ESPERSIA, YEAR 1889
Alba stood up. He took a deliberate step forward, his hands trailing along the edge of his desk, then paused — collecting his thoughts — before continuing.
It was already clear to me that he'd be the one to speak first. Not just because it made sense for the natural order of things, but because it actually helped me in developing an insight into what he was thinking. After all, I was only guessing that we were on the same wavelength.
Once it was established that Alba was taking the initiative, I followed after him.
Ms. Miresse stood behind her stool, the last of her materials still sitting on the desk in front of her. Just a single piece of paper — the final prop in her little charade of patience. Her expression shifted oddly at first, then settled into a calm once she realized she was finally being approached.
The tutor seemed used to this kind of thing — and maybe, given the contents of the lecture she'd just delivered, she'd even anticipated the questions we might ask. That impression only deepened when she intercepted us with a calm, rehearsed smile.
"So, what questions do you have for me today, boys?"
Alba didn't answer right away. Instead, he took another step forward, positioning himself directly across from her.
Despite his young age, he still stood over Ms. Miresse — his eyes sharpening into a focused stare. I'd faced that same look just last night — the kind that made you feel small, boxed in like an animal with nowhere to run.
Ms. Miresse hardly flinched, returning his gaze with an annoyed glare of her own. To her, Alba was just a rambunctious pup.
Alba conceded the stare-down, his expression softening. Whatever information he hoped to get wasn't worth turning it into a power struggle.
"Well," he began, tone even, "if it's not too much trouble, I wanted to clarify a few things you mentioned in the lecture."
Ms. Miresse gave a slight incline to her head. "I would love to, my lord."
There was a note of sarcasm in there somewhere — but I doubt anyone besides me would've caught it.
Alba, as observant as he is, certainly didn't, and pushed onward without a moment's hesitation.
"Thank you. You spoke of how our father came to rule, and went into great detail about the specifics. But there was one thing that stuck out to me…" He paused — just briefly — a glint catching in his eyes. "How certain are you that the Duke has no ability for magic?"
An involuntary cough slipped out.
Ms. Miresse turned toward me, as if just now realizing I was still in the room. One eyebrow lifted.
So much for a potential surprise attack. Oh well.
Regardless, it was just as I thought: Alba and I had landed on the same line of thinking.
During our father's interrogation the night before — when he held Alba by the scruff of his neck — something strange had flickered in his eyes. And upon that flicker, the questioning had stopped. He'd let Alba go, just like that, as if he'd discerned the truth by more concrete means other than a read of the face.
I subconsciously thought that maybe it was my imagination. But Alba asking this question confirmed it — he'd seen it too. And if that were the case, it seemed there was only one plausible explanation: magic.
Yet just moments ago, we were told — flatly — that the Duke carried no ability for the magical arts.
The timing, in itself, was certainly odd — as if there was a conscious attempt to steer us away from the most logical conclusion.
Alba, of course, wasn't so easily diverted. He wanted to test the claim's validity — and if it somehow was true, to figure out what that flicker in our father's eyes actually meant.
Just like myself.
Ms. Miresse did not respond immediately. She instead placed the final idle piece of paper into her accompanying satchel, organized it for a final moment, and then placed it on her desk. She then walked to the opposite side of the room, where a bookcase lay, hunched over, making it clear she was scanning for a particular sort of text.
Alba, through all this, maintained a cool smile, quietly observing the tutor's every move. But I could tell — the patience was wearing thin.
Alba did not like being ignored.
Just before his patience could fully evaporate, Ms. Miresse popped back up, a book in her right hand. She walked back across the room and placed it flat on the desk.
Curious, I arched over to get a read of the book. Alba did the same.
The cover was mildly worn — edges softened, the gold leaf on the spine slightly faded — but it was oddly well-kept.
Lineage and Dominion: A Complete Record of the Valorian Bloodline
Before I could even begin to contemplate what the title meant, the tutor finally spoke.
"Everything I've read or seen indicates that the ruling Duke — your father — possesses no magical substance. And if you want to verify that for yourself, this is the most reliable text on the matter. That's all the information I can give you."
A wry grin formed on her face as she continued.
"Of course, you could always ask the source himself and see what he has to say. Though, for some reason, I doubt you'd want to entertain such an idea."
The source in question was obviously the Duke himself — and with that final line, her sarcasm came through in full force.
Alba turned to me, and we locked eyes.
Alba's eagerness — his failure to sound casual — had betrayed the weight of the question. It made clear just how much it mattered, and in doing so, marked his, or our, position on the subject: we could not go to our father on this.
In short, she'd read him perfectly.
The tutor was a scary woman, indeed.
Alba turned again toward the tutor, and his expression said everything — his eyes had dimmed slightly, lips pressed into a thin, pursed line. It was the look of someone conceding, if only for now.
Ms. Miresse, apparently satisfied by that flicker of submission, gave a single nod and slid the book forward.
Alba reached for it without a word, fingers wrapping around the spine with a kind of detached formality. Then, to my surprise, he handed the book to me — a weak smile showing across his face, like it was all he could manage.
Before I could have a chance to reject the proposal, Alba cut me off.
"Just hand it to me after your inspection. I'm sure we can be on the same page on this."
I realized immediately what he was doing. For his blunder, Alba let me walk away with the reward. He didn't have to — but that was just the kind of person he was. Prideful to a fault. I accepted the book and let it sit in my right hand.
At the conclusion of this sentiment, I turned back toward my desk, ready to gather my things. The tutor seemed to take this as her cue as well — slipping the satchel strap over her arm with a smooth, singular motion. Things were winding down. Or so I thought.
"Sorry, Ms. Miresse, I actually have one more question for you."
"Oh?" she said, brows lifting ever so slightly as her hand paused at the buckle of her satchel.
I could relate to her surprise.
Did Alba realize something else? The thought ran through my head as I tried to piece together what he might ask next. Apparently, my confusion was plastered all over my face, because when he glanced my way, a grin started to form.
He'd caught something I hadn't.
"Yes," he began, measured but steady, "it has something to do with the lineage of my father — or rather, not just my father, but his brother as well."
The tutor didn't need to respond. She merely shifted her stance, the silence inviting him to continue.
Alba wasted no time.
"I'll get right to the point."
His voice, calm but now with an unmistakable edge, cut through the space between us.
"Were Aurelian and my father born from the same mother?"
The question dropped like a stone.
At once, I understood the intent behind the question. And the importance of it.
Trying to hide my frustration, I silently cursed my own obliviousness. I should have noticed — or rather, cared to notice some basic questions.
Why had the Duke requested this lecture to be given? What did the Duke hope to achieve? And how does it concern us?
These were things I should've considered — pieces laid out plainly, if only I'd taken the time to look.
If I had, I might've recognized the parallels between my current circumstances and those once faced by my father came to rule — and the consequences they sowed.
In the end, it was Alba who saw the thread and pulled it. He discovered the linchpin, while I had no clue.
I hated missing it. But even through the frustration, something else stirred.
A feeling of admiration.
I looked at him, sizing Alba up.
He stood there calmly, one hand tucked behind his back, the other resting loosely at his side. His posture was relaxed, but not careless — the faintest glimmer of pride flickered in his eyes, tempered by a quiet restraint that made it all the more unsettling.
I had the experience of another life etched into my bones — and yet, my brother's raw talent made him a formidable opponent.
He was scary too, it seemed.
Before I could dwell on that thought, Ms. Miresse let out a slow sigh, something between resignation and reluctant praise — like she hadn't expected him to actually ask, but almost respected that he did.
She stepped back behind her desk, hands folding neatly in front of her.
"They were not. Aurelian was born of Duchess Selene. Kaelor came from Lady Ismara — a noblewoman of Deaneria, sent to Indra as part of a peace accord negotiated nearly three decades ago."
Ms. Miresse let the weight of the sentence sit for a moment, perhaps waiting for a reaction. Alba didn't flinch — just stood there, quiet and intent, as if turning the revelation over in his head. I found myself doing the same.
Of all the nations on the Western Continent — Indra, Penusia, Kurupez, Bemadro, and Deaneria — it was Deaneria that remained the most opaque. They lay to the south, quiet, unassuming, and yet somehow untouched by the constant frictions that plagued their neighbors. In my readings, I'd found little of substance — vague mentions, curt summaries, the occasional political footnote. But what was clear, even in absence, was how culturally distant they were from the rest of us.
Whatever thoughts Alba and I had about the nation, we kept to ourselves. Ms. Miresse took our silence as permission to continue.
"Deaneria, as you may know, is a proud and isolated nation — the sole country on the Western Continent that predates the New World Formation. Its people have always kept to themselves, uninterested in conquest or colonization. And yet, despite that posture, they control some of the most vital military resources in the world. The minerals they sit on are worth more than gold to certain empires."
That last line landed with an implication I knew too well. Where there were riches, there were always predators. That seemed true in all worlds.
"So as you can imagine," she continued, "with Indra's rise in military and political power, Deaneria found itself in a precarious position. A mutual non-aggression pact was proposed — one that would bar either nation from launching or supporting invasions against the other."
She stepped aside from the desk, pacing slightly.
"Still, the balance was uneven. Indra had the upper hand, and used it. One of the key demands was that Deaneria cease mineral trade with Penusia — Indra's chief rival. Reluctantly, they agreed."
Her gaze sharpened.
"But neither side was satisfied with promises on parchment alone. They wanted guarantees. Something binding. Something physical. So the pact was sealed in blood. A noblewoman of high standing from Deaneria was sent to Indra. And in return, a noblewoman from Indra was wed into Deanerian politics."
She paused — clearly meaning to emphasize what came next.
"That woman from Deaneria… was your grandmother. I can assume that you can understand what that means. "
Alba gave a single nod, but something in his face shifted — darkened. His jaw tightened ever so slightly, eyes clouding in thought. I couldn't fully read it. I understood the broader significance, sure, but something deeper had struck him — something I was still missing.
"Well," Ms. Miresse said briskly, "that's all I'll be speaking on the matter. I'll see you two after the Summit."
All that remained was me and Alba. With a flick of his hand, he motioned toward the door. I didn't argue—just gathered my materials and followed his lead.
But before he could slip away entirely, I knew I had to get a word in—edgewise, at least.
Apparently, I didn't need to worry. The moment we stepped into the hallway, Alba turned to me—not with suspicion or accusation, but with something quieter behind his eyes. I braced for another round of interrogation. Instead, he slowed his pace and said:
"About last night," he began, voice low. "I was out of line."
That caught me off guard.
"I was... frustrated," he went on. "But that doesn't excuse how I handled it. So—forget it happened."
I studied him for a second, unsure if this was a trap. But there was no edge in his tone, no gloating in his expression. He was genuinely….apologetic.
"Alright," I said quietly.
That was the end of it. I couldn't fully dismiss my doubts, not yet—but for now, it seemed Alba wasn't the enemy. No time for awkward silence, either. He gave a curt nod, then pivoted cleanly back to business.
"So, how much did you understand from the conversation with the tutor?" he asked, eyes sharp again, like the switch had been flipped.
I paused, just for a beat, and then chose my words carefully.
"I was curious too," I said. "About the part regarding our father's magic—or lack thereof. When he was interrogating you last night, there was this… flicker in his eye. And then, just like that, he let you go. As if he knew with absolute certainty you were telling the truth. It felt off."
I'd erred on the side of honesty—at least in part. Nothing I said could be used against me, and if I had to guess, Alba had already reached those same conclusions. I was just confirming what he already knew.
"I've noticed that shimmer in Father's eyes before. It's been on my mind for the better part of two years. Of course, I never felt comfortable enough to ask him directly. But every time I saw it, it was in moments where he was trying to parse out truth from a lie. Which led me to one conclusion—it had to be some kind of magical lie detector."
Alba shifted his weight, folding his arms loosely across his chest. His gaze dropped to the floor, focused, as if replaying each instance in his head.
"Of course, I know next to nothing about the magical arts. Thanks to how tightly it's regulated, even we—the sons of the man who governs this entire land—are taught nothing about it. I couldn't tell you what kind of spell it was. I could only guess."
He exhaled slowly through his nose, brow slightly furrowed.
"But now, after all that, we're told he has no magical ability. And just yesterday, we both saw the same glimmer in real time. I'm more confused than ever. It's like…"
His arms fell back to his sides.
"It's like he is inviting me to investigate."
It was clear there was no we in said investigation—at least not in Alba's mind. And while that stung a little, it was probably for the best. I was curious, yes, but I had other priorities right now.
Alba continued.
"If you learn anything from the book I gave you, Zeliot, you must tell me immediately."
I gave a sheepish nod. Apology or not, Alba would always see himself above me—always hold leverage where he could. That much wasn't changing anytime soon.
He didn't linger on it. "Now—what about our grandmother's heritage? Do you have any thoughts?"
I had many thoughts—mostly questions, really. But I doubted any of them would get straightforward answers… unless I found a way to coax them out.
Apparently, my intentions were written plainly on my face, because Alba broke through my silence.
"Don't hold anything back," he said. "It's in my best interest that this stays a collaborative exchange. I'll share my thoughts freely, too."
This must have been why he apologized–he wanted an open room, a mutual trust.
I studied him for a moment, searching for any sign of falsehood. But there was no twitch, no nervous energy—nothing to betray him.
If he was lying, then he was a master at it.
So, I decided to speak my mind.
"It wasn't even something I had thought about when the lecture was presented." I raised a finger. "Though the instant you asked, I understood a couple of things."
I held up one hand, index finger extended. "One: the conflict between the brothers for rule wasn't just a matter of our grandfather choosing who was more capable. With different mothers, there was clearly another political layer to consider."
Alba nodded slightly, a subtle affirmation that encouraged me to continue. I lifted a second finger. "Two: If that's the case, then what does that mean for us now? How can we apply that knowledge to our own circumstances?"
I gave Alba a knowing look, and he returned it in kind. There wasn't much that needed to be said there.
"Intuitively, I think it's meant as a warning. A message from the Duke to his sons: 'Don't let what happened to me happen to you.' Or something like that. Do you agree?"
Alba studied me for a moment longer, as if scanning for any concealed motive. Then, satisfied, he gave a slow nod.
"It seems we're of similar mind. Those were the two conclusions I came to as well."
A pause settled between us. That couldn't have been it. From the darkened expression he'd worn earlier, I knew there was something else on his mind. I waited—expecting him to elaborate, to offer some insight I might've missed. But when the silence lingered, I finally pressed him.
"So is that it? Was there nothing else you could ascertain?"
He didn't hesitate. "As of right now? No, nothing else comes to mind."
He gazed upon me a slight twitch forming on the mouth. A physical reaction I was certain he was trying to hide, and if I were any lesser, I would not have noticed it. But I noticed it.
Alba was lying.
I decided to give him a second chance.
"Are you certain? Truly—anything you might say could help. I am a curious kid, after all."
This time he didn't even bother with a verbal response. Just a quiet shake of the head. Side to side in an annoyingly calm fashion.
At this point, he must've known I caught him. But he didn't care.
He wanted me to show all my cards while keeping his close to the chest. His earlier apology, his supposed honesty—it was bait. And I'd taken it.
He played me.
A snarl began to creep across my lips. My pride stung, and anger surged fast—too fast. I had to say something, to snap back, to cut him down—But before the words could leave my mouth, Alba spoke again.
"All I can say is this, Zeliot. If there's one thing you must understand about me… it's that no matter what—" He paused, then hissed the last words with extreme vitriol: "—I will never be like Father."
And just like that, he turned and walked away, his cloak trailing behind him like the shed skin of a serpent.