"So… you're sixteen now, huh."
William's voice cut through the silence with ease. It wasn't loud, yet it commanded the room instantly. Daemon's hand paused for a fraction of a second, the silver of his fork catching the morning light, before he continued.
"…Yes."
William studied him, his gaze steady and unreadable. "Then it's time." A brief, heavy pause followed. "You'll be joining the Royal Academy."
The words settled across the table like a physical weight.
"Another one?" His aunt's voice came sharp, cutting through before the announcement could even breathe. "Have you thought about the cost?"
William didn't respond, his silence a stone wall.
"Viola will be enrolling this year as well," she continued, her irritation rising into a stiff-backed posture. "And Isabella is already studying there. We may be Viscounts, but the Royal Academy isn't cheap. Not everyone needs to become a mage."
Her eyes flicked toward Daemon. Deliberately.
"It's not about need," Isabella spoke calmly. Her voice was smooth, composed, as she leaned back in her chair. "It's about whether someone is worth the investment."
Aron let out a quiet chuckle, leaning forward slightly with a predatory glint in his eyes. "That's one way to say it."
Viola shifted in her seat, glancing between them. She was clearly leaning toward her mother's stance, but the words stayed trapped behind her teeth.
Through all of it—Daemon remained silent. He didn't look up. He didn't react. He simply kept his eyes on his plate.
Then, William placed his hand on the table. Not loudly, but with enough weight to make the cutlery rattle. Silence fell instantly.
"His fees are not our concern."
His voice was firm. Final. That made his aunt pause, her brows narrowing as she searched for a rebuttal. "What do you mean?"
William's gaze shifted toward Daemon. "His father's land has sent its share."
The air in the room changed. It grew colder, sharper.
"The village?" Viola murmured under her breath, her eyes widening.
"Yes," William continued, calm as ever. "The land granted to his father when he was made a Baron. It now belongs to him."
Daemon's hand stopped. Just for a moment.
"The villagers gathered the funds," William said, his voice carrying a rare gravity. "For their lord's education."
A heavy silence followed. His aunt leaned back slightly, letting out a faint, bitter scoff. "How… loyal."
But she didn't argue further. The logic of coin was the only thing she truly respected.
Isabella's gaze shifted toward Daemon, lingering for a moment longer than before. Her look wasn't softer or curious. It was purely evaluating.
Aron smirked, resting his chin on his hand. "So the stray actually has a title."
Viola didn't speak, but the way she looked at him had shifted. The pity was gone, replaced by a sudden, wary distance. At the end of the table, Daemon resumed eating, his expression a mask of stone.
"You'll go there today," William said, closing the matter. "See it for yourself. Take a servant."
Daemon offered a single, curt nod. "…Understood."
The conversation moved on as if the world hadn't just tilted on its axis. But beneath the table, hidden from their sight, Daemon's fingers tightened against his knee.
…A lord.
Daemon remained seated for a moment longer, his plate nearly untouched. …A lord. The word still felt misplaced, like a garment tailored for someone else. He stood quietly, moving toward the kitchen to gather what he needed: a small tray, a bowl of porridge, a cup of water, and the bitter-smelling medicine the maids always handled with hushed reverence. The older staff didn't question him; they never did when it came to her.
The upper corridor was quieter than the rest of the house—less traveled, less decorated, and far less important. At the end of the hall stood a door, its wood slightly worn and its handle dulled by years of use. Daemon knocked once, then gently pushed it open.
The room was dim but not cold. Sunlight filtered through thin curtains in pale, soft streaks, resting over the bed where his grandmother lay. The air carried the faint, fragile scent of dried herbs and age. She looked small against the pillows now, her frame thinned by time, but her presence hadn't been erased. Her hair, once silver like the rest of the clan, had faded into a delicate white, and her eyes still held a quiet clarity.
When they met his, they warmed.
"You're late," she murmured, her voice weak but teasing.
Daemon stepped inside, setting the tray down with practiced care. "…I was working."
She let out a faint hum, as if she already knew the answer. "You always are."
He helped her sit up slowly, adjusting the pillows behind her. His movements were different here—gentle, slower, and considerate. He picked up the bowl and held it out. "Eat."
She smiled faintly. "Still no manners." But she opened her mouth anyway.
He fed her in silence at first, spoon by spoon. There was no rush, no wasted motion. The quiet between them wasn't heavy; it was familiar.
"…You've grown," she said after a moment, studying his face. Daemon didn't respond, but her fingers lifted slightly, brushing the dark strands near his temple. "Just like his."
He paused, the spoon hovering.
"And your eyes…" her gaze softened further. "Those are hers."
"…I don't remember them," Daemon said quietly.
Her hand stilled. "That's alright," she replied just as softly. "You don't need to remember… to carry them with you."
Silence settled again until Daemon spoke. "William said… I'll be going to the Royal Academy. Before that, I'm to visit the village. My father's land."
Her expression shifted, a flicker of gravity crossing her features. "So… it's time."
Daemon said nothing, waiting as she studied him, trying to read something deeper than his words.
"The world outside this house…" she began slowly, "is not kinder. It's cruel. Unfair. It takes more than it gives." She paused, her gaze sharpening despite her frailty. "And people… are no different. You'll see things you don't understand. You'll be treated in ways you don't deserve. But listen to me, Daemon."
He met her eyes.
"Don't become like them," she said, her voice quiet but firm. "If you are to stand above others… then do it properly. Be someone they can rely on. Not someone they fear for the wrong reasons."
Daemon didn't answer, but he didn't look away either. She smiled, as if his silence was enough of a promise. "A kind king…" she murmured, "those are the rarest."
He lowered the bowl slightly. "…I'm not a king."
She chuckled weakly, the sound light. "Not yet."
The word hung there, half-joke, half-prophecy. "Though," she added, a glint of mischief passing through her tired eyes, "I suppose I won't live long enough to see your bride."
Daemon blinked. "…Bride?"
Her smile widened. "Of course. You think a face like yours will go unnoticed forever?" She let out a soft laugh that turned into a small cough. "It's a shame… I would have liked to meet her."
Daemon didn't know what to say to that. "…Eat," he repeated quietly, lifting the spoon again.
When the bowl was empty, he reached for the medicine. She took it without complaint, leaning back into the pillows afterward.
"Wait," she said as he prepared to leave. Her hand moved slowly beneath the blanket, searching for something. She pulled out a small object wrapped in worn cloth and held it out to him. "This… was his."
Daemon took it. The cloth unfolded to reveal a pendant—a dark silver piece shaped like a sword. It was simple, finely crafted, and purposeful. The metal held a dull sheen, as if it had aged but never weakened.
"Your father gave it to your mother," she said softly. "And she… left it for you."
Daemon's fingers tightened around it. "…Why now?"
"Because you're sixteen," she said, looking at him intently. "And because you're about to step into a world that won't protect you. So take this… and let it try."
Daemon didn't refuse. He fastened the pendant around his neck, the cool metal resting against his skin. For a brief moment, something shifted. It was faint, barely there—a ripple in the air.
…What was that?
His grandmother simply smiled. "A charm," she said softly. "Or maybe just a wish."
Daemon stood there for a moment longer, then turned toward the door. "…I'll be back."
He didn't know why he said it, but she smiled anyway. "Of course you will."
And for the first time that day, the word didn't feel unfamiliar.