The days leading up to the conclave altered the estate in subtle ways.
Argus noticed it first in the servants.
They spoke less freely now, their movements sharpened by urgency. Orders were repeated twice, then carried out without question. Mistakes were corrected quietly, quickly, and without explanation. Even the air felt different, as if the House itself had drawn a breath and was holding it.
Preparation was not celebration.
It was defense.
Argus spent most mornings training as usual, though the instructors kept him on the periphery. No direct challenges. No demonstrations. He was neither promoted nor punished. Instead, he was observed with the same detached interest one reserved for an unfamiliar tool.
He kept his head down and his movements controlled.
The system stirred faintly each day, responsive but restrained. He did not push it. Not yet.
There would be time for experimentation later.
Right now, survival depended on reading people.
Two days before the conclave, Argus was summoned to the inner hall.
The request came without explanation, delivered by a servant whose hands trembled slightly as she bowed and withdrew. That alone was enough to set his nerves on edge.
The inner hall was reserved for formal announcements and discipline. It smelled faintly of incense and polished stone, the kind of place where words carried more weight than blows.
Argus entered alone.
Several of his siblings were already present.
Eldric stood near the far wall, posture relaxed, expression unreadable. He wore silver-trimmed training robes, immaculate as always. Power radiated from him in a way that was not loud, but undeniable.
Maelis sat beside one of the marble pillars, hands folded in her lap, eyes flicking briefly toward Argus before returning to the empty space ahead of her.
Vaelor leaned against a column with practiced ease, arms crossed, smile faint and sharp. He met Argus's gaze openly this time, eyes cold with intent.
Theron stood apart from them all, arms behind his back, gaze fixed straight ahead.
Argus took his place where indicated, a half-step behind the main group.
No one spoke.
Minutes passed.
Then the doors at the far end of the hall opened.
The Patriarch entered.
The room changed instantly.
Argus had seen his father before, of course, but never like this. Not in a setting where authority was meant to be felt rather than implied. The Patriarch wore formal robes in deep obsidian, the Aethra crest worked into the fabric so subtly it almost vanished unless the light struck it just right.
He did not look at any of them immediately.
He took his seat.
Only then did his gaze sweep the room.
It paused on Eldric. Briefly on Vaelor. Lingered on Maelis.
And then—just for a moment—on Argus.
Not judgment.
Assessment.
"The conclave approaches," the Patriarch said. His voice was calm, unhurried. "House Aethra will host representatives from six major families, as well as several lesser houses of interest."
Interest.
Argus filed that word away.
"You will represent this House," the Patriarch continued, "through your conduct."
His gaze sharpened slightly. "Not through strength. Not through arrogance. Through restraint."
Vaelor's jaw tightened.
"This gathering is not a competition," the Patriarch said. "Anyone who treats it as one will be corrected."
Silence followed.
Then the Patriarch leaned back slightly, fingers steepled.
"Argus."
The name echoed louder than it should have.
Argus straightened. "Yes, Father."
"You will attend," the Patriarch said. "You will observe. You will answer when spoken to. You will not provoke, and you will not retreat."
A pause.
"Do you understand?"
Argus met his gaze. "I do."
The Patriarch studied him another second, then nodded once.
"That is all."
The meeting ended as abruptly as it began.
The Patriarch left.
No further instructions were given.
That, Argus realized, was deliberate.
The hall emptied slowly.
Maelis rose first, smoothing her robes as she passed Argus without acknowledgment. Vaelor lingered, eyes tracking him with open hostility, before turning away with a dismissive snort.
Theron hesitated, then followed the others.
Only Eldric remained.
He approached Argus without haste, stopping just close enough to feel imposing without crossing into aggression.
"You're quieter than I expected," Eldric said.
Argus inclined his head. "I've been told that's preferable."
A faint smile touched Eldric's lips. "For now."
He studied Argus closely, eyes sharp and curious. "You survived something you shouldn't have. You've drawn attention you didn't ask for."
"Yes."
"Do you know why that's dangerous?" Eldric asked.
"Because attention invites judgment."
"Because attention invites correction," Eldric replied. "Judgment implies choice. Correction does not."
Argus absorbed that without comment.
Eldric stepped back. "Be careful at the conclave. People there are less patient than family."
With that, he turned and left.
Argus remained where he was for several breaths.
So Eldric had spoken to him directly at last.
That alone marked a shift.
That evening, his mother prepared him for the journey.
She worked in silence, adjusting the gray garments, checking seams, ensuring every fold lay perfectly. Her hands were steady, but her eyes betrayed her worry.
"They'll see you," she said quietly. "No matter how small you make yourself."
"I know," Argus replied.
She hesitated. "If anyone speaks unkindly—"
"I'll listen," Argus said gently.
She looked up at him, searching his face. "You shouldn't have to."
He smiled faintly. "I've had practice."
That did not comfort her.
Before she left, she pressed something into his hand.
A small token. Unremarkable. A charm woven from simple thread.
"It's nothing special," she said quickly. "Just… something to remember home."
Argus closed his fingers around it. "Thank you."
She hesitated in the doorway, then turned back. "Argus."
"Yes?"
"Don't let them make you forget who you are."
He met her gaze steadily. "I won't."
She left.
Argus sat alone with the charm resting in his palm.
The system stirred faintly, as if noting the object.
Emotional anchor detected.No action taken.
He frowned slightly.
Even this thing observed him.
The journey to the conclave began at dawn.
Carriages lined the outer courtyard, ornate and imposing. Banners fluttered in the cold air, each one announcing lineage and power.
Argus took his assigned seat at the rear of one carriage, flanked by silence. His siblings rode ahead, laughter and conversation muffled through polished wood.
As the estate gates opened and the convoy began to move, Argus felt the weight of transition settle over him.
This was not training.
This was exposure.
He watched the countryside pass by through a narrow window, mind cataloging details. Roads widened. Wards grew more complex. Guards became more numerous.
They were nearing neutral ground.
The system whispered faintly, almost idly.
Environment change imminent.Recommendation: Heightened observation.
Argus closed his eyes briefly, then opened them again.
He straightened his posture.
Adjusted his breathing.
Gray garments. Calm expression. Quiet presence.
He would not dominate the room.
He would read it.
And when the doors finally opened and the world of noble smiles and sharpened words revealed itself, Argus would already know where to stand.