"You're late," he said, tone even, almost bored. "Sit."
Aden walked forward and sat in the leather chair across from him. Their eyes locked for a second longer than necessary.
For a moment, silence reigned.
Then—
"You've changed," Ed said. "Everyone's whispering it. I prefer to ask it directly. What happened to you?"
Aden didn't answer immediately. His fingers curled slightly around the armrest.
"I don't know," he said finally.
Ed's eyes narrowed just slightly, but his voice remained calm. "Everyone that knew you has been telling me that you have been acting different."
Another silence. Then, Ed leaned back in his chair.
"You ignored your siblings," he continued. "Didn't even acknowledge them in the Banquet. They may be young, but they're not blind. Do you still resent them?"
Aden froze for a heartbeat.
He searched the depths of his mind—but found nothing. No names. No voices. No shared memories.
Only silence.
"No," he said at last. "I don't."
That made Ed pause.
He stared at Aden with the intensity of a man who had survived hundreds of battlefields and yet still knew when something was wrong—not on the surface, but deep beneath it.
"then why the cold stance with them"
Aden was at a lost for words, it was not because he had a grudge against them, but was because he did not know them, he had not spoken to them, they weren't even in his memories.
But now he had another problem at his hands, How could he get himself out of this situation. If he told a blatant lie, Ed Vasco would surely catch him.
He ran numerous ideas through his brain and finally he got the answer he was looking for.
"Ever since wielding the Blade, I don't remember anything"
For a second—just one—Ed Vasco's eyes widened.
Then, like a tide returning to stillness, he reclined in his chair, arms crossed, mind already processing a thousand implications.
"I see."
He stood up, suddenly.
"Come," he ordered. "Blades communicate more than words."
Aden stood, and they left the study together, walking down the corridor toward the estate's private training ground.
The training grounds were vast, enclosed by high stone walls and surrounded by lanterns that flickered in the twilight. Dozens of training dummies stood off to the side, while weapon racks lined the perimeter—filled with swords, spears, and even ancient axes. The air reeked of iron, sweat, and tradition.
A few knights training nearby stopped as Ed Vasco stepped onto the sand-covered arena. Whispers followed. Everyone knew the Patriarch rarely entered the field unless it was for something serious.
Aden trailed behind him, silent.
"Pick a blade," Ed said without looking back.
Aden stepped to the rack and ran his hand along the hilts. He paused before a slightly curved longsword—simple in design, worn at the handle. Something about it felt... right.
He pulled it free.
Ed stood at the center of the arena, already armed with his own weapon—a black-hilted saber that had seen more wars than most men had years. He rolled his shoulders, loosening up.
"I won't hold back," he said flatly.
"..."
With a flick, Ed was on the move.
The first strike was blinding—aimed not to mark, but to measure. Aden stepped back, parried, pivoted. Their swords sang in the air, sharp clangs echoing like bells across the estate.
Each blow from Ed was a lecture in swordsmanship—technique, weight, precision. Aden responded with instinct, dodging low, countering fast, sometimes blocking with barely a breath to spare.
For a moment, Ed narrowed his eyes. "So you've read it."
Aden grunted, "Only the first half."
"Impressive," Ed said, before lunging again, faster this time.
Steel blurred.
Aden ducked a sweeping arc, countered with a thrust, only to have his blade knocked aside. He adjusted his footing and parried a high strike, but Ed twisted mid-swing—his saber cutting low and hard. Aden rolled out of the way, dust kicking up under him.
He came up swinging.
Their blades clashed with such force that sparks flew.
Then—it happened.
Ed stepped forward, pivoted his weight, and performed a movement so fluid, so deceptively calm, it felt like time itself slowed. His sword sliced through the air, impossibly heavy and dangerously smooth.
CRACK.
Aden's blade split clean in half.
He staggered back, chest heaving, as the broken sword clattered to the ground. He dropped to one knee, breath ragged.
Ed stood over him, calm and composed. He looked down, sword resting at his side.
"You've grown," he said. "But you're not yet ready to stand among the Black Knights."
Aden looked up, sweat dripping from his brow—but his eyes were burning with something close to awe.
Ed sheathed his sword and extended a hand.
"Get up. Tomorrow, we ride. There's someone you need to meet."
Aden hesitated—then took it.
As they walked off the training field together, something between them shifted. No longer heir and patriarch. just father and son.
The next morning came with mist blanketing the Vasco territory.
A black carriage bearing the Vasco crest rolled through the stone-paved roads, escorted by knights on horseback. Inside, Aden sat across from Ed Vasco in a silence neither heavy nor light—just... thoughtful.
The rhythmic clop of hooves and the turning of wheels filled the air. Aden's eyes lingered on the passing landscape—lush vineyards, silver-tipped lakes, and wide fields where children trained with wooden swords under knightly supervision.
"It's different here," Aden said.
Ed didn't respond immediately. "It's home. Or it was, once. That depends on you now."
They didn't speak again for the rest of the ride.
Eventually, the scenery shifted. Trees grew thicker, older. The road narrowed into a trail. And then they saw it:
A grand estate—built from dark stone, ivy climbing its walls like veins. Its sheer size rivaled the main Vasco estate, but it was isolated, surrounded by golden fields and glowing spirit-lamps floating in midair like gentle fireflies.
The carriage halted.
Ed stepped out first. Aden followed, eyes scanning the area. The air felt charged, not with magic, but with... presence. A weight, like someone immensely powerful was watching.
Ed approached the large, wooden door and knocked thrice.
Silence.
Then—
"Come in."
A voice—deep, powerful, and calm as still water. Yet it held an invisible force that pressed against Aden's chest like a hand. A voice that carried centuries of mastery.
Ed turned the handle and stepped inside without a word.
Aden hesitated for the briefest second, then followed him in.
He didn't know who awaited them behind that voice... but his instincts flared.
Whoever it was, they were as dangerous.
maybe even more than Ed Vasco himself.