorstep?"
Lyssia spoke before Morvain could reply. "We're here to ensure stability. The wards across the Dominion flickered last night. The Council demands to know why."
"Of course," Kael said. "You'll find our gates open, as always."
Morvain stepped forward, brushing past him without another word. As he passed, the faint smell of ash and embalming herbs lingered.
Elara exhaled quietly once they were out of earshot. "He's here for more than an inspection."
Kael's jaw tightened. "Morvain's never forgiven our family for refusing his betrothal proposal years ago. He'll dig for any excuse to stain our name."
"Then we'll give him none."
The great hall of the Blackveil estate was vast and dim, lit by hundreds of floating candles that burned with pale blue flame. Ancient portraits lined the walls — generations of necromancers staring down with quiet judgment.
Morvain walked slowly, tracing his fingers along the carved obsidian pillars as though claiming ownership with every step. Lyssia followed behind, her gaze darting to every flicker of movement — every shadow.
At the far end of the hall stood Aren and Lior.
The two boys had been told to stay silent — but both watched the visitors with open curiosity. Lior clutched his brother's hand nervously. Aren, however, looked calm. Too calm.
Morvain's eyes settled on him almost immediately. "And who is this one?"
Kael replied smoothly. "My son. Aren Blackveil."
"Adopted, if rumors are true," Morvain said, studying the boy's face. "A strange choice, bringing in a foundling during such uncertain times."
Elara's smile was polite. "Stranger things have brought blessings."
Aren tilted his head slightly. "Are you one of those blessings?"
The question was innocent in tone.But the silence that followed was sharp as glass.
Elara almost smiled. Kael didn't.
Morvain's gaze darkened. "Children should be seen, not heard."
Aren blinked. "That's odd. Mother says the only ones who hide their voices are those afraid of what others might hear."
Lyssia's lips twitched. "Sharp tongue for one so young."
"Only when people ask sharp questions," Aren replied softly.
Even Kael had to suppress a breath of surprise.The boy wasn't being rude — he was playing.
And the worst part? He was winning.
Morvain took a step closer, his aura pressing down like cold air. "Do you think your wit impresses me, boy?"
Aren smiled faintly. "No, Councilor. I think it annoys you."
Elara coughed once — delicately — hiding her laughter behind a hand.
Lyssia, on the other hand, leaned slightly forward, intrigued. "Fascinating."
Kael decided to intervene before the tension snapped. "Forgive him, Councilor. He speaks his mind too easily."
"Too freely," Morvain corrected, eyes still locked on Aren.
Aren tilted his head. "You said it yourself — freedom is rare among necromancers. Maybe you're just not used to it."
That earned a sharp, dangerous silence.
Morvain's lips thinned. "I should remind you that arrogance is unbecoming, even for noble blood."
Aren blinked once. "Then I'm glad I'm not noble yet."
Lyssia actually laughed — a soft, musical sound that echoed faintly through the hall. "He's clever."
Morvain turned sharply to her. "He's insolent."
Lyssia smiled faintly. "Sometimes those are the same thing."
Kael decided to cut through the tension. "Councilors, shall we inspect the wards? You didn't come all this way to debate manners with a child."
Morvain exhaled slowly, regaining composure. "Yes. Let's ensure your house is as pure as your tongue claims."
Elara's eyes flickered toward Aren and Lior. "Go to your lessons, boys."
Lior nodded quickly and ran off. Aren hesitated, meeting his mother's eyes.She gave him a warning look — gentle, but firm.
He smiled faintly and turned away.But not before glancing once at Morvain, his expression perfectly polite.
"Be careful in the courtyard," he said softly. "Sometimes the ground remembers who steps on it."
Morvain froze for half a heartbeat — just long enough for Aren's small smirk to appear and vanish.
Then the Councilors swept out toward the courtyard, their cloaks trailing shadows behind them.
Elara exhaled once they were gone. "That child…"
Kael rubbed his temple. "He's five. He shouldn't know how to dismantle a grown man with a smile."
"He learned it somewhere," she murmured.
Kael looked at her. "You're suggesting from me?"
Elara smiled faintly. "From both of us."