The morning air was crisp and bit at Marcus's exposed skin.

Marcus pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders. He walked toward the rhythmic sound of steel slicing through air.

Theo was already there, of course.

His brother moved through the mist with fluid grace. Sweat glistened on his forehead despite the chill.

Theo's sword was a blur of motion. He practiced a form Marcus could barely follow with his eyes.

Theo's forms were flawless, each strike building on the last with relentless focus.

It was beautiful. Impressive. But it was also terrifying.

Marcus waited by the edge of the training ring. He leaned against a wooden post and watched.

Theo finished the sequence with a sharp, controlled exhale.He held the final stance for a beat before relaxing his muscles.

Only then did he notice Marcus. His face brightened with surprise, and he jogged over.

"Brother," Theo said. He wiped his face with a towel. "You are up early."

Marcus managed a half-smile, shoving his hands into his cloak pockets for warmth. "Couldn't sleep much. Figured I'd come watch the master at work."

Theo sheathed his practice sword with a smooth click.

He tilted his head, studying Marcus. "Something wrong? You look... tired."

Marcus hesitated, then decided on honesty. No point hiding it from Theo. "Got a letter last night. From Father."

Theo's expression shifted instantly from confusion to concern. He straightened, towel forgotten. "Father? What did he say?"

"Summoned me home," Marcus replied. He kept his tone casual, but the words felt heavy. "To the estate. Family matters, apparently. Wants me there promptly."

Theo frowned, processing. "Summoned you? Why?"

"No idea," Marcus admitted. He shrugged, though his shoulders felt tense. "Haven't done anything lately that should warrant it. At least, nothing I can think of."

Theo's eyes narrowed, protective instincts kicking in. "I should go with you."

Marcus shook his head firmly. "Absolutely not."

"Father is..." Theo paused, searching for the word. His brow furrowed in frustration. "Difficult. He doesn't listen. To anyone."

Marcus nodded, memories from the original body surfacing. "I know."

"Do you remember last time?" Theo pressed, voice lowering. Concern etched his features.

"When you... well, the old you messed up again. He said it was your final chance. Next mistake, and you'd be disowned, or worse."

The word hung between them like a threat. Marcus felt a chill that had nothing to do with the morning air.

Noble families had ways. Exile, stripped titles, or darker rumors.

"Yeah," Marcus said softly. "I remember."

Theo gripped his sword hilt tighter, knuckles whitening. "That's why I should come. If I'm there, he might hold back. I could talk to him—"

"No," Marcus interrupted, gentler this time.

He placed a hand on Theo's shoulder, feeling the tension in his brother's muscles. "This is my mess. Whatever it is."

Theo met his gaze, stubborn as ever. "But you're different now. Better. He might not see that."

Marcus felt a surge of warmth despite the cold.

Theo, the dense protagonist, noticing the change. Protecting him.

It was a reversal Marcus hadn't expected, a big brother moment from the little one.

"I appreciate it," Marcus said sincerely. "Really. But you've got midterms in two weeks. Those written exams? They're your weak spot."

Theo winced. "I can fight. Why must I write essays about history?"

"Because the Hero needs to know who he is saving," Marcus said. He tapped Theo's chest lightly.

Theo grumbled, kicking at the dirt. "Headmaster says the same thing."

"And if you fail," Marcus added with a smirk, "Seraphina will have your head on a platter. She's scarier than Father any day."

Theo paled at the mention of his strict instructor.

He rubbed the back of his neck, conceding. "Fine. She's terrifying when she's disappointed."

Marcus chuckled, the sound easing some of his own nerves. "See? Stay here. Ace those exams. Make me proud."

Theo sighed in defeat, but his eyes still held worry. He wasn't done. "Promise me something, then."

"If anything goes wrong," Theo said, voice intense and sincere. He gripped Marcus's arm now. "Send word. Immediately."

Marcus nodded. "I will." He didn't mention he had no idea how to send word from a locked room.

"I mean it," Theo insisted. His gaze bored into Marcus's. "I'll come. Exams or not. I'll ride straight there."

"I know you would," Marcus said softly. Emotion tightened his throat. "And that's why you're staying here. Someone has to hold down the fort."

Theo searched his face for a moment, then nodded reluctantly. He released Marcus's arm. "Be careful, Brother."

"Always," Marcus lied lightly. He forced a grin. "Now, get back to training. Your form was sloppy on that last swing."

It wasn't, but Theo turned back to the ring instantly. He was eager to correct the imaginary flaw.

Marcus watched him for a moment longer.

He felt a pang of guilt for leaving Theo behind. But this was a battle Marcus had to fight alone.

He turned and walked back towards his room. The mist swallowed Theo's figure, leaving only the sound of the sword.

✧✧✧

Marcus returned to his room to finish packing.

He chose his clothes carefully. He needed to look respectable but not flashy.

He selected a sturdy traveling suit in muted colors, so as to not scream 'nobility'.

He grabbed his small bag and headed for the gates.

The sun was just peeking through the lingering fog, painting the grounds in pale gold.

He'd arranged for the family carriage last night, he told the staff to have it ready at dawn.

Efficient. Prompt. No delays.

He waited for 10 minutes for the carriage but it didn't come. He then began going towards the stable.

The family carriage stood in the courtyard. But something was wrong. The stable master was pacing frantically back and forth. He looked distressed.

Marcus quickened his pace. "What's the holdup?" he called. "I asked for the carriage at first light."

The stable master jumped like a startled deer. He pulled off his cap and bowed nervously.

"M-my Lord!" the man stammered. Begging your pardon. It's... it's Daisy, the lead mare."

Marcus looked at the horse. She had her head low. She looked miserable.

Marcus stepped closer, peering at the horse. She looked miserable.

Ears drooping. Tail limp, occasionally pawing the ground in discomfort.

"Is she ill?" Marcus asked.

"Colic, I reckon," the man said, voice trembling.

"Came on sudden, about an hour ago. Belly's bloated, she's in pain. She can't pull the carriage like this, not for a two-day haul to the estate. It'd kill her."

Marcus stared at the sick horse. A knot formed in his stomach.

This was a bad sign.

A hindrance at the start of a journey was a very bad sign.

It was the universe whispering, Turn back. Don't go.

"Do we have another horse?" Marcus asked. He tried to ignore the superstitious dread.

"Not one fit for the long haul, My Lord," the man replied. "The others are exhausted from the supply run yesterday."

Marcus sighed. He rubbed his temples.

He could wait a day. But the letter had been specific. 'Do not delay.'

Waiting might anger the Viscount even more.

"Fine," Marcus decided. He straightened. "I'll take a public carriage from the city station."

The stable master's eyes widened in horror, like Marcus had suggested riding a dragon bareback.

"A public carriage? My lord, that's... that's not proper! For a viscount's son? The filth, the commoners—"

"It is efficient," Marcus countered. "And I need to leave now."

He gave instructions for Daisy's care. Then he headed toward the main gate.

He would have to walk to the station in the city. It wasn't far.

As he reached the gate, a familiar figure leaned against the stone archway.

Damien was waiting. He held two apples in his hand.

"Breakfast?" Damien offered. He tossed one to Marcus.

Marcus caught it. "You are up early for a guy who hates mornings."

"I wanted to see the condemned man off," Damien grinned. "One last meal and all that."

"You are a terrible friend," Marcus said. He took a bite of the apple.

"I am a supportive friend," Damien corrected. "I am here, aren't I?"

They walked together toward the city center. The streets were waking up.

"So," Damien said, tossing his apple core into a bin. "Public carriage? Bold choice. What happened to the fancy family ride?"

"Horse got sick," Marcus muttered. "Daisy. She was fine yesterday."

Damien let out a low whistle. "Ouch. That's... inconvenient. Almost like a sign."

"Right?" Marcus said. "It feels like the author is trying to tell me something."

"Like 'stay home'?" Damien suggested.

"Like 'suffer'," Marcus corrected.

They reached the carriage station. It was busy and smelled of unwashed bodies and manure.

A large, rickety carriage was loading passengers. The driver shouted destinations.

"That's me," Marcus said. He pointed to the vehicle. It looked sad and dusty.

"The chariot awaits," Damien drawled. "Ready to face the Viscount?"

"As I'll ever be," Marcus said. He shifted his weight.

Suddenly, his left eye began to twitch.

It was a violent, rapid spasm. His eyelid fluttered uncontrollably.

Marcus pressed a finger to it. "Ow. Stop that."

"What?" Damien asked.

"My eye," Marcus said. He rubbed it. "It won't stop twitching."

Damien's expression went flat. He stepped back slightly.

"Left eye or right eye?" Damien asked seriously.

"Left," Marcus said. "Why?"

"In this world's folklore," Damien said slowly. "A twitching left eye means impending misfortune."

Marcus stared at him. The eye twitched again.

"You are kidding, right?" Marcus said.

"I wish I was," Damien replied. "It is in the 'Common Superstitions' book. Chapter four."

Marcus groaned. He pressed his palm against his face.

"Sick horse. Twitching eye. Summons from an angry dad," Marcus listed. "I am going to die today, aren't I?"

Damien looked at him with genuine pity. He patted Marcus's shoulder.

"It is just superstition," Damien assured him. His voice lacked conviction. "Probabilities, right? You are a logic guy."

"Right," Marcus said weakly. "Logic. Stress causes muscle spasms. Horses get sick. It is random."

"Exactly," Damien nodded. "Just random entropy. Go get 'em, tiger."

Marcus looked at the carriage. It seemed to loom over him like a hearse.

"If I don't come back," Marcus said. "Tell Seraphina..."

"Tell her yourself," Damien interrupted. "Don't you dare start dropping death flags. Get in the carriage."

Marcus forced a laugh. It sounded brittle.

"See you in a few days," Marcus said.

He turned and climbed into the carriage. He didn't look back.

He didn't want Damien to see his eye was still twitching.

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