The hall was quiet, too quiet. Not the kind of calm that follows relief, but the stiff, heavy silence that comes when the air itself turns sharp with meaning. For a long moment, nobody moved. Then, slowly, Samuel blinked and stirred from his daze, a narrow tremble in his fingers as he reached up to touch the bridge of his nose.

Blood painted his upper lip and stained the rim of his mouth, but he didn't seem to notice it. He removed his shattered glasses without a word, slipping them into the inner pocket of his robe, then drew out a crisp white handkerchief, monogrammed, Jacob noted and dabbed at the blood with slow, deliberate motions. His eyes never left Castor.

Castor, for his part, had already turned away, clearly uninterested in meeting Samuel's gaze. From the corner of his vision, Jacob noticed Paul suppressing a laugh, shoulders stiff from the effort. Lazarus, meanwhile, bore a slight frown, not quite disapproving but thoughtful, while the king seemed to have paused mid-motion, as though preparing to speak but waiting to see whether he still needed to.

But before the king could open his mouth, Samuel beat him to it. "Oh," Samuel said, voice smooth and almost amused, though a faint rasp edged the words, "I apologize for bringing up such… unpleasant memories. That was clearly my mistake."

A smile, a practiced, pleasant one stretched across his blood-speckled face. He turned to the king and bowed lightly, the tilt of his body just enough to signal deference. "I do hope you'll forgive my brother. It was just a minor misunderstanding, nothing requiring Your Majesty's involvement."

The king stared at him for a long moment, an unreadable expression flickering across his features, before sighing softly and looking back toward the three boys standing before him. He spoke again, continuing where he'd left off earlier, but Jacob barely heard him.

He couldn't take his eyes off Samuel.

That smile, Jacob had seen it before. Everyone in the room probably knew it was fake, but Jacob, more than most, understood how dangerous Samuel became when he wore that expression. It wasn't just arrogance. It was a warning, a threat dressed in charm and politeness, and it left a cold pit in Jacob's stomach.

A terrifying thought passed through his mind, was Samuel going to go after Castor now? Had he already begun. The idea that Castor might be a target, or had already become one, gnawed at him. If something happened to Castor, if he was manipulated, broken, or even killed because of Samuel's games then Jacob didn't know how he'd handle it. No. He did know. He'd explode. He'd lose whatever self-control he still had, no matter the consequences.

A hand touched his shoulder.

Jacob turned his head and found Arthur standing beside him, worry carved into the lines of his face. "The king's finished. He said we're to follow Lazarus into the next room."

Jacob blinked, disoriented, then looked up and realized that the royal family aside from Samuel and Castor had already left. The hall had grown even quieter, if that was possible. Samuel still sat perched on his throne, a soft smile on his face, while Castor watched him with narrowed eyes and a cold, constant glare.

Then Samuel moved.

A rune appeared before him, delicate but sharp in design, interlocking shapes and flowing lines that pulsed with light. In an instant, he vanished, only to reappear a heartbeat later in front of Jacob, standing far too close.

"It's been far too long," Samuel said, his tone almost brotherly. "How have things been for you?"

Before Jacob could speak, another sound cracked through the room like a cannon blast, and Castor landed next to them in a blur of golden motion, the floor beneath his boots cracking from the force.

"Seems like the first punch didn't teach you anything," Castor muttered, then grabbed Samuel by the collar and flung him across the room like a sack of grain.

Samuel twisted mid-air and landed in a crouch, sliding slightly as he caught his balance. He straightened, brushing non-existent dust from his shoulder, and spoke in a dry, clipped tone. "Castor, don't you think this is getting a little excessive?"

Despite the forced calm in his words, his eyes had narrowed, and two runes formed beside him. One morphed into a glistening shard of ice, its sharp tip swirling with pale mist, and the other spread outward into a large translucent shield that hovered protectively in front of him, like a frozen wall of glass.

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"I told you," Castor said, stepping forward, a golden aura leaking from his skin like light from a cracked mirror. "I told you not to talk to him. Not to so much as look at him. And what do you do the moment you see him?" His broadsword, already drawn, gleamed as the aura wrapped around its blade like liquid sunlight. "You bring up the past. You try to disturb him."

"You don't have the right to command me," Samuel said, his voice sharper now, the smile gone entirely. "You never did."

More runes appeared around him, blooming like deadly flowers into jagged ice shards that floated in the air, each one honed to a razor point. Jacob tensed instinctively. This wasn't just a spat. These two were about to fight, really fight. And from the way they moved, he could tell this wasn't the first time. They had experience fighting each other. They anticipated each other's steps. That worried him even more.

Jacob felt Arthur shift beside him. A moment later, Arthur stepped forward, raising his hands slightly as if trying to calm a pair of wild animals.

"Hey, hey, no need to fight, right?" he said, trying to keep his voice light, even though tension coiled around his words. "We can put down the swords and… the ice spi—"

He didn't get to finish. A shard of ice materialized inches from his chest, the air crackling with cold.

Before it could move any closer, Castor's blade sliced down from above, smashing the shard into a dozen glittering pieces that scattered across the floor like broken glass. And then, in a single fluid motion, Castor kicked off the ground. His body blurred forward, sword drawn and rage burning across his face.

"That's it!" he shouted. "I'm tired of your act!"

The golden aura surrounding his weapon pulsed with intensity, wrapping around his figure like a storm of light. As he closed the distance between them, dozens of ice shards bloomed in the air around Samuel, all of them trained on Castor's path, waiting to strike.

But neither of them made it.

Just as Castor's blade drew close, and the shards began to move, the world stilled.

Time itself seemed to fracture.

Castor froze mid-air, his limbs caught in the lunge. Samuel's hand remained outstretched, his fingers curled and his lips twisted in a half-snarl. The shards of ice, still hovering, looked as if someone had captured the moment in glass.

Then, an old voice echoed across the chamber, calm and unshaken.

"I think that's enough fighting for one day, don't you?"

Jacob turned and saw Lazarus standing at the edge of the hall, near the doorway that led further into the palace. Floating in front of him was a massive rune, its shape reminiscent of a clock, complete with glowing hour and minute hands, the design both elegant and impossibly complex. Something about it drew Jacob in, its beauty and power merging into a quiet, terrible kind of majesty.

He recognized it instantly: Absolute Time, a legendary rune, one of the highest-ranked in the kingdom. It allowed a mage to halt or manipulate the flow of time within a limited area. Most mages studied it in theory. Very few could use it. Fewer still could wield it so casually.

As Lazarus spoke, the shards of ice began to melt, dripping to the floor and vanishing into puddles. The golden light surrounding Castor's sword dimmed, flickered, and disappeared entirely. Time resumed its natural pace. Castor stepped back, returning to Jacob's side with slow, measured movements. Samuel remained still, though the snarl on his face faded quickly, replaced once more by that ever-present smile.

The rune in front of Lazarus faded from view.

Samuel turned toward him, studied the old man for a brief moment, then dipped his head slightly and smiled even wider.

"Forgive us for our quarrel," he said smoothly, voice once again full of charm. "And for keeping your new students waiting. I'll take my leave now."

He pivoted to go, but just before stepping away, he glanced back at Jacob.

"And Jacob," he added lightly, "we really should find time to speak later, and you should visit more often. Castor misses you, after all."

A new rune shimmered into existence in front of him, this one smaller and faster, more compact. Jacob barely had time to register its shape before Samuel vanished entirely.

Castor exhaled slowly and looked toward Lazarus. "Thank you for the help," he said, his tone quieter now, respectful.

Lazarus gave a faint smile and motioned toward the doorway behind him. "Come along, you three. I've waited long enough."

He turned and began walking away, his heavy robes brushing against the stone floor. As he passed through the archway, his voice drifted back to Castor like the brush of wind before a storm.

"Be very careful of that Samuel boy," Lazarus said, not turning around. "Lest you accidentally die."

Castor didn't respond immediately. Then, with a slight nod, he turned and gave Jacob a small wave, a smile flickering across his lips, before heading toward the opposite end of the hall.

Jacob watched him go, his eyes fixed on the boy's back until he disappeared from view. A tight feeling bloomed in his chest, something bitter, unspoken. He didn't have the words for it, not yet, but he could feel it growing, twisting inside him like a thorn.

He had seen it with his own eyes. Castor's strength. His composure. The ease with which he'd moved, the weight behind his sword, the way he'd stood between Jacob and danger without hesitation.

Why? Why was someone his own age, someone he'd grown up with so far ahead?

Why had Castor left him behind?

Why was Jacob still so… weak?

He didn't have time to dwell on the answers. Lazarus was already leading them down the corridor, and Arthur gave Jacob a light nudge on the shoulder to keep him moving.

The room they entered was smaller than Jacob had expected. A large couch lined one wall, clearly wide enough to seat six or more, and a few comfortable-looking chairs were arranged around a low table in the centre. The table was neatly set, cups of steaming tea, plates of golden pastries, and small bowls of fruit laid out with surprising care.

Lazarus stepped toward the table, picked up one of the cups, and took a slow sip, closing his eyes as if savouring the warmth. Then, he lowered the cup, turned toward the three boys standing in the doorway, and smiled.

"Well?" he said, his deep voice breaking the silence with a note of ease. "Don't just stand there. Come sit. I believe it's time we had a proper conversation."

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