Chapter One: The Return

The gates of Solspire were familiar, but I couldn't bring myself to look for long.

I crossed the marble bridge, my cloak singed at the edges, hood pulled low. Not much had changed in all this time, had it?

No one at the gate recognized me. I was not surprised. The man they remembered had been hidden away in the countryside for half a decade after the Hydrogen experiment scorched my skin and reputation alike. They called what I did reckless, and a few believed I was dead.

Let them. They're about to learn otherwise.

I walked past the outer ward in silence. My gauntlet hung heavy at my side, scarred and scratched from years of use. The darkened metal bore the marks of every trial I had been put through. The refined Auris crystal in the palm pulsed faintly beneath the metal, dangerous and beautiful, and mine above all else.

As I walked, I thought about how Solspire had always been beautiful from a distance: all marble arches and spires with the flame of the carbon hearts lighting the streets. But inside, it was a system built to devour each other.

I moved through the lower tiers without a word. Eyes followed me. Some curious. Some afraid. One or two calculating. None wanted to fight me, they all knew what the gauntlet on my right hand meant. Trouble, or death.

I had crossed into the Noble Courtyard.

House banners draped the high balconies. House Caelthorn's steel stag hung closest as I continued walking, followed by House Nirell's silver serpent coiled around a scale. House Theryn's golden feather blazed, then House Caelisorn's silver hawk soaring over a wind spiral.

At the far end hung my own family's banner: House Dravoryn's dragon coiled around a blue flame.

Above them all flew the Emperor's insignia, the golden crown of House Valedorn wrapped in five delicate threads. To the commoners, it looked like unity. Only the nobles knew it was a cage.

The marble path drew me toward the edge of the Outer Court, where sunlight filtered through the streets. Nobles clustered in loose groups beneath hanging banners, their laughter polite and practiced.

They kept speaking, but I felt every glance.

And then someone recognized me.

Vaelen Nirell broke from a nearby circle, dressed in black with glass buttons and silver serpent embroidery. He wore the kind of smile people used when they thought charm could win ground.

"Theren Dravoryn. Now there's a name I haven't heard in years."

I nodded. "Vaelen. What is it?"

He fell into step beside me without asking. Of course he did.

"You've been missed. Or at least, your absence was noted. After such a long silence, I assumed you'd gone abroad. Quietly."

"I did." I knew he'd die to know why I was banished.

"Your House sent only three to the Spire, which makes your timing... curious. Especially with everything else that's happening."

"So I’ve heard. I’m wondering that myself." I gave him the same practiced smile, though we both knew it was a lie.

He studied me. Not quite suspicious. Not quite friendly. Watching, as he always did.

"There's a reception this evening," he said. "You should come. Hear what people have been saying in your absence. See how many still remember your name."

I looked past him toward the far doors.

"Only time will tell," I replied, as I walked on to the Dravoryn quarters.

---

A summons had arrived not long after I settled into my family's old quarters. Not my father's seal. Not even the House's. A plain, unsigned card. Typical.

But the handwriting was his. I knew it. I'd seen it too many times in margin notes and torn letters. My father didn't make requests. He issued expectations.

It gave a time and place: the Forge Hall beneath the western tier, third bell. Not a public space. Not quite private. Functional. Like him.

I arrived early just to remind him I still could.

The Forge Hall hadn't changed. Hammer-cracked stone, fire vents in the walls, old scaffolding that had never been replaced. This was where Dravoryn shaped its edge. Not in courtrooms, but here, with smoke and steel.

He stood near the far bench, arms crossed. A single lantern burned behind him, casting his shadow long across the floor. Arren wasn't with him. Lazien either. Just us.

"What do you need from me?"

"You came," he said without turning. He always liked playing the intimidating father. That's probably what got him this far politically.

"I read the message."

A pause.

"Five years ago, I buried a son. Not in the ground, but in the eyes of the Court. You know what that cost me?"

I didn't answer. He didn't wait for one.

"But I did it to protect the House. Protection isn't the same as forgiveness. And it's not the same as exile."

I didn't come back to be forgiven. I came back to be seen, to rise above you.

"Then why call me back?" Probing for more information. I knew bits and pieces. Let's see how much he confirms.

He finally turned, wearing the same empty frown as always.

He was quiet for a long moment, then: "The old man's finally failing. You can smell it in the court." His fingers drummed once against the stone. "Five years I kept you buried. Now I need you dug up."

"And you want me to move for you again?" As I suspected. They want their war hound back. I clenched my jaw, feeling the weight of years buried beneath those words.

"I want you to play your part."

He just wants me to play on his board. He never saw me as a son but as a chess piece he could move at his whim.

He then unfurled a roll of parchment across the stone table and weighed it with a block of iron. Catalyst tallies. Raw. Unedited. Dangerous.

"The Court has begun counting," he said. "They'll want our records in three days."

"Then give them the records."

"Not these."

I leaned in for a better look. The sheet was riddled with a massive red flag. An insane particle imbalance meant the reactions were flooded with excess energy, forcing the elements to carry more particles than was safe. Deadly, even.

And I could tell. Father knew exactly what he was doing.

If even half of it was accurate, House Dravoryn had been building something far beyond permitted limits.

"Why me?" Not the role I want to play. Either they wanted a scapegoat, or he actually believed I could make the numbers look stable without reducing the room to rubble.

"Because you understand particle imbalance as well as, if not better than the court mages do after your incident, and because if anyone questions the figures, you'll be able to explain them. Now fake the stability. Or don't bother coming back."

"Yes, Father, but I want something in return. That seems fair."

"Do it well, and we'll see."

No apology. No explanation. Another test. Very much like him.

But I could use that to my advantage. If he was calling on me, he had to be low on allies, so now was the time to strike. I took the parchment and let him think I was playing along. I needed to see how badly they'd fudged the numbers and whether it was even doable, or if I'd have to move faster than expected.

I stood and walked away, but a chill settled as I left. This wasn't about the Court this was about the Royal Vault, which holds something better than gold: leverage. I hoped the King wasn't so far gone that he'd crack if I failed.

After the summons, I returned to my room's silence, bathing and dressing while weighing how to fake the tallies. The bells rang twice, signaling my move, so I made my way to the Hall of Mirrors.

---

The Hall of Mirrors wasn't named for its mirrors. It was named for the people who filled it. Reflections layered over reflections. False smiles. Courteous threats. Questions posed as compliments.

By the time I arrived, the music had softened and the wine had begun doing its work.

Vaelen was already inside, speaking to a minor diplomat from House Theryn. He didn't call me over. That would have meant he was invested. Instead, he gave me a glance that said, now let's see what you do with this.

Fine.

I moved slowly through the gathering. Several nobles paused to study me, unsure whether I was worth acknowledging. They didn't know what had happened to me. Only that I had vanished. That made me interesting and dangerous.

"Theren Dravoryn."

The voice came from near the garden doors. Low. Female. Touched with amusement. A woman stepped forward in a cascade of emerald green silk and black stone accents. Lady Sira Theryn.

"When ghosts walk, it's usually because someone disturbed the grave. Should I be worried?"

I gave a slight bow. "Only if you were the one who buried me."

She smiled. Not unkindly. "Not I. I was rather hoping you'd come back. House Dravoryn's silence about your disappearance was starting to feel ominous."

She wasn't fishing. She was measuring.

"And now?" My gaze held hers, searching for the friend she'd been or the player she'd become.

Sira stepped closer, her eyes flicking to my gauntlet's gemstone. "Your silence left echoes, Theren. Did the flame die, or did it burn unseen?"

So she is trying to test me. See if she can use me.

I held her stare. She'd grown sharper at prying secrets.

"There are whispers already. Some think you're here on Dravoryn's behalf. Others suspect you've come for yourself. If you're smart, you'll let both camps believe they're right."

The information was useful. But why offer it? She must think she can use me. I could maneuver her just as easily.

After that, she gave me a wink, then moved on to the next group of nobles to pull information from.

I moved from noble circle to noble circle, making reintroductions and seeing what information I could get. Some nobles, mostly the younger ones, had forgotten me. That might work in my favor.

The music shifted again, something stringed and somber. Court conversation slowed to match. That's when I heard an unsteady voice. Slurred. Familiar.

"Is that… Theren?"

I turned.

He was already stumbling drunkenly toward me. Broad-shouldered, red-faced, and wrapped in a sash of Dravoryn blue lined with silver pigment. My brother, Arren. Firstborn. And it looked like he'd forgotten how to control his drinking while I had been gone. I hadn't seen him in years.

"I'll be damned," he said, loud enough for all to hear. "It really is you. Thought you'd finally fused yourself into ash. Or maybe they didn't bury you deep enough." His laughter came in fits.

The cluster of nobles nearest us turned to watch.

"Arren." My voice was flat. "You're drunk." I'd expected this, but not so soon. Painful.

"Of course I'm drunk," he replied, gesturing with a goblet. "Do you know how long I've had to smile while telling people you were doing 'research abroad'? All while Lazien's been skulking about, picking up your old duties for him like a dutiful shadow. Do you know how hard it is to lie when they all want to believe you're dead?"

He leaned closer. His breath stank of plum brandy and bitterness.

"But now you're back. And here I thought Father had finally written you off for good."

I shot back quickly, "Are you afraid of me?"

My expression didn't change as I took a step back. Lazien's name stirred an old memory. Lazien's quiet steps in the shadows, always just out of sight. I buried the thought.

"I don't know what you mean. Lie about my death? Can't you see I'm standing right in front of you?" Would that be enough to undermine my brother's claims?

He scoffed, muttering, "Don't get in my way, and we can play nice, little brother."

I slipped out of the main hall and into one of the upper galleries, a quiet stretch of marble and dusk-glass windows overlooking the lower court. The music faded behind me. So did the eyes.

This was better.

Solspire still hummed beneath my feet, pulsing with conversation and ambition. But up here, it felt like I could breathe.

I leaned against a cool pillar and looked out toward the garden balconies. I remembered the view from years ago. I used to come here to escape lessons, to read, to think, to hide.

Funny how that instinct hadn't changed.

Arren's voice still echoed faintly in my mind. All the noise and yet nothing new. Resentment dressed up in silk, which he let slip.

Let him talk. I had not returned to argue with ghosts.

Then came a chime. A familiar chime.

Clear. Cold. A sound that cut through marble and murmurs alike.

I turned back toward the main court.

The chamber had fallen silent.

A herald stepped onto the high landing above the Hall of Mirrors, gray robes trimmed with gold of the Emperor's personal staff. His voice rang out steady and emotionless.

"By order of His Grace, Emperor Caerlyn IV Valedorn: All Great Houses are to send their representative to the Obsidian Spire at the third bell tomorrow. Court proceedings are suspended until further notice. Compliance is expected."

A pause. No flourish. No explanation.

Just enough silence to let the weight settle.

Then the herald stepped back, vanishing into the palace's inner halls.

I stayed where I was, watching as the nobles shifted and whispered like leaves in the wind.

So. The royal game was beginning.

And the Crown had moved first.

It was time for me to leave.