Year 7320, Erréndias County – Main Mansion
The reception hall had been prepared for hours. Liveried servants walked the corridors with silver trays and crystal glasses. The coats of arms of the seven noble houses of Endomyar hung from the stone walls, alternating with tapestries depicting past victories of the Erréndias family.
Arthur Erréndias waited by the main door. Posture straight, short beard neatly trimmed, black hair combed back. He looked calm. He was not. His hands, behind his back, clenched and unclenched in a nervous rhythm that only the most attentive could notice.
Arth watched his father from a distance. He found that tension strange. He had never seen his father like that — not when his mother died, not when the wolves attacked the livestock, not when his sister was caught stealing wine from the cellar.
"Is everything all right, Father?" he asked, approaching.
Arthur turned. His face softened.
"Everything is fine, my son. Just... many guests. I must not fail."
Arth did not believe him, but he did not insist.
The first group arrived in the late morning. Two black carriages, pulled by white horses, stopped before the gate. The doors opened and figures emerged that Arth recognised from portraits and hallway conversations.
Agrís Decatry descended first. Tall, broad-shouldered, short silver-blue hair — like his son, but greyer at the temples. His grey eyes scanned the garden with a calculating coldness. Behind him, Andy Decatry jumped down lightly, the same grey eyes but livelier, more curious. The remaining vassals of House Decatry — Barons Féris, Tigrón, Musta and Sária — descended in silence, each in their own attire and coats of arms.
Arthur stepped forward to receive the duke.
"Agrís. Your presence honours us."
"Arthur." The duke inclined his head, a minimal gesture. "Thank you for receiving us."
Andy approached Arth. Smiled.
"Here we are again."
"Here we are again." Arth returned the smile. "I haven't tried the sword yet."
"Try it today. After the ceremony."
The second group arrived minutes later. Nuno Eladir descended from a more modest carriage, but with a large retinue. He was only twenty, but already ruled Eladir County with an intelligence that the older men respected. A young face, almost childish, but his eyes... his eyes were old. Beside him, Joanne Lunos — his wife, twenty-one years old, dark blonde hair, green eyes that smiled at everyone but saw no one. Joanne carried a baby in her arms: Daniel Eladir, a few months old, sleeping wrapped in blue cloth.
"Nuno" Arthur shook his hand. "The last time I saw you, you were shorter than my shoulder."
"The years are unforgiving, Count." Nuno smiled. "Now I am the one with a son in my arms."
"And a beautiful wife" added Joanne, with a smile that did not reach her eyes.
Arthur made an polite bow.
"The beauties of House Lunos are legendary."
Joanne inclined her head, thanking him, but Arth noticed that she looked at Andy with a curiosity she had not directed at anyone else.
Lusofiy Lunos arrived on horseback, without a carriage. Fifty years old, grey hair, a still-muscular body from a lifetime of hunting monsters in the north. Behind him, two daughters: Linda Lunos, fifteen, blonde hair, blue eyes, a shy smile; and Joanne — the same Joanne already there, Nuno's wife. Lusofiy dismounted and hugged his eldest daughter with an enthusiasm that made Joanne blush.
"Father, people are watching."
"Let them watch. A daughter is a daughter."
Behind Lusofiy, the vassals of House Lunos — Sanderá, Tásda, Móber, Refibus, Dizz-rei, Sarelho — positioned themselves in formation, like soldiers.
The last group to arrive before the king was the noisiest. Mercudoth Mercius descended from a carriage painted red and gold, with coats of arms on every door. He was a man of forty, a protruding belly, fingers covered in rings. Behind him, his three children: Marco, seventeen, handsome face but with a look that Arth immediately found unpleasant — something cruel at the corners of his mouth; Mário, fifteen, athletic build, an aggressive walk, as if looking for an excuse to fight; and Márcia, thirteen, brown hair, sweet eyes, hiding behind her father like a frightened rabbit.
"Mercudoth" Arthur greeted, with a forced smile. "Your robes are increasingly... impressive."
"Business is good, Count. Magical object construction makes money. Lots of money."
Mercudoth laughed, a loud laugh that echoed through the garden.
---
The young people were left in the great hall while the adults retired to the audience chamber. Arth assumed the role of host with a naturalness that surprised even himself.
"Happy birthday, Arth" said Andy, raising a glass of fruit juice.
"Happy birthday" repeated the others, some with enthusiasm, some with indifference.
Marco Mercius said nothing. He just looked at Arth with a half-smile that Arth could not interpret. Mário, his brother, was already picking up a training sword from a shelf.
"Is there a field?" asked Mário, eyes shining.
"There is" replied Arth. "Outside. But first..."
"First what?" Mário was already heading for the door.
"First, you will see the lynx."
Silence fell over the group.
"What?" asked Linda Lunos, her blue eyes wide.
"My father has a lynx. A giant lynx. And... it catches fire."
"That's impossible" said Marco, but his tone was more curious than sceptical.
"Come and see."
Arth guided them through the corridors to the back of the mansion. There, in a cage of forged iron, the creature rested. It was enormous — the size of a small horse. Its fur was dark grey, almost black, but at the tips, faint flames crackled like candles. Its eyes were liquid amber. When it stood, the ground trembled.
The girls stepped back. Linda Lunos let out a muffled scream. Márcia Mercius clung to her brother Mário's arm, who pushed her away impatiently. Even Marco, the most cynical, opened his mouth.
"How... how does it...?"
"I don't know." Arth shrugged. "It was born that way. My father says it's a blessing from Macano."
Andy approached the cage. The lynx also approached. It sniffed his outstretched hand. The flames on its back crackled louder, but did not burn.
"It's magnificent" said Andy, softly.
The girls, now braver, approached. Linda touched the bars. Márcia peered through her fingers. Even Joanne Lunos, Nuno's wife, who was there only out of courtesy, looked away from the baby for a moment to observe the creature.
"Does it have a name?" asked Linda.
"Fogo. Just Fogo."
"It's a good name" said Márcia, with a small smile.
---
While the young people admired the lynx, the adults gathered in the audience chamber.
The room was large, with stone walls, a long oak table in the centre. Twelve chairs. High windows letting in the midday light. The coats of arms of the houses hung behind each seat.
Arthur sat at the head. To his right, Agrís Decatry. To his left, Lusofiy Lunos. The others — Nuno Eladir, Mercudoth Mercius, Grivnar Graylor (who had arrived earlier, without fanfare), Anéris Graylor (Grivnar's son) — took the remaining seats. The vassals stood, leaning against the walls.
"Drink" said Arthur, pointing to the wine jugs. "Let's talk about marriages and demons. Not necessarily in that order."
Nuno Eladir was the first to speak.
"The Contraranures are more active. My spies report movements on the southern border. They make sacrifices every full moon."
"Sacrifices of what?" asked Mercudoth, his fingers drumming on the table.
"Of people, Mercudoth. Not chickens."
Mercudoth shrugged.
"Business continues."
Lusofiy Lunos interrupted.
"My county is suffering from the increase in monsters. The first portal is more unstable than ever. We lost three hunters last week."
"And the blue-mind-destroyer?" asked Anéris Graylor, a man of thirty, his face marked by a hard life at sea. "My fishermen say the fish are acting strange. They look at men as if they want to bite."
"The disease is spreading" replied Lusofiy. "It's not natural. Someone is feeding the animals with corruption."
"Demon lord" said Agrís Decatry, his voice calm but firm. "That's what my informants say. A demon lord of the second strand. Trussum the Liar, or perhaps another."
"And the king?" asked Nuno. "What does the king say?"
Arthur took a sip of wine before answering.
"The king promised men. Five thousand. The other houses, another two thousand five hundred."
"Not enough" said Lusofiy.
"Never enough."
The conversation drifted to other topics. Marriages — the union between Irina Graylor and Arth Erréndias was discussed, with Grivnar agreeing with a dry nod and Anéris looking at the floor. The alliance between Houses Lunos and Eladir (already consummated) was praised. Mercudoth Mercius offered his daughters for marriage to Lusofiy's sons, which he politely declined.
The wine flowed. The atmosphere, previously heavy, began to lighten. Voices rose. Laughter appeared.
Arthur looked at the men around him. None were truly his friends. He knew that. But at that moment, with glasses full and promises of alliance in the air, it was easy to forget.
---
Outside, the young people had gone out to the field. Mário Mercius wielded a wooden sword with too much force. Andy and Arth trained apart, slow, precise movements.
"Your father is tense" said Andy, lowering his sword.
"You noticed?"
"Everyone noticed. Even Márcia."
Arth sighed.
"He doesn't tell me what's wrong."
"Fathers never do."
The girls watched from the stone bench. Linda Lunos and Márcia Mercius spoke in low voices, their eyes fixed on Andy.
"He's handsome" said Linda.
"He's more than handsome" replied Márcia, blushing. "He is... kind. You can tell."
"Kindness doesn't put food on the table."
"But it puts peace in the heart."
Joanne Lunos, the eldest, listened in silence. Her gaze was fixed on Andy, but not with admiration. It was a look of assessment. Calculation.
"He is the Decatry heir" said Joanne, finally. "The most powerful house in Endomyar."
"And he's handsome" insisted Márcia.
"That is secondary."
---
The bell rang.
Everyone turned. The great bell, the one that only rang for important guests. Arthur left the audience chamber, followed by the other nobles. The young people dropped their swords and ran to the front garden.
The king had arrived.
Dizius Remadís descended from the royal carriage as one descends from a throne. Fifty years old, white hair, small dark eyes. He wore black clothes embroidered with gold. He did not smile. He never smiled. Behind him came his son, Lirius Remadís — twenty-two years old, handsome but with a cruel twist to his lips — and his daughter, Elisa Remadís, twenty-two as well, black hair, green eyes, a smile that revealed nothing.
Arthur knelt.
— Your Majesty. Welcome to my home.
— Rise, Count — said Dizius, his voice dry. — Today is a day of celebration. Not formalities.
Arthur rose. The other nobles made shorter bows. The king nodded once and entered the mansion.
---
Grivnar Graylor and Anéris Graylor arrived in the final minutes. Old Grivnar walked with a cane, his face marked by wind and salt. Anéris, his son, carried his father with discretion.
Behind them, their daughters: Morgana, arrogant and beautiful; Irina, cold and silent; and Kamia, the eldest, who did not live in Graylor County but served Ara Arteriólis, the Arth-ssól. Kamia was twenty, with red hair like her sister Irina, but her eyes were different — older, heavier.
Arthur greeted them with a bow.
"Grivnar. Anéris. Your daughters are always welcome."
"Thank you, Count" replied Anéris, tired. "Thank you."
Irina crossed glances with Arth. She did not smile. Did not nod. Just looked. And Arth felt something he could not name.
---
The birthday ceremony was brief. Speeches. Toasts. Congratulations. Arth listened to everyone's words with patience, replied with politeness, smiled when necessary.
Then, the king asked to speak privately with the heads of the noble houses. Arthur, Agrís, Lusofiy, Nuno, Mercudoth, Grivnar and Anéris followed him to the audience chamber. The doors closed.
The young people remained in the hall. Silence fell.
"What will they be discussing?" asked Linda Lunos, quietly.
"Politics" replied Andy, dryly. "Always politics."
Elisa Remadís approached Andy and Arth. The smile on her face was polite, but her green eyes were assessing.
"Andy Decatry, isn't it?"
"Yes, Princess."
"And you must be Arthorius. The birthday boy."
"Yes, Your Highness."
"No need for such formality. Today is a celebration." Elisa sat on a bench. Pat the seat beside her. "Sit. Talk to me."
Andy and Arth exchanged a look. Then they sat.
They spoke of trivialities. The weather. The journey. The flowers in the garden. Elisa laughed easily, but Arth noticed that her questions were never innocent. "Does your father speak much of the king?" "Does Duke Decatry support the war against the Contraranures?" "What do you think of the marriage to Graylor?"
Andy answered with evasions. Arth answered with truth, but the truth that suited.
Meanwhile, Lirius Remadís — the eldest prince, the vile one, the poisonous one — approached Martha. She blushed. He smiled. And Arth felt a shiver down his spine.
"Careful" Andy whispered, seeing the direction of Arth's gaze. "She's an adult. She can make her own decisions."
"Her decisions are terrible."
"They are hers."
---
The door of the audience chamber opened suddenly. Not violently, but with a slow creak, as if whoever opened it wanted to be heard.
The king's advisor entered the hall. A thin man, shaved head, black robes. He carried a sealed parchment in his hand.
"For Your Majesty" he said, loudly. "Urgent."
The king took the parchment. Read. His hands trembled — slightly, almost imperceptibly. Then his eyes rose. Fixed on Arthur.
"Count Arthur Erréndias."
"Your Majesty?"
"I have received a letter. From a spy. It says you plan to kill the men that the other houses lent you for the war against the Contraranures."
Silence.
Absolute silence. Even the candles seemed to stop crackling.
"That is a lie" said Arthur, his voice calm. "I swear by the gods."
"The gods do not rule men. I do." The king stood. "How do you prove your innocence?"
No one spoke. The nobles looked at the floor, at the walls, at their empty glasses. Agrís Decatry studied his own fingernails. Lusofiy Lunos sighed. Nuno Eladir closed his eyes. Mercudoth Mercius drummed his fingers on the table.
No one said anything.
Because no noble is truly friends with another noble.
"Father" Arth stepped forward. "This is madness. My father is innocent. I ask..."
An old maid, her face marked, grabbed his arm. Pulled him back.
"Be quiet, boy" she whispered. "You won't save him like this. You'll die with him."
Arth wanted to scream. The maid's hand tightened.
"Ask for trial by combat" said Andy, loudly. Everyone turned to him. "It is the right of any accused noble without proof."
The king looked at Andy. His small, dark eyes gleamed.
"Young Decatry is right. Count Arthur, do you ask for trial by combat?"
Arthur raised his head.
"I ask."
"If you win, you are innocent. If you lose... you lose your head. And your children cease to be nobles. They become slaves."
"I accept."
"Choose your champion."
"I choose myself."
The king smiled. It was the first smile Arth had seen on him. It was terrible.
"Then I choose mine." The king turned. — Count Deur Derylini. Enter.
The doors opened. Deur Derylini entered.
He was a man of forty, short greying hair, icy blue eyes. He wore full armour — dark, without coats of arms. He carried no sword. He did not need to. His bare hands were weapons.
"Count Arthur" said Deur, with a sarcastic bow. "It is an honour."
"The honour is mine" replied Arthur, his voice steady.
The servants prepared the field hastily. The nobles watched from the windows. The young people were taken to the back, but Arth escaped the maid and hid behind a column.
He saw everything.
Arthur picked up his sword. The same sword he had used in his youth, the same that had killed dozens of enemies. His hands trembled. Age weighed.
Deur picked up nothing. Just waited.
"Begin" said the king.
Arthur advanced. The first strike was fast, precise. Deur dodged with a minimal movement. The second, stronger. Deur blocked with his forearm — the armour creaked, but did not give. The third, the fourth, the fifth.
Deur did not attack. Just waited.
Tired, Arthur lowered his guard for a second.
Deur moved.
It was fast. So fast that Arth barely saw it. A punch to Arthur's chest. The sound of bones breaking. The sword falling. The body collapsing.
"It's over" said Deur, stepping back.
Arthur tried to get up. Could not. His eyes were open, but no longer saw. His chest was sunken. Blood trickled from his mouth.
He died in seconds.
Arth wanted to scream. The maid's hand covered his mouth.
"Silence"she whispered. "Silence or you die too."
The king stood.
"Count Arthur Erréndias is declared a traitor. His lineage loses its title. His children become slaves." Pause. "The Erréndias peninsula passes to the Derylini family. Deur, Asa, it is yours."
Deur knelt.
"Thank you, Your Majesty."
Martha screamed. She was silenced by a servant. Irina Graylor made no sound. Her eyes remained dry. Morgana opened her mouth, closed it, opened it again. Grivnar held his granddaughter's arm.
"Don't do anything stupid" he whispered.
Andy stepped forward. His father, Agrís, grabbed his arm.
"Don't get involved."
"Father, this is unjust."
"Justice does not exist. Only power exists. And the power is with the king."
Andy hesitated. His fists clenched. His teeth ground. Then he stepped back.
"I will remember this day" he said, quietly.
"Remember it. But do nothing... Yet."
---
Fifteen years later. Year 7335. Slave Market of Varzyus — Derylini Forest.
The cell smelled of urine, of faeces, of death.
Arth Erréndias — no longer Erréndias, just Arth, slave number 734 — sat on the dirt floor. His body thin. His beard unkempt, grey. His eyes empty. His hands tied behind his back.
He remembered everything. His father falling. The sword dropping. The king's smile. Deur Derylini, receiving the peninsula as one receives a glass of wine.
He remembered Irina. The small smile she had given when he chose her. What happened afterwards — the forced marriage to Andy, the silence, the sadness she never showed.
He remembered everything.
The iron gate creaked. A body was thrown into the cell next to his. A young boy. Perhaps fifteen, sixteen years old. Hair shining like molten gold — literally, half yellow-gold, half blood-red. A beautiful face, even in the filth. Eyes that burned with a rage Arth had not seen in years.
"Another one" said the guard, laughing. "This one is special. Golden hair. The boss said to give him a pillow."
The guard threw a dirty pillow into the cell. The boy ignored it. Just sat on the floor, his back against the wall, his eyes fixed on the ceiling.
Arth watched him.
The boy said nothing. Arth said nothing either.
Just the sound of the iron door closing. And the silence. And the promise, in the air, that something was about to change.