Three Heirs, One Name (Part 2)
963 Words
House Ravaryn
Far to the west, where jagged cliffs overlooked the Black Tide Sea, stood the Fortress of House Ravaryn.
Unlike the elegant palaces of the other Moonblood Houses, Ravaryn was built for war.
Stone walls scarred by countless battles surrounded the fortress.
Watchtowers overlooked the sea.
Soldiers trained from dawn until long after sunset.
Here, strength was law.
Mercy was weakness.
And loyalty was earned through blood.
Deep beneath the fortress, steel clashed against steel.
A young man stood in the center of an underground arena, surrounded by six elite warriors.
His shirt clung to his sweat-soaked body, revealing countless old scars across his back and shoulders.
Each scar had a story.
Each story ended with him surviving.
"Again."
The six warriors exchanged nervous glances.
One finally swallowed.
"Young Master... we've already lost twelve rounds."
Sairen Ravaryn lowered the practice sword in his hand.
His crimson eyes remained cold.
"I didn't ask if you were tired."
"..."
"I said..."
He raised the blade again.
"Again."
The soldiers charged together.
Steel flashed through the air.
One sword.
Two.
Three.
Sairen moved like flowing water.
He ducked beneath the first strike.
His elbow drove into one opponent's ribs.
Without looking, he spun, knocking another warrior's weapon from his hands.
A kick.
A shoulder throw.
The flat of his blade stopped an inch from the last man's throat.
Silence filled the arena.
The six warriors lay scattered across the ground.
Panting.
Bruised.
Defeated.
Sairen sheathed his sword.
"You hesitated."
The captain forced himself to stand.
"You outnumbered us."
"You outthought yourselves."
He turned toward the exit.
"If you believe numbers win battles..."
His voice remained calm.
"...you'll all die young."
No one dared argue.
***
As Sairen climbed the stone stairs, a black falcon swooped into the fortress courtyard.
The bird landed neatly on the arm of an elderly steward.
"Young Master."
The steward bowed.
"A message from Astral Lyceum."
Sairen accepted the silver envelope without much interest.
"I already know I'm attending."
"It appears there's another matter."
He broke the seal.
Unlike Zevrik, Sairen skimmed the list in seconds.
He wasn't interested in names.
He cared about opponents.
House Vesper.
Expected.
House Noctis.
Expected.
House Sylvaris.
Expected.
Then...
His eyes narrowed.
Special Admission
Nysera
His brow furrowed.
"...Who?"
The steward looked over his shoulder.
"There is no House listed."
"No family."
"No rank."
"No lineage."
Sairen folded the parchment.
"They're making a mistake."
"The Academy rarely does."
"Rarely isn't never."
He tossed the parchment onto a nearby table.
"A servant doesn't survive Astral Lyceum."
The steward hesitated.
"They say she received a direct invitation."
Sairen stopped walking.
"Direct?"
"Yes."
"Not sponsored by a House?"
"No."
Now...
That interested him.
His expression remained unchanged.
But inside...
A small spark of curiosity ignited.
"What kind of girl earns an invitation without a name?"
***
House Voss
Meanwhile...
Chaos had descended upon House Voss.
Every servant seemed to be whispering.
Some stared at Nysera with open curiosity.
Others quickly looked away whenever she noticed.
The younger maids gathered near the laundry room.
"I heard the invitation floated."
"No, it glowed."
"They say the Academy itself protected it."
"Lady Maevra looked furious."
"Wouldn't you?"
Their voices immediately stopped when Nysera walked past.
She forced a smile.
"Good morning."
"...Morning."
The girls awkwardly returned to work.
None of them met her eyes.
Nysera lowered her gaze.
Yesterday...
They had laughed with her.
Today...
They looked at her like she was someone they no longer understood.
It hurt more than she expected.
***
She wandered into the estate gardens, hoping the fresh air would clear her thoughts.
The fountain bubbled softly beneath the morning sun.
Birds chirped among flowering trees.
Everything looked the same.
Yet nothing felt the same.
She sat on a stone bench and unfolded the invitation again.
The silver letters shimmered gently.
"The bearer of this invitation shall arrive in person."
She sighed.
"What do you want from me?"
The parchment, unsurprisingly, didn't answer.
"Talking to paper now?"
Nysera looked up.
Old Mira approached carrying a basket covered with a cloth.
"I brought you breakfast."
"You've already fed me twice today."
"You'll need the strength."
She sat beside Nysera.
For several moments, neither spoke.
Finally, Mira sighed.
"I've been working in this estate for forty-three years."
Nysera smiled.
"I know."
"I've watched noble children grow into rulers."
"I know."
"I've watched servants come and go."
"I know."
Mira looked at her.
"But I've never..."
She hesitated.
"...seen Lord Draevor afraid."
Nysera's smile faded.
"You noticed too."
"I noticed because I know him."
Mira's weathered hands tightened around the basket.
"He wasn't angry yesterday."
"No."
"He was frightened."
Nysera looked down at the invitation.
"I don't understand why."
Mira slowly shook her head.
"I don't think he fears what you've done."
She reached over and gently squeezed Nysera's hand.
"I think he fears who you are."
Before Nysera could respond—
A deafening howl echoed across the estate.
One.
Then another.
Then dozens.
Every wolf in House Voss began howling toward the eastern sky.
The sound was haunting.
Ancient.
Almost mournful.
The hairs on Nysera's arms stood upright.
The wolves weren't crying in fear.
They were...
Calling.
Then, all at once—
They fell silent.
Old Mira looked toward the distant mountains.
Her face had gone pale.
"...No."
"What is it?"
Mira whispered almost to herself.
"They've answered."
"Who has?"
Before Mira could reply, a guard came sprinting into the gardens.
He was out of breath.
"My Lord!"
He shouted toward the mansion.
"My Lord!"
"The Academy delegation has arrived early!"
Nysera frowned.
"Delegation?"
The guard nodded frantically.
"They say... one of the three heirs insisted on seeing the mysterious girl before enrollment."
Nysera's heart skipped a beat.
One of the heirs...
Was coming here?
To see her.
- Writer
