Ezra lay on his back in his crib, staring at the beams of the ceiling. Since the ceremony was over he was discreetly sent back to his "nursery"
The events of the day had left his body exhausted.
So this is what happens if I didn't use mana at all. This is what happens if I just try to hide it.
In the days leading up to the Day of Introduction Aerwyna had told him to hide his field as much as possible. He'd never felt as out of control of his body as much as he had the past few days.
His body had changed again. Something in him kept rewiring.
Now it didn't matter how tight he squeezed.
Something always leaked.
His control had gotten worse. It was that his body had changed, like a natural progression.
"I guess this is how babies develop in this world," Ezra mused.
New nerves and pathways being laid down faster than he could map them. Every day he woke up and his nervous system felt slightly different.
He tried again anyway.
Inhale.
Draw the mana in—like steam sucked back into a kettle. His aura dimmed and settled… then pushed against his grip, a muscle that refused to stay still.
Tsk
AMP's draw on his body was unsteady.
Some days he could run it cleanly for minutes—even hours, Speed overlay stable, vectors crisp, no nausea. Other days his body threw a tantrum after seconds, shutting him down immediately.
It felt like his body deciding, no, and pulling the plug.
For now, at least, one thing was improving.
From six hours of wakefulness, he was up to six and a half—sometimes seven—before his body forced him to sleep.
It wasn't much.
But it was something.
He rolled his head to the side.
Sir Evan stood just inside the door.
Aerwyna insisted he remain there whenever Ezra was in his room. Not "nearby." Not "within call." Inside the room. Like a statue placed for decoration, except the statue was armed and breathed.
Evan faced outward, watching the corridor through the slightly open door. Ezra could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his posture stayed locked like he expected someone to come around the corner with a knife.
"Sir Evan," Ezra said quietly.
The Knight glanced back, then away again, like eye contact was a hazard.
"Yes, Milord?" he murmured.
"Relax," Ezra said, voice flat. "I'm not planning to escape through the window. Yet."
That earned him the faintest twitch at the corner of Evan's mouth.
Outside, a round of laughter rose from the Great Hall. It sounded like a wave striking stone—bright, brittle, and too loud.
The Day of Introduction had gone as well as these things could go.
The crowd had seen what they were supposed to see: a promising child with a strong core, basking in blessings, soaking in gifts.
Only half the truth.
Ezra had been suppressing what as much he could. If anyone saw how large his field truly was, they would have shuddered, half of them with fear, maybe prostration, and the other half with daggers and martial action.
But no one had thought to test a baby that way.
At least he didn't notice anyone that did.
Nobles expected raw capacity in heirs.
They did not expect fine control.
Down in the Great Hall, nobles were getting livelier.
Long tables were filled with meats and stews. Wine from various districts of Fulmen had been showcased on the table. Musicians leaned into lively beats, careful not to drown conversation, but energetic enough that the mood never sagged.
The lights were set to make everything look luxurious; extra Gemlamp pairs—normally stored for emergencies—had been brought out for display.
Reitz and Aerwyna made the rounds together.
They walked the length of the hall, accepting congratulations, nodding through compliments about Ezra's "promise" and "strong aura" and "noble bearing," as if any of them knew what they were talking about.
"I don't think anyone noticed anything out of the ordinary about Ezra," Aerwyna whispered into Reitz's ear. Outwardly she was smiling and waving; she was no outsider to court politics.
"Yeah," Reitz replied, "at least for the time being we are safe."
Everyone had seen something in the ceremony.
What they thought they had seen was enough.
"He'll be a terror in the dueling grounds, my Lord," Baron Osric of Cindermere—one of Aaron's vassals—said, eyes bright with wine. "If he doesn't burn down half the practice field first."
"We'll keep hydromancers close," Reitz replied with a chuckle.
They moved on.
More bows.
More praise.
As proper courtiers, they worked their way toward the Emperor's circle when the current of the room allowed it—waiting at the edge until a gap opened, then stepping in with the right timing and the right distance.
The Rex Imperia was mingling with his subjects the way an experienced courtier would. If Ezra was present he would have classified the Rex Imperia as an extrovert.
He was in the center of it all, talking to everyone, laughing, bobbing his head as if each minor lord and knight had something worth hearing. A loose circle had formed around him, drawn in by volume and gravity.
When Reitz and Aerwyna approached, the Rex's face brightened as though he'd been expecting them.
"Reitz. Aerwyna," he greeted, voice carrying easily over the music. He lifted his goblet in a casual salute. "You've done well. Fulmen's fed, the hall's warm, and your guests look like they've forgotten how to be suspicious for at least one evening."
Reitz inclined his head. "We try, Your Majesty."
Aerwyna offered the appropriate bow, her smile measured. "It is your presence that honors the house."
The Rex snorted, amused, and waved the formality away with a small flick of his fingers.
"Come now," he said. "I didn't come all this way to speak about stew."
His gaze sharpened—not in a way anyone could call unfriendly, but in a way that suggested he'd been waiting for this part.
"Your boy," he said, and his grin returned, broad and easy. "Ezra."
He let the name sit in the air like a toast.
"An exceptional seed," the Rex continued, loud enough for the nearest cluster to hear but spoken with the warmth of praise rather than proclamation. "Most babies sleep through rites. Yours sat there and watched the whole hall like he understood it."
Reitz's mouth tightened—half pride the other half, apprehension.
"Your Majesty," he said, "we would not dare—"
"Oh, spare me," the Rex cut in, still smiling. "I've eyes. And I've seen plenty of heirs paraded in silver cribs. Most of them are… decorative."
A few polite chuckles rose nearby.
The Rex leaned back a fraction, setting his goblet down into a servant's waiting hands without looking.
"And that core of his," he went on, tone still light, almost conversational. "Monstrous for his age."
He laughed, a big sound that rolled over the nearest tables.
"Looks like that boy of yours will be a Primarch someday, eh, Reitz?"
The nearest cluster of lords went still.
Reitz felt sweat prickle at the back of his neck.
"Your Majesty," he said lightly, forcing his lips into something like a smile, "surely you jest."
The Rex only grinned wider, as if he'd just said something harmless at a family table.
"Maybe I do," he said. "Maybe I don't. Either way—don't pretend you can't see it. A pyromancer with a vast core is never to be dismissed."
He tilted his head, pride briefly threading into his voice.
"Look at my House."
Reitz seized the opening like a drowning man grabbing rope.
"Well, Your Majesty," he said, "your progeny does bear two elements at an early age. If the Omniscience smiles on any line, it is surely yours. No one could dispute your right to the throne."
The Rex gave him a look equal parts amused and unimpressed.
"Flatterer," he said.
He let the word hang a moment, then shrugged, rolling his shoulders under the plate.
"I've been thinking, Reitz," he went on, like the idea had just come to him. "I have a daughter from my fourth wife, near your son's age."
He paused.
"I think we should join Houses. Should we not?"
The words landed like a thrown spear.
Conversations that had tentatively resumed nearby stuttered again, then died. Half the high table was suddenly listening without seeming to listen.
Reitz kept his face neutral by sheer habit.
"Your Majesty," he said slowly, "I am but a humble vassal. I would not dare presume to mix my blood with yours."
That was the polite answer.
The real answer—the one he couldn't say aloud—was that he didn't understand this sudden warmth.
During the Tribunal, the Rex had been almost indifferent, playing the part of an Emperor forced into a distasteful duty.
Now he arrived in person, showered Ezra in Imperial favor, and spoke of marriage.
In the Imperium, betrothal between Houses was never just rings and feasts.
It was garrisons and guarantees.
Troop placements.
Shared liabilities and dowry.
To tie Ezra to the Imperial line at this age was to thread a web around Fulmen that might never come off.
"Are you saying you don't want me as an in-law to your son?" the Rex asked mildly.
The tone was gentle but the danger beneath it was not.
"No, Your Majesty," Reitz said quickly. "That is not what I meant—"
The Rex waved a hand, cutting him off.
"It's settled," he said cheerfully.
"My daughter is betrothed to your boy."
Reitz's mouth opened, then shut.
"But, Your Majesty," he tried, "don't you think they are too young? And what of Ezra's feelings in the matter? He—"
"Nonsense," the Rex said. "Children are betrothed at birth in half the Imperium. Yours is already halfway to running duels in the courtyard, if the rumors are true."
A few nearby Lords chuckled dutifully.
"As for his feelings," the Emperor continued, "the Aufstiegfrieden does not bind hearts, Reitz. Your son and my daughter are free to break the engagement when they come of age, if they truly find each other intolerable. I am not chaining them. I am… giving them a line between Houses. A chance to know each other."
He leaned in a fraction, voice lowering just enough that the nearest Lords had to strain.
"Besides," he said, "I heard you've had some… trouble out here."
"You have enemies at your borders," the Rex went on.
"And a mine dispute. I can provide elite troops to bolster your defenses. Household veterans. Men loyal to the Throne who will stand beside your own."
That, at least, was entirely believable.
Imperial "help" always came with boots.
"This will benefit you," the Emperor said. "If I didn't know better, I might think you didn't want me as an in-law, Reitz. Hahs!"
He laughed again, loud and open, like he'd told an excellent joke.
Reitz bowed his head.
He could feel a dozen gazes on his back—envy, calculation, resentment.
Nobles weighing what they would have done for such an offer.
What they might still do to steal its advantages.
"I am honored, Your Majesty," Reitz said, words tasting like ash. "I accept."
Around them, congratulations began.
"Fortunate, Lord Blackfyre."
"A bond with the Twin Fires themselves."
"Your House rises ever higher."
Smiles were broad but the eyes above them were not some with envy, some with unease, some with indignation.
Later, when the Rex had moved on and the musicians had changed sets, Reitz escaped to his study.
Aaron found him there.
The door slammed open without ceremony. Baron Aaron Bedross strode in, hair slightly disheveled, cheeks flushed from wine and excitement.
"Why the bloody hell are you sitting here brooding, you bastard?" Aaron demanded, dropping into the chair opposite without waiting to be invited.
"Your son just got engaged to Imperial royalty. You should be dancing on the table."
Reitz pinched the bridge of his nose.
"Aaron," he said, "I'm not sure Ezra will like it."
He hadn't told Aaron about his son's mind.
Not fully.
Not the sharpened logic in a baby's voice.
Not the cold assessments.
It wasn't a matter of trust—if anyone in Fulmen held his loyalty, it was Aaron.
But some truths, once spoken, could not be pulled back. The more people who knew what Ezra truly was, the more angles there were for knives.
"Like it?" Aaron echoed, incredulous. "If it were me, I'd betroth myself to one of the Rex's daughters. Have you seen them? They're all beauties, and strong to boot. There was this one lass from his second wife—sixteen, hair like a bonfire, eyes that could burn a man where he stood…"
He licked his lips, then caught Reitz's stare and coughed.
"Anyway," he said quickly, waving a hand, "your son won't complain."
He leaned forward, gesturing emphatically.
"Think, man. The benefits. Elite troops in your domain. Official ties to the Imperial line. That mine dispute? Dead. No Duke with half a brain will poke too hard at a House the Rex just embraced publicly."
Reitz stared into his cup.
"It's precisely the soldiers that bother me," he said quietly.
Aaron blinked.
"Eh?"
"They are loyal to the Rex," Reitz said. "Not to me. They will sleep in my barracks, walk my walls, drink in my taverns, and report to a chain of command whose last link sits in the capital. If I move wrong, they are already in place to 'stabilize' Fulmen."
Aaron waved a hand.
"You've grown paranoid," he said. "You were glum because you thought you'd fallen from his favor. Now he offers you a bridge back, and you glare at it like it's a noose. You're impossible."
Reitz didn't answer.
It wasn't just the Emperor that made his skin crawl.
There was still the unseen enemy who'd nearly stolen Ezra.
"Who was Catalyna working for?" he muttered. "How many like her do they have? How many eyes are on this domain?"
Aaron shrugged helplessly.
"Whoever they are, they'll think twice now," he said. "After today? No one with sense is going to poke the Rex's new in-laws."
Reitz wasn't so sure.
Power made some people cautious.
It made others reckless.
He set his cup down and rubbed his hands over his face.
The day ended with more toasts and more careful words.
Some of the lower-ranked Nobles retired to inns inside Bren; the higher Nobles remained in the castle's guest chambers, attended with strained courtesy by stewards.
The Day of Introduction had done what it was designed to do.
It had put Ezra on the map.
It had also painted a target on him in ink that would not fade.
"Do you think he'll be angry?" she asked quietly.
Reitz sat at the edge of the bed, unbuckling his boots.
"Ezra?" he said. "About the betrothal?"
She nodded.
"For him, we must seem like we are arranging his life without asking," she said.
Reitz huffed something that wasn't quite a laugh.
"That's… because we are," he said. "Because we have to."
She let out a slow breath.
"For me," Aerwyna said, "we could lose Fulmen. We could be stripped of title and land and cast out. I could live with that, as long as he lives."
"For me too," he said.
They had already begun to plan.
Servants would be vetted twice over.
New guards would be drawn—where possible—from families whose histories could be traced three generations back in Bren.
Foreign hires would be cut to a trickle.
The castle would tighten, not visibly, but in all the ways that mattered.
The only factor they couldn't neatly control was the betrothal.
Imperial blood would come to them.
They would eventually have to send Ezra out.
They went to sleep with that knowledge sitting heavy in their chests, ending the day in a tight coil of exhaustion and anticipation.