"So…" Crimson leaned back in her chair, fingers steepled beneath her chin. "Is this where we pretend we're still a family?"
Her words echoed through the dark-paneled chamber like a thrown blade.
Lord Alaric Leywin didn't look at her at first. He stared at the great family sigil engraved into the table—silent, unshaken.
"You shouldn't be here," he said at last, voice calm but cold.
"I figured you'd say that." Crimson's eyes gleamed, a faint shimmer of fire flickering behind her irises. "But I came anyway."
"This house does not belong to those who walk away," Alaric continued. "You chose exile. You chose your path. And you chose to turn your back on the name."
"And yet," she replied, "I'm still the only one they chant in the streets."
Velia sipped her wine, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips.
Alaric's gaze finally lifted to Crimson, sharp and unyielding.
"You've killed kings, burned beasts to ash, frozen armies. The people whisper your name as if it were a hymn. Some call you the reincarnation of Ra and Aria both."
"I don't ask them to," Crimson said.
"But you don't stop them either."
She leaned forward now, tone darker. "Would you?"
Alaric didn't blink. "Power does not restore loyalty. It cannot erase abandonment."
Crimson smirked. "So we're calling it abandonment now?"
"You left," he said. "You left, and with that, your seat. Your place. You are no longer Leywin. You are Crimson. A legend, perhaps. But not one of us."
"I bled for this family before I bled for anyone else," she snapped.
"And then you made your own name."
The room went quiet.
Raphael looked between them, the tension settling into his bones like frost.
"You're here to take my place?" he asked carefully.
Crimson's gaze softened only slightly. "I'm here because someone is asking for a Leywin. And I'm the best one you've got."
Alaric rose from his chair, his cane tapping once against the stone floor.
"There is no place in this family for ghosts, no matter how brightly they burn."
Crimson stood as well, power humming just beneath her skin—warmth and cold pulsing in equal rhythm.
"Then maybe it's time you stopped pretending your fire hasn't already gone out."
Velia laughed softly behind her glass. "Father, you're not winning this one."
Alaric's eyes narrowed. "We'll see."
Crimson and Alaric stood locked in silence, the air between them so thick it could be sliced with her blade.
Then….
Tap. Tap. Tap.
The sound of deliberate footsteps echoed through the chamber's tall doors. Heavy, unhurried, utterly out of place.
The doors opened on their own.
A man stepped into the room, dressed in plain black robes with no crest, no markings, no weapons. His eyes were shadowed, unreadable. His hair was dark, tousled, and his presence….
His presence was wrong.
Not threatening.
But still… off.
"Ah," the man said smoothly, surveying the gathered Leywins. "So this is how the great family discusses purpose, like squabbling dogs over scraps of pride."
Crimson narrowed her eyes immediately. "Who the hell are you?"
Even Velia stiffened slightly, hand drifting toward her hidden blade.
Raphael stood slowly, every inch of him on alert. "I don't recognize you," he said. "And as Commander of the Lunaris Knights, I make it my business to know every name worth knowing."
The stranger smiled. It was not a kind smile.
"Exactly why I've remained so valuable, Commander."
Crimson took a step forward, heat rippling in the air around her. "Speak fast."
The man glanced at Alaric.
The Leywin patriarch gave a slow nod.
"This," he said, "is Hatzia Apoty."
The name landed in the room like a dropped blade.
Crimson blinked. "That's not real."
Raphael frowned. "Hatzia… I've not heard that before."
"You have," Velia said quietly. "It's not a name that appears in records. Only in footnotes and redacted scrolls."
Hatzia stepped further into the chamber, completely at ease. "Sir Failure extended an offer. One Leywin, chosen by the family, to join Detective Nathan Black. A role of precision, discretion, and influence. I was sent to collect the answer."
"And instead," he gestured vaguely at the tense room, "I walk into this. Power, reputation, and bloodline—unraveling over a mere seat."
Crimson crossed her arms. "You speak like you're above all this."
"I am," Hatzia said simply.
Raphael bristled. "And what exactly is your role in all this?"
Hatzia tilted his head, expression still unreadable. "I'm just here to see which one of you still deserves to be called a Leywin."
Crimson's jaw clenched, twin energies pulsing under her skin.
The room felt colder and hotter all at once.
Alaric finally returned to his seat, cane resting across his lap. "You have our attention now, Hatzia."
Hatzia smiled faintly. "Good. Then let's stop pretending this is about family."