“Erlin, the President would like to see you.”

Erlin shut the journal and turned off the lamplight. He shot a glance at the window and found that the lamplight wasn’t necessary anyway — the sun was rising, though fairly slowly. It would be at least an hour until daylight.

Does the President ever sleep?

Yet he couldn’t make an outward comment, as he, too, hadn’t slept that night.

“I’ll be there in a minute.” Erlin feigned a yawn, hoping to dissuade whoever was at the door.

“Now, Erlin.”

Erlin nearly fell out of his chair.

The President, Rilon, had joined the other figure at the door — Erlin could tell it was him by his voice.

He groaned. “Alright, then. As you wish.”

The first figure muttered something incomprehensible — likely a curse — to Rilon as Erlin gathered himself and got up from his desk. When Erlin turned, they had gone.

He joined his grandfather by the door and they slowly began walking down the outside hall. It didn’t take Erlin much time to figure out that they were heading toward an elevator.

“You haven’t slept.” Although it was phrased like a question, Rilon’s tone was flat and cold. Analytical.

Erlin paused by the elevator. He pressed the button to open the door but said nothing.

Rilon sniffed and shook his head. “You’re going to give me the silent treatment again?”

“I’ve figured out where we’re going — I really don’t like you pushing your agenda on me.”

“I just want to show you something,” Rilon smiled, but Erlin could tell that it was forced — it didn’t meet his eyes. He strode into the elevator car as it opened, with Erlin following close behind. Erlin paid close attention to which floor button he pressed, and sneered to himself when he recognized the number.

“The Presidential hall.” Erlin leaned back against the wall and watched his grandfather carefully. “What a surprise. Could we actually go somewhere outside the Tower for once?”

A shadow crossed Rilon’s face. “No.”

Erlin, thoroughly surprised, said nothing further, though another attempt at speaking was rewarded with an unusually cold snarl from Rilon.

He sighed, relaxed, and adjusted his glasses. This was going to be awhile.

The Presidential Hall was just as Erlin had expected — detailed paintings of each President that had reigned throughout the years, beginning with Peak Arlett and ending with Rilon himself.

Each President ranged in nationalities, but there were always those distinct features that made them an Arlett, whether it be the expression on their faces, their jet-black hair, or the burning amber eyes.

Erlin considered himself an Arlett, although he was not blood-related to Rilon. He had the two latter features he noticed, or, well, the last. He did have black hair once, but some act of teenage rebellion forced him to distinguish himself by bleaching his hair. It hadn't worked entirely. One could still see black peppered in throughout his unnatural dirty blond hair.

“Are you listening, Erlin?”

Erlin paused before an antique painting, marked with the year 2319. The plaque marked the person as Gabriel Arlett. They couldn’t have been older than Erlin in that picture, with black, tightly curled hair, and a complexion nearly as copper as Erlin’s. Their amber gaze stared down upon Erlin as if in judgment, and Erlin had to duck away as though they would come out of the painting with a sharp retort.

So he cast his gaze ahead and found Rilon standing seven or so paintings away. He was watching Erlin with the same judgemental gaze that the late Gabriel gave him.

“Well?” Erlin could picture the annoyance on the man’s face.

“Yeah,” Erlin lied. “I’m listening.”

“Then what was I talking about?” He asked. When Erlin did not immediately reply, he gave a low chuckle.

Erlin muttered a low curse under his breath, which Rilon seemed to hear. The man had perked up but had not moved away from where he stood.

He quickly joined his grandfather before the man moved on to the next painting.

This one held almost a spitting image of Rilon, with the exception that this Arlett had amber eyes instead of Rilon’s green, and kept up a more androgynous appearance.

“I wish I could’ve known my uncle more.” Rilon stared at Erlin. His eyes were wistful. “I was too young to remember when he died.”

Erlin nodded, though his head was in another place. He began reading the plaque, noting the name — Eero — and the date. That part he found most peculiar.

“Barely a week.” Erlin turned to Rilon, who was staring at the painting after Eero’s. His next words died in his mouth.

His grandfather was staring at the painting, his expression full of clearly repressed rage. He swallowed, then swallowed again. The man grew pale, backing up to the opposite wall. He made wild gestures but spoke no words, his breath heavy with panic.

“Are you alright?” Erlin approached Rilon, who had now slid down against the wall. The older man’s breath was shallow and his head was in his hands. He startled at Erlin’s question.

“Go fetch… go fetch your father.” His eyes flashed a bright blue before he buried his face in his hands again. “Go fetch him. I need him.”

Erlin hurried away without question, back toward the elevator. He pushed the button to get into the elevator, which seemed to take forever. He flung himself inside at the moment the doors opened and blindly pressed a button.

650. Correct one. Five floors down. Shouldn’t take that long.

Erlin knew that this elevator was unreliable, as old as it was. Often what would usually be a five-minute ride could take three times as long. He would often find himself prying the doors open as they were too slow to open themselves.

The latter was what he found himself doing when he reached his stop.

His parents were standing in the doorway, watching him with matching curious expressions. Though they were whispering to each other, their attention was clearly focused on him.

“Um, Luca…” Erlin smiled nervously, stepping into the hallway. “President’s Hall.”

His father rolled his eyes. “My father again?”

Erlin nodded quickly.

Luca cursed under his breath, hurrying toward the elevator. He pushed Erlin aside and disappeared into the elevator.

Rilon’s panic appeared to have put Erlin’s father in a mood for the remainder of the morning, for when he returned around lunchtime, he was sputtering a string of curses under his breath. His mood was not helped when he found out that Erlin had only eaten a meager amount of food.

“I’ll eat later, I’ll promise.” Erlin protested. “I’m fine.”

“I’m fine’ is what your grandfather said in the hall. Covered in sweat and shivering is not ‘fine’ at all.” Luca grumbled back; he gave Erlin soup from the stove, then went stomping to the end of the kitchen table and sat in a chair. “And I doubt he ate shit this morning.”

“Luca,” Erlin’s other parent gently chided from the living room. “Remember to breathe.”

“I don’t have anger issues, Ayell. I ain’t having none of your shit again.”

When Erlin looked up from the table, his father was running his hands through his hair, a vain attempt to untangle its frazzled and tightly bound tangles. “God, some days I feel too old for this shit.”

When Erlin opened his mouth to speak, Luca shot him a glare.

“Don’t you add onto it, young man. You should be eating.”

“Right, right.” Erlin picked up his spoon but didn’t bother to eat. He only stared at his distorted reflection in it.

The bowl was almost empty, save for the little broth he had left. There was no way that he was going to drink that — he had no taste for chicken, as it made him sick every time he ate it.

Still, Erlin picked up the bowl and drained it in a few disgusted gulps. He took it to the sink in the next room over but didn’t wash it, as the queasy feeling immediately turned his stomach over.

Well, I have to face the consequences, don’t I?

Eventually the feeling left his stomach, and Erlin moved away from the sink and out of the kitchen.

He said his goodbyes to his parents — that seemed to cheer Luca up, even if by a little bit — and hurried back to the elevator. He didn’t care which button he pushed that time, as long as it was somewhere other than the President’s Hall

“I’ll be up in the penthouse later if anyone needs me.”

When there was no reply, Erlin dismissed it with a shake of his doors. He watched as the door shut before his eyes, walling himself off from his parents' residence.