Everyone unconsciously straight up their posture, except Edric. Whatever he had to talk about wasn't of his concern, but he would at least listen to it, out of courtesy.
"As you must already know, the situation in the Capital has deteriorated." Lloyd's voice was flat, almost bored, but the chill that entered it next was anything but. "The Empire has advanced on the border. The King has formally requested my aid. I will be leaving immediately."
Edric couldn't have been more wrong…
A ripple of alertness swept the table. This was no minor border skirmish. With their father gone, the throne room would stand empty, the regent's authority thin as parchment, and the unspoken rules that had kept their succession games in check would vanish overnight.
Normally Lloyd supervised some of their maneuvering, just enough so it wouldn't cross a line he had seated in his mind. That was the only reason Dunstan hadn't yet marched his entire private army into the Capital and declared himself heir by force.
However, if their father wasn't there, who could stop him?
'He surely wouldn't do something like that…right?'
"The command will pass to the Duke." That shattered all their fantasies of ruling while their father was away, "I will be back in about a month, at best. At worst, it will probably take around a year or so."
"When do you leave?" Dunstan asked.
"Right away," Lloyd responded.
The finality of it landed like a stone in still water. Edric felt the ground tilt beneath him. Thankfully the Duke would take charge, so no crazy things would happen, in the Capital that was. But the Duke had his own favorite heir and, guess, it wasn't Edric, but Ruffus.
So one can see how fucked he is. The Duke wasn't impartial, he could turn the black eye to any of their actions if he so wishes. At best, he would spend the next month barricaded inside his own mansion. At worst, he wouldn't dare step outside at all.
He opened his mouth—some half-formed plea about paternal duty, about tradition, about anything—then closed it again. Once Lloyd's mind was set, no argument on earth could move it.
Lloyd rose first. He did not glance at any of them. He simply turned, crossed the chamber, and disappeared when he touched the handle.
For a long moment, none of the seven siblings moved.
The silence stretched, thick and electric, each of them calculating, recalculating, weighing new possibilities and new dangers in the sudden vacuum their father had left behind.
Cyan was the first one to break the silence. He got up and with one last look at Edric, he followed his Father. Next was Dunstan, then Bowie, Alani, and Lynce. Before he realized suddenly there was only he and Ruffus alone in the room.
He looked like he wanted to say something, yet he couldn't. His voice didn't return yet. Taking the change, Edric picked up his cane and got up. If Ruffus truly wished, he could end things here, just a little of his power would be enough to kill him.
Yet he didn't. Even when Edric passed by him slowly, with pain going all through his body, he didn't do anything.
'A lot of bark and little bite,'
As Edric touched the handle, he once again felt the pull and was back at the dark corridor. The rain outside had intensified once again.
Before leaving he couldn't help but wonder what kind of enchantment the handle had. Would it be teleport? Or perhaps just a change in perspective?
Crossing the dark corridor back to the main hall, Edric saw Tina waiting patiently for him downstairs. The other many servants that were there before were completely gone. Probably helping Lloyd pack his things. Going down stairs was easier than climbing up.
When Tina noticed him coming down, she quickly went over to support him.
"What happened?"
"Nothing good," he said, walking with her towards the door. "Let's talk about it later."
Tina nodded, opening the door and raising the umbrella, they disappeared in the night.
***
There was no way that they would travel back to the mansion on this moonless, rainy night. Not only because Edric had no confidence that Tina would be able to conduct the carriage at night, but also because they were tired and in great need of rest. Besides that, there was another reason…
Their carriage came to a stop on a particular older street in Whystan. Like all others in the city, it was well-lit and beautiful even at night, yet this one carried a distinct gloomy air. At the end of the street stood a large church dedicated to the God of the Dead, carved entirely from imposing black stone.
Its severe spires pierced the rainy sky like mourning fingers, rain streaming down its gothic arches like tears.
As he stepped down slowly from the carriage, he didn't spare the imposing black edifice even a glance. He didn't consider himself religious. Quite the opposite—he loathed the Gods with a quiet, festering hatred.
The claim that the Farben family was blessed by the Gods was no poetic exaggeration. It was the literal truth. Each of his six siblings had been chosen by one of the six deities: the God of the Dead, the God of the Sky, the God of the Sea, the God of the Forges, the God of Pleasure, and the God of Blessings. All but the God of the Earth—who reserved His favor exclusively for the royal bloodline—had blessed a different sibling.
Normally one deity would also bless the seventh one, normally the God of Dead, yet he didn't. Not for Edric. The reason? He could never guess.
Whether it was because he had never Awakened, or simply because he didn't want to, Edric didn't really care…not anymore. The desperate prayers of his childhood had long since turned to ash. Now there was only weary indifference laced with resentment.
Tina slipped her arm beneath his once again, offering steady, wordless support. They walked in silence across the rain-slicked stone courtyard and passed beneath a heavy stone archway. The moment they crossed it, the ground changed beneath their feet—from polished marble to soft, damp earth.
The scent of wet soil and old incense thickened the air. Here began the Garden of Eternal Rest, the church's ancient burial grounds. It was a bleak expanse filled with plain tombs—crude, misshapen stones jutting awkwardly from the sodden earth like forgotten mistakes rather than proper monuments. No flowers adorned them, no ornaments, not even a single inscription or portrait to mark whose remains lay beneath. That was the creed of the God of the Dead: all were equally insignificant in Death.
The dimly lit cross-paths lay completely deserted. The only sounds were the relentless patter of rain and the dull, rhythmic thud of Edric's cane against the muddy ground.
Turning a corner, Edric caught sight of his mother's grave in the distance. Even as the widow of the realm's most powerful man, she had received no special treatment—her tomb was as stark and unadorned as all the rest.
'Now what?'
Honestly, he had no idea. Was he supposed to pray? Lay flowers? Or would she be content with nothing more than his presence on this miserable anniversary? Her body wasn't even here, would he matter?
When he finally stood face-to-face with the plain stone, his mind went utterly blank.
A long moment of pure silence passed. Edric simply stared, rain dripping from his dark hair, his golden eyes glowing like two coins. Tina remained at his side, a quiet pillar of warmth and strength, saying nothing.
"Care for a prayer?"
The voice cut through the downpour like a blade drawn in the dark.
Edric slowly turned his head. A tall man stood a few paces away, shrouded in a heavy black raincoat, hood pulled low to completely obscure his features. Beneath the mantle Edric glimpsed the edge of a crimson tunic and the glint of a golden cross hanging openly over the coat. In one gloved hand he carried a modest bouquet of white lilies.
"A priest?" Edric guessed. His mother had never been particularly devout either…but a prayer wouldn't hurt. "Do whatever you want."
The man approached without a sound, footsteps swallowed by the mud as though even the ground refused to disturb the dead. He knelt gracefully, placed the bouquet against the cold stone, and bowed his head.
"You knew her?" Edric couldn't help asking.
"No." The priest's voice was calm, almost gentle. "But all the dead should receive flowers, don't you think?"
Edric offered no reply. It was obvious now—this man was no servant of the Dead. The Death's priests never wander around the Garden of Eternal Rest offering unsolicited blooms to strangers' graves.
"Who are you?"
Instead of answering immediately, the priest pressed his gloved hands together.
"Requiem æternam dona eis, Domine, et lux perpetua luceat eis. Requiescant in pace. Amen."
Edric couldn't understand the liquid syllables. Tina, however, stiffened almost imperceptibly beside him.
"Are you from the St. Matthew Order?" she asked, voice low but steady.
Edric raised an eyebrow. He was almost entirely oblivious to this Order. He only knew that Galleon had been part of them, a long time ago.
The man lingered in prayer for a long moment and then rose, brushing mud from his knees with calm efficiency. From his inner pocket he produced a cigar and a silver lighter. Because of the rain, he flicked the wheel three times before a small flame finally caught.
In the brief, flickering glow Edric noticed he was using round glasses. The frame seemed fragile and simple.
"Indeed I am," the priest said, voice warm with quiet amusement as he drew on the cigar. The ember glowed like a tiny defiant eye against the storm. "I am Pedro. Nice to meet you."