BLOOD & SIGILS

Chapter 12: A Noble's Expectation (2)

Morning light filtered through the grand windows of the Veyrin estate, casting golden hues across the marble floors. The manor was alive with movement—servants moving swiftly, knights training in the courtyard, and nobles preparing for the day's affairs.

Kael adjusted the cuffs of his coat as he made his way through the halls, his mind still lingering on last night's discoveries.

He had spent hours studying the ancient book he had found in the library. Though it was not the one he sought, it had given him valuable insight into rune inscriptions and magical formations. He was beginning to understand why his family dismissed such arts—the power of Crimson Sigil was instant, raw, and overwhelming, while the methods he was reading about required patience, preparation, and strategy.

But that only made him more certain.

This was his path.

"Kael."

A deep voice snapped him out of his thoughts.

Kael turned to see his father, Duke Alistair Veyrin, standing at the far end of the hallway.

His presence alone was enough to make the air feel heavier. Clad in his military coat, the red embroidery on his sleeves marked his rank and authority. His white hair was neatly tied back, a stark contrast to his deep red eyes, which bore into Kael with their usual intensity.

"Come with me," Alistair said. It was not a request.

Kael swallowed. His father was not a man of unnecessary words. If he called, there was a reason.

Without question, he followed him down the halls, their footsteps echoing through the vast estate.

They arrived at his father's private study—a place Kael rarely entered. The walls were lined with tomes of war tactics, magical theories, and political records. A single desk sat at the center, its polished surface reflecting the light from the chandelier above.

Alistair gestured for Kael to sit.

He did.

For a moment, there was silence. Then—

"I've been informed about last night."

Kael stiffened.

Of course, he had.

Rheon stopping Cedric, Kael's failure to act—it was inevitable that word would reach his father.

"I won't repeat what's already been said," Alistair continued, folding his arms. "You know what you should have done."

Kael's jaw clenched. "I—"

"You should have fought."

The words were cold, absolute.

Kael's nails dug into his palms.

"I know," he admitted.

Alistair regarded him for a long moment before speaking again. "You have always been different from your siblings. That is not inherently a weakness."

Kael looked up, surprised.

His father rarely acknowledged his differences.

"But power is not given to those who hesitate," Alistair went on. "Nor to those who seek paths of convenience."

Kael frowned. Convenience?

If anything, what he wanted to pursue was far harder than relying on the family's traditional magic.

Alistair leaned forward slightly, his gaze unwavering. "What is your goal, Kael?"

The question caught him off guard.

"My goal?"

"Yes." His father's expression did not change. "You have lived under the Veyrin name your whole life, but what do you intend to do with it?"

Kael hesitated. He had never been asked that before. Not by his father.

"…I want to be strong," he admitted.

"Strong?" Alistair repeated. "For what purpose?"

Kael opened his mouth—then closed it.

For what purpose?

To prove himself? To stop relying on others? To escape the shadow of his siblings?

Alistair studied him, then exhaled. "Find your answer, Kael. Because if you do not know what you seek, then any strength you gain will be meaningless."

He stood. The conversation was over.

Kael remained seated, his mind racing.

For the first time, his father had not dismissed him outright.

But his words had left a greater weight on his shoulders than Kael had expected.