Chion's shadow stretched long across the hall.
Most of the Mantled resumed their performances. Cups were raised. Conversations murmured. Eyes wandered deliberately elsewhere, lingering on braziers or plates or distant banners.
Yet the illusion fooled no one.
Every ear in the Grand Hall listened.
Viren stood beside him with his hands clasped behind his back, posture perfect, expression relaxed in the way only veteran warriors could manage. The pose of a man who had fought enough battles to no longer fear them.
He lingered beside Chion like a stormcloud deciding whether to rain.
"I must say," Viren remarked at last, voice casual, "you carry yourself well… for a boy."
Chion did not look up.
He swirled the last of his wine, watching the dark liquid spiral along the inside of the cup like a slow whirlpool.
"Confidence like yours," Viren continued lightly, "is either the fruit of power… or the perfume of ignorance."
A few Mantled warriors nearby shifted in their seats. Someone stopped mid-sip.
Chion lifted the cup to his lips.
"You flatter me, Senior," he said quietly. "I wasn't aware you cared."
Viren's jaw tightened. Just slightly.
"Care?" He chuckled softly. "I care about many things. Tradition. Honor."
He let the word hang.
"The number eighteen."
Chion took a small sip.
"Mm."
He set the cup down slowly, the faint click of metal against stone echoing more loudly than it should have.
"I understand," he said. "Sentimental attachments can be difficult to release."
His silver eyes finally rose, brief as a held breath.
"Especially when someone else wears them better."
A murmur drifted across one of the nearby tables. A goblet paused halfway to a mouth.
Viren's smile remained. But the warmth had left it.
"Spoken like a mouth too young to understand what it says."
Chion tilted his head slightly.
"Or perhaps just sharp enough," he said, "to know where it cuts."
Silence stretched between them. Thin. Sharp.
Then Viren laughed again, this time louder. More genuine.
"You're bold," he said. "I like that."
His eyes narrowed faintly.
"Reminds me of myself."
A beat passed.
"Before I learned how to back it up."
Chion turned the empty cup slowly between his fingers.
"I'm fairly confident I can," he said.
"Ah." Viren leaned closer, not enough to touch. Just enough to loom.
"Then you wouldn't mind a friendly duel."
He gestured lightly with one hand, as though suggesting a second drink.
"Nothing serious. Just a test of… potential."
Chion didn't answer. He continued turning the cup in his hand.
The silence grew long enough that several Mantled stopped pretending. Heads turned openly now.
Across the hall, Violet had stopped breathing altogether.
Then Chion hummed softly.
"Oh, I would mind," he said.
Viren's eyes narrowed.
"Afraid?"
Chion did not respond immediately. Instead, he placed the cup on the table with careful precision.
"Concerned," he said at last, a faint smile touching his lips. "About you."
A few brows rose around the room.
"Imagine the embarrassment," Chion continued calmly. "An esteemed warrior like yourself… brought low by a child."
His silver gaze held Viren's.
"They'd never let you hold a blade again."
A quiet ripple moved through the hall. One Mantled hid a grin behind his goblet. Another leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on the table.
Viren stepped closer. His voice came again — low, controlled.
"So," he murmured, "a coward."
He studied Chion's face.
"All that silver in your eyes."
A faint sneer.
"But nothing in your spine."
Chion rose.
Not quickly. Not slowly. Simply enough that the movement drew every eye in the hall.
Chairs creaked.
He didn't reach for a weapon. Didn't shift his stance. Yet the air around him seemed to tighten, like the moment before a blade left its sheath.
"Cowardice?" he repeated quietly.
A small shake of his head.
"No, Senior."
He stepped past Viren, close enough that their shoulders nearly brushed. But not quite.
"I'm merely respecting my elders."
Chion stopped beside him.
"You'll have your duel," he said calmly. "When you are no longer beneath the price of my time."
The words settled over the hall like falling ash.
For a moment, no one spoke.
Behind him, Viren's voice came low and controlled.
"Walk away while you can, boy."
A pause.
"Boys who play at wolves eventually meet the real thing."
Chion did not turn.
"I'll take heed," he replied quietly. "Senior."
He continued walking.
This time, no one pretended not to watch. A quiet murmur moved along the tables. Some exchanged glances. A few smiles appeared and vanished just as quickly.
Viren remained frozen. A statue of suppressed violence and humiliation, bound by laws he had never truly wanted to test in the first place.
How utterly disgraceful.
His eyes traced the boy's retreating form one last time.
"Unforgivable," the word slipped under his breath.
The weight of the room pressed against his back as he turned and walked away.
Across the hall, Violet exhaled slowly.
Gods, she thought. He did that on purpose. Had he no sense of self-preservation?
At the high table, the Patriarch watched the exchange with an expression balanced somewhere between amusement and concern.
Concern he chose, quite deliberately, to ignore.