The first letter arrived before dawn.
It slipped past three layers of screening glyphs, bypassed two clerks who never remembered touching it, and settled—precisely centered—upon the stone table in Caelan Aurelion Vale's residence. The wax seal bore a crest not of the Vale, but of House Kareth of the Southern Reaches, a power old enough to be cautious and rich enough to be polite about it.
Thadric Emeran noticed it the moment he entered the chamber. He did not touch it.
Caelan stood by the window, watching frostlight crawl across the distant slopes. His posture was still, but his attention sharpened the instant Thad spoke.
"Correspondence," Thad said. "External. High-priority routing."
Caelan did not turn. "Open it."
Thad complied.
The letter was brief. Respectful. Carefully worded.
House Kareth expressed admiration for the exceptional bond displayed during the Awakening Rites. They spoke of shared values. Of stability. Of the mutual benefit that might arise from future cooperation—training exchanges, shared dungeon expeditions when age permitted, and, tucked neatly into the third paragraph like a blade in velvet, a proposal of future marital alignment.
Bram leaned over the back of his chair as Thad read aloud, chewing on a piece of dried fruit. "Wow," he said. "That's the politest way I've ever seen someone ask to steal your bloodline."
Caelan finally turned.
"Decline," he said.
Thad nodded, already reaching for fresh parchment.
=== === ===
By midday, there were six more.
From the Argent Concord, a tri-city coalition whose academies specialized in structural reinforcement and endurance techniques. They invited Bram—specifically Bram—to attend a preliminary evaluation under the guise of "shared knowledge."
Bram squinted at the seal. "Is it bad that I kind of want to see what they think counts as 'preliminary'?"
"Yes," Caelan replied flatly.
Bram grinned. "Worth asking."
Another letter arrived from House Velorian, smaller than the Vale, but ambitious. This one addressed Caelan alone, praising his restraint, his vision, and the wisdom of surrounding himself with stabilizing influences. It suggested a wardship arrangement. Temporary. Of course.
"Decline," Caelan said again.
Thad did not bother to ask.
By the third day, the tone shifted.
The letters grew bolder.
One from the Black Meridian Institute proposed joint research—thinly veiled attempts to observe Caelan's asynchronous awakening up close. Another from a distant northern clan offered Bram a position as honorary shield-bearer, complete with land grants and a personal guard.
Bram stared at that one for a long moment. "Honorary shield-bearer," he mused. "Sounds fancy. Do I get a bigger shield?"
"No," Caelan said.
"Then pass."
=== === ===
Training continued regardless.
They trained in the inner yard carved into the mountain's spine, where gravity ran true and the stone remembered every impact. Bram's presence changed the space—his Primordial Bastion bloodline settling into the ground like a promise that nothing here would collapse without a fight.
Caelan circled him, steps light, precise. He struck—not with force, but with intent. Each blow landed where structure should fail.
It didn't.
Bram absorbed it, boots sliding back inches at a time, teeth clenched, breath steady. His skin flushed, muscles locking and unlocking in a rhythm that matched the pressure.
"Okay," Bram said between breaths, "either you're holding back, or I'm doing something right."
"You're doing something right," Caelan replied. "And I'm holding back."
Bram barked a laugh. "That tracks."
They trained until the stone warmed beneath their feet, until Bram's aura thickened and Caelan's meridians pulsed faintly carmine beneath his skin—recycling, refining, never wasting.
Thad watched from the edge, silent, eyes cataloging every micro-adjustment.
=== === ===
The most dangerous letter arrived last.
It bore no crest.
Only a mark: a thin, vertical line split by a circle.
The Veiled Observatory.
An institution older than most Houses, dedicated not to power, but to prediction. They did not ask. They informed.
We have recorded the anomaly.We request dialogue before the world does.
Caelan read it once. Then twice.
Then he burned it.
"They won't stop," Bram said quietly.
"I know," Caelan replied. "They don't need to."
=== === ===
That night, another letter arrived.
This one, Caelan opened himself.
The handwriting was familiar—sharp, disciplined, but rushed at the edges.
He recognized it instantly.
His parents.
He sat at the table, Bram across from him, Thad standing behind his chair. The hearth burned low, casting long shadows across the stone.
Caelan unfolded the parchment.
My son,
If this letter reached you before your thirteenth winter, then things unfolded faster than even we anticipated.
Yes. We heard.
The entire world did.
Your mother laughed when she learned you threatened half the Inner Hall before breakfast. I did not laugh. I sighed, sat down, and wondered which of us you inherited that from.
Caelan, what you did was reckless.It was also correct.
House Aurelion Vale survives because it adapts without begging permission. You reminded them of that.
As for your companion—Bram Vale—good. A Bastion without fear is rare. A Bastion without shame is priceless. Do not let the House turn him into furniture.
We regret not being there.
That is the part no instruction can soften.
Know this: our absence was never indifference. The paths we walk are meant to ensure that when you finally step into the wider world, it does not collapse under your feet.
Grow slowly.Break only what must be broken.And when the System finally decides to name what you are becoming—make sure it has no choice but to be honest.
We are proud of you.
—Your Mother and Father
Caelan did not move for a long time.
Bram watched him, uncharacteristically quiet.
Finally, Bram spoke. "They sound… terrifying."
"Yes," Caelan said softly. "They are."
A pause.
"…They also sound like they missed you."
Caelan folded the letter with care.
"They did," he said. "In their way."
=== === ===
The letters kept coming.
So did the attention.
By the time the mountain's snows began to shift—signaling the approach of a new cycle—House Aurelion Vale had made its stance clear to the world.
Caelan and Bram were not for trade.
They were not for study.
They were not for marriage, alignment, or leverage.
They were enduring.
And the world adjusted accordingly.
The next step loomed on the horizon.
Dungeons.
Crucibles.
Places where observation turned into consequence.
Caelan stood at the window once more, Bram beside him, Thad behind them both.
"Soon," Bram said, cracking his knuckles. "We get to see what all this attention was for."
Caelan's eyes reflected the distant ice.
"Yes," he said. "Soon."