The delegation from Nyxveil arrived beneath banners heavy with gold thread and darker intent.
Atelion watched from the upper balcony as the procession crossed the palace gates—armored knights in blackened steel, court officials wrapped in ceremonial silk, and at the center, a carriage marked with the sigil of a veiled sun.
Princess Eniola Kemyra Solaryn Nyxveil had arrived.
The court stirred.
Whispers spread faster than footsteps.
"She's younger than expected."
"They say her eyes never lower."
"They say she watched an empire burn."
Atelion said nothing.
He had expected presence.
He had not expected pressure.
Even sealed, restrained, suppressed—his senses registered something sharp beneath the air.
Not aura.
Not mana.
Will.
The carriage doors opened.
Eniola descended without assistance.
Red hair, unbound.
Gold eyes, unflinching.
Her posture was precise, controlled—not submissive, not arrogant.
Behind her came her brothers.
Azharel Nyxveil, firstborn, tall and severe, gaze predatory.
Vaelion Nyxveil, smiling too easily, eyes calculating.
And trailing several steps behind—Lyrion Nyxveil, younger, silent, already dismissed.
Atelion's gaze lingered only a fraction longer on the last.
Patterns mattered.
Formal introductions followed.
Titles exchanged.
Smiles practiced.
When Eniola's eyes finally met Atelion's, the world narrowed—not through magic, but recognition.
Not familiarity.
Assessment.
Two heirs bound by treaty.
Two weapons shaped by different kinds of neglect.
No spark.
No warmth.
Only understanding.
"You are… calmer than expected," Eniola said quietly once protocol allowed speech.
Atelion inclined his head.
"And you are more composed than rumor suggests."
Her lips twitched—not quite a smile.
Their brothers watched closely.
Azharel with open disdain.
Vaelion with interest sharpened by opportunity.
Politics moved around them like a blade circling a throat.
That night, Atelion returned to the sealed chamber and sat alone.
No training.
No circulation.
Only thought.
This woman would one day drown continents in blood.
Not from madness—but from endurance stretched too far.
He did not know why yet.
He did not know who would push her.
But for the first time since arriving in this world, Atelion understood something clearly:
Changing the ending would not be done with power alone.
It would be done with timing.
And this—this fragile, silent beginning—was the first moment that mattered.