Morning light spilled across the Vale estate, warm and golden, filtering through the tall windows of the breakfast room where the family had gathered once more.
The smell of baked goods, spiced teas, and honeyed fruits filled the air, and the sounds of easy laughter and teasing floated over the table like music.
"Father," Darian said, trying — and failing — to keep a straight face, "I believe Mira intends to challenge you for your title. She said at school yesterday you were her sidekick."
Aren set down his cup with an exaggerated sigh. "So soon, Mira? Betrayal at such a tender age?"
Mira, already munching a berry tart, grinned up at him, her cheeks stuffed. "You're still my favorite sidekick, Grandpa!"
Elara, sitting very straight next to her, added primly, "She means it respectfully."
"I should hope so," Aren said dryly, reaching out to ruffle both girls' hair, earning a giggle from Mira and a shy, pleased look from Elara.
Selene, radiant as ever in a flowing morning dress, chuckled softly beside him. "Better resign yourself to it, dear. They're the future now."
"I intend to," Aren said, golden eyes glowing with warmth. "And while we're at it..."
He set down his fork with deliberate slowness, drawing the attention of the entire table. "Today, we prepare for the imperial banquet."
The atmosphere shifted — not heavy, not grim, but charged with the knowledge of what was coming.
"Our family will be present," Selene said, her voice gentle but unwavering. "Whole and proud."
"Even if the world pretends not to see some of us," Aren added, his smile easy, but his words cutting sharp beneath.
A silence fell over the table — not uncomfortable, but thoughtful.
They all understood.
Lyra's snub could not go unanswered.
"And," Aren continued, lightening the mood with a mischievous glint, "we'll need to look devastatingly good doing it."
Mira threw her hands in the air. "Dresses!"
"Uniforms," Elara corrected, with a determined nod.
"Armor, if it comes to it," Aren murmured, just loud enough for Selene to hear — and she laughed quietly behind her teacup.
Once breakfast wound down, the whole family rose together, moving like parts of a well-loved, creaky machine — imperfect but united.
They gathered in the family's private wardrobe wing — a sprawling series of rooms and halls filled with tailored garments spanning centuries of Vale history.
The staff, long used to their lord's particular ways, had prepared everything discreetly in advance: formalwear in every style and color, carefully arranged by house tradition.
Mira darted excitedly from one rack to another, her eyes wide as she marveled at sparkling gowns and embroidered jackets.
Elara moved more cautiously, fingers ghosting reverently over a sleek navy uniform with silver detailing.
"I want to look strong," Elara whispered, half to herself.
"You are strong," Aren said quietly behind her, making her jump — but when she turned to him, he only smiled and added, "But we'll find something that shows it properly."
Selene, meanwhile, helped Mira into a lovely deep-rose dress, adjusting a bow here and smoothing a hem there, while Mira babbled excitedly about dancing and spies and secret missions.
Lyra watched from a distance, her arms folded loosely, the faintest crease of worry between her brows.
Aren noticed — of course he noticed — and after a moment, crossed the room to her.
"You'll outshine them all," he said simply.
Lyra shook her head with a soft laugh. "It's not for me, Father. I just don't want to embarrass the girls."
"You won't," Aren said, his voice low but firm.
He glanced sideways at Selene, catching her eye, and felt her silent agreement settle over him like armor.
The family worked together for hours — trying on clothes, teasing each other, discussing etiquette — Selene adjusting a sash here, Darian correcting a bow tie there, Mira twirling around until she fell into Elara's arms in a tangle of giggles.
Even the partners, a little stiff at first, eventually relaxed into the easy chaos.
It was impossible not to, under the weight of Aren's approving gaze and Selene's warm presence.
As the sun climbed high, a slight tension began to creep in from the edges — whispers among the staff, small notes exchanged behind closed doors.
Aren, sharp as ever beneath his relaxed façade, noticed immediately.
There was something about the banquet.
Something that wasn't right.
The matter of Lyra's missing invitation still simmered unspoken beneath the surface.
No official apology had come.
No explanation.
It was only a small thing — a paper slight, an error easily attributed to protocol or oversight.
And yet...
Aren's golden eyes darkened, and the air grew subtly heavier.
Selene touched his arm, steadying him. "Later," she whispered. "We'll deal with it together."
He exhaled slowly and let it go — for now.
But as he looked around the room — at Lyra laughing with Mira, at Elara adjusting her cuffs with solemn care, at Darian standing tall beside his family — Aren made a silent, ironclad vow:
Never again.
The world would see.
The world would remember.
And if it dared to forget again, then he — Aren Vale — would remind them why even the gods once tread carefully around his name.
At the end of the day, as final selections were made and the tailor's apprentices hurried off to prepare everything for the morrow, the family gathered once more for tea in the garden.
The sun was setting in a blaze of pink and gold, casting long shadows over the stone paths and flowerbeds.
Selene leaned lightly against Aren's side, their fingers brushing.
Mira curled up against his other arm, half-asleep already,
Lyra sat across from him, watching Mira, her eyes luminous in the fading light. Nearby, Elara sat quietly by his knee, polishing a small silver brooch she intended to wear at the banquet.
And in the hush of that perfect moment, Aren spoke — not loudly, not grandly, but in a voice every single one of them heard and took to heart:
"We stand together. Always."
And though no oath was sworn aloud, it was understood.
A secret promise, sealed between hearts:
The Vale family would never let the world dim their light again.