Some chains are not forged of iron, but of memories we cannot cut.
…
Morning came in the village as if the sun rose in anticipation of the day's unfolding fate. Keita awoke to the distant voices carried through the streets.
"Did you hear?"
"Carriages are arriving from elsewhere today."
"I heard it's about the silver-haired girl again."
Gossip spread from the village outskirts to the tall castle walls—whispers of a marriage alliance between the baron's household and a distant noble house.
Keita watched as his mother sat silent at breakfast.
"This is eerier than yelling."
"Still, at least we're eating together." He thought to himself.
He had learned not to measure happiness by excess, but by presence.
"We're not exactly poor nor wealthy like nobles, but we made enough to get by in the lower quarters of the village. Father was a merchant that transported and sold our farm produce around the villages."
"Now, mother sells them to other merchants instead."
After breakfast he retreated to the comfort of his book.
Sota Sentai – What It Takes to Be a Hero.
Rustling.
The worn pages felt familiar beneath his fingers as he flipped through, grinning as the Demon King Voidmaw fell before the hero's unwavering determination. His chuckling could be heard outside while his mother tended to the inventory, maintaining a list of orders.
"He should at least help with feeding the horses," she sighed.
…
Back at the castle, Celestia's maids forced her into luxurious garments. Hands fastening ribbons and smoothing fabrics, practiced in duty more than kindness.
"At least she inherited something useful," remarked a maid under her breath.
"Is the young miss ready?" A cold yet calm voice asked from behind the door.
"Oh… yes Sir Alistair," the head maid answered quickly, posture snapping straight as if his presence alone commanded dignity. Celestia stepped out and met him, the blue of her dress, elegant as the moonlight, a cold beauty. She followed the renowned man, who offered no insults, no pity, only a slight nod before guiding her to the Minor Halls, unaware that an unexpected encounter awaited her there.
"Well, if it isn't my dear little sister," a voice came from across the hall.
"If only you matched even a fraction of my grace… perhaps you wouldn't be reduced to a noble's plaything."
"Oh-ho-ho… such a shame indeed." Flicking her fan in amusement.
The stunning voice came from Liliana Melrick, third youngest of the Melrick household, sitting on the successor's chair–a position of the future authority over the estate. Accompanied by her servants as they all laughed at Celestia.
"Third Miss Liliana, please be aware of the Baron's presence" Alistair's commanding voice thundered.
"Nonsense… it's just sibling rivalry." Liliana scoffed lightly.
"A noblewoman must remain as unyielding as diamonds, even under duress. If she falters, then she has no hope of ever becoming Empress." Baron Melrick added, his tone leaving no room for argument.
His gaze rested on Celestia only briefly, but the weight of expectation lingered long after he turned away.
Celestia remained unfazed, face frozen in time as to capture her cold beauty. She didn't want to be here, especially not face to face with the man that treated her mother like a tool.
Taah-tah!
Braaaah! Paaah!
"Ah, they have arrived." an expecting Melrick stated.
The morning air trembled with the sound of trumpets. From the village gates, a procession of carriages announcing the arrival of Baron Fenwick. Villagers paused in awe, whispers fading as the noble entourage drew nearer.
The heavy wooden gates of the village groaned as they swung open, sunlight catching on the iron bands that bound them. Villagers gathered along the streets, climbing onto crates and rooftops for a better view. Children pressed forward with wide eyes before the baron's procession entered.
Clatter-clack.
The polished carriages gleamed, their wheels crunching over the cobblestones. Two lines of guards flanked the street, blades and lances upright, eyes straight ahead. At the sight of the baron's carriage, they bent low, signaling the villagers to step back. Just then, knights rode past with pride, banners unfurling above them, bearing the sigil of House Fenwick.
Keita watched from among the villagers, fingers tightening around his book. Part of him wondered if heroes ever passed through streets like these–unnoticed before their stories began.
The horses halted at the entrance. Before them stood a knight more decorated than the others.
"I am Leon Grimsbane, Knight Captain of House Melrick."
"Please, this way. The gates of Melrick are open to you," the man announced, raising a hand to guide the baron through the gate. The knights escorted the guests to the castle–never breaking formation.
"Such a splendid squadron Baron Melrick has under his rule," Baron Fenwick observed.
"Father, do you think that I could have a fief like this?" a young voice asked eagerly.
"Naturally," Baron Fenwick answered. "When I rise through the ranks and become a duke, I will reward you with everything between your eyes and the horizon."
Stepping down from the carriages, the knights stopped at the castle entrance.
"From here on out, only the personal guards will enter the castle alongside the Baron."
"The rest will be escorted to the guest barracks," commanded Leon.
The doors opened to reveal Alistair, standing motionless as if he had been waiting there all along.
"This way, Baron Fenwick," he said calmly, already turning toward the minor hall.
At that moment the air shifted. Trained instincts screamed, muscles tightening–reaching for swords before discipline forced their hands still.
No threat had been spoken. None was needed.
"What manner of man is this?" The guards could not tell whether it was fear or something worse that weighed upon them.
Baron Fenwick raised a brow, wondering what had come over his knights for them to hesitate so. Walking through the halls, no maids, servants, or workers were in sight. The echo of their boots bounced off stone walls polished to a faint glint, each step highlighting the perfection of the corridors. Even the portraits seemed to watch, their subjects' postures unnervingly straight, as though acknowledging the presence of Alistair. Every door, every tapestry, every piece of furniture appeared arranged to the smallest detail, poised in anticipation.
At the end of the corridor, a heavy set of doors came into view, Alistair halted slightly before pushing it open with calm precision. Fenwick stepped forward, the first to enter. Behind him, the personal guards followed in rigid formation, eyes flicking from corner to corner as the weight of anticipation pressed upon them. The house of Melrick was a fortress of control, every element choreographed to reflect power and expectation. Even without words, Fenwick could feel it–nothing was accidental here.
Baron Melrick rose smoothly from the dais, a measured nod acknowledging Fenwick without breaking composure.
"Baron Fenwick," he began, voice calm yet commanding, "your journey was safe, I trust?"
"Safe enough, Baron Melrick," he replied evenly, a faint smile touching the corner of his lips. "I see your household spares no detail in preparation."
"Such care for a guest," Liliana said lightly, voice layered with amusement–the fan in her hand flicking open.
"Though one wonders if the same precision extends to those who serve this house."
Baron Fenwick resisted folding his lips, not rising to the bait. Instead, he studied her, noting the subtle barbs behind politeness. Truly a rose admired from afar, thorns only revealed themselves to those foolish enough to reach for her.
"I have no doubt your house is formidable," he said, "but I would hope that decorum is maintained even when the gaze falls upon strangers."
Fenwick found his attention drawn to a faint rustle within the chamber. Standing there was Celestia, unnoticed and motionless, her gaze calm yet piercing. She did not speak, but the stillness itself seemed to question every word in the room. Fenwick found himself observing her–not as a child, not as a noble, but as a person whose presence demanded careful regard.
"We have prepared this hall for discourse," Baron Melrick's eyes meeting Fenwick's. "I trust you understand the importance of today's discussions."
"I do," Fenwick replied without hesitation. "And I am grateful for the courtesy extended by your household."
Alistair's gaze swept the room, silent and commanding, a subtle reminder of who held discipline here. The Fenwick knights felt it again, that invisible pressure coiling like steel in their veins, a quiet insistence that order be maintained. The knights responded in kind, brushing off the intimidating pressure with one of their own. Even backed into a corner, a lion bared its fangs.
For a heartbeat, the room held itself. Words hung in the air as if the hall itself were listening. Then a soft laugh broke the silence like a faint ripple across still waters.
"I wonder," Liliana said, "if the illustrious Baron Fenwick can match the reputation of our house, or if he will simply admire it from afar."
Fenwick's eyes narrowed ever so slightly, but his smile remained unshaken.
"I admire nothing that is not earned," he said, "And I intend to earn it."
Celestia's lip twitched, as though approving the exchange–but she said nothing. Silence returned over the hall, heavy with potential, as the meeting poised on the edge of protocol and unspoken challenge.
The sound of clashing steel shattered the silence, followed by shouts from the direction of the guest barracks.
Every head in the hall turned at once.