Chapter 40 – The Duties of a Pillar
Morning came with a heavy stillness.
Soft light filtered through the curtains of Sirius's private chambers, casting pale gold across the canvases and half-finished sculptures. He sat alone at his desk, brush in hand, paused mid-stroke over a fresh canvas. Her eyes were taking form again—familiar, delicate, carved into memory more than paint. And yet, this morning, he found no peace in painting.
A sharp knock broke the silence.
"Your Grace," came the voice of a servant from the other side. "A message from the Imperial Council."
Sirius didn't answer right away. He set the brush down slowly, rose, and opened the door himself. The servant offered the sealed parchment with both hands, bowing low. Sirius took it, nodding for him to leave.
The seal bore the mark of the Emperor—direct, urgent.
He broke it cleanly and read in silence.
The Council convenes at noon. Matters of national concern require the presence of all Pillars. Attendance is mandatory.
His eyes narrowed slightly, then closed with a small sigh. So, they were finally moving.
There was no suspicion directed toward him—no hidden meaning in the message. This wasn't about him personally. And no one, not even the Emperor, had ever questioned the solitude of the Duke's strange, brilliant heir. No one looked close enough to see the truth. Why would they? As far as the world knew, Sirius was a genius, a prodigy, and now one of the Empire's Ten Pillars.
His heart was closed, his gaze colder than the wind in the north, but his duty was never questioned.
It's my role, he thought, folding the parchment. Nothing more.
He didn't want to go. He never did. The clamor of nobles, the empty words wrapped in formality and fear—it all bored him. It all choked him.
But he would go.
Because it was expected. Because, despite it all, he had chosen to be seen—at least enough to hold this title.
He glanced back at the painting. Her face stared back, soft and unfinished.
"I'll return soon," he whispered, almost unconsciously. Then paused, as if waiting for a reply.
She never answered.
He dressed in silence—silver embroidery across deep navy, formal and sharp. He fastened the emblem of the Grand Duke's house at his collar. A symbol of power. Of lineage. But not of him.
Before stepping out, his eyes drifted once more across the room.
She was everywhere.
But no one knew.
Not the servants who cleaned the hallways outside.
Not the guards who bowed when he passed.
Not even his parents.
They saw only coldness in him now. And his mother—what little remained of her love had turned bitter and hollow. She thought she had shaped him. She believed she was the reason he had survived.
She couldn't have been more wrong.
Sirius left his sanctuary behind and stepped into the wide, gleaming halls of the estate.
A storm was beginning to rise in the Empire.
And as one of its Pillars, it was time to face it.