BLOOD & SIGILS

Chapter 2: A Father's Judgment

The grand hall of Veyrin Keep was vast, its high ceilings adorned with chandeliers of enchanted crystal. Red banners embroidered with the sigil of House Veyrin—a crimson rune etched in the shape of a burning sigil—hung from obsidian pillars. The weight of history pressed upon the chamber, each carved relief depicting generations of warriors, mages, and conquerors who had cemented the Veyrin name as one of Eldoria's strongest.

And seated at the head of it all was Grand Duke Alistair Veyrin.

Kael stepped forward, his boots clicking against the polished stone. He could feel the warmth of the rune-lit torches along the walls, yet a cold weight settled in his stomach. His siblings, Rheon and Elira, stood at his side, their expressions unreadable.

Alistair Veyrin was a man who commanded absolute respect and fear. His long white hair framed a face etched with experience, his sharp red eyes burning like molten embers. His presence alone made the air heavier, as though even the very mana in the room bent under his will.

Rheon, ever composed, bowed his head slightly. "Father."

Elira followed suit. "Father."

Kael hesitated before copying them. "Father."

Silence.

Alistair's eyes swept over them, finally settling on Kael.

"You are late."

The words were calm, yet they carried undeniable weight.

Elira was the first to speak. "Kael was training."

For a moment, there was nothing. Then, Alistair's gaze bore into Kael with measured scrutiny.

"Training?"

It wasn't a question. It was a statement. A cold, heavy fact that carried something more dangerous than anger—disappointment.

Kael forced himself to stand taller, even as his heart pounded. He could hear the unspoken words behind his father's gaze. What is the point? What good will it do?

His throat felt dry, but he refused to lower his head.

"We have business to attend tonight," Alistair said finally, shifting his gaze to Rheon. "The three of you will accompany me to Count Rathmore's estate. A gathering of noble families. You will represent House Veyrin, and you will not embarrass me."

Kael stiffened. A noble gathering?

He had attended such events before—awkwardly standing at the edges while other noble heirs whispered about him. The "Veyrin disappointment." The "failed son of a Grand Duke." A child unworthy of his own name.

His hands curled into fists.

"Yes, Father," Rheon answered effortlessly.

Elira merely nodded, but Kael hesitated before speaking.

"...Yes, Father."

Alistair watched him for a fraction of a second longer than necessary, then turned away. "You are dismissed."

Rheon and Elira turned and exited the hall with practiced ease, their steps confident. Kael followed a beat behind, feeling the weight of his father's expectations—or lack thereof—settle over him like a storm cloud.

Later That Evening

The carriages of House Veyrin rolled through the streets of Eldoria's noble district, their dark crimson banners fluttering in the night breeze. The estate of Count Rathmore loomed ahead—a lavish structure of marble and gold, its sprawling gardens illuminated by floating mana-lamps.

Kael stepped out of the carriage behind his siblings.

The Rathmore Gathering was one of many noble events held to strengthen alliances, settle disputes, and flaunt power. Even lesser nobles used these occasions to curry favor with the greater houses.

And tonight, Kael knew exactly what that meant.

More whispers. More judgment. More humiliation.

His grip tightened at his sides.

As they stepped inside the grand hall, laughter and music filled the air. Hundreds of nobles in embroidered coats and silk dresses mingled beneath the golden chandeliers. Servants wove through the crowd, offering crystal glasses filled with enchanted wines.

But the moment the Veyrin family entered, a hush rippled through the room.

Kael felt their eyes. Not on Rheon, the heir of Veyrin. Not on Elira, the poised and graceful daughter.

On him.

And then, he heard it.

Soft chuckles. Muted whispers.

"Look, it's the failed Veyrin."

Kael clenched his jaw.

He hadn't even spoken a word, and the night had already begun.