The morning sun streamed through the tall windows of the Vale estate, bathing the breakfast hall in warm, golden light.
The long table was already buzzing with life.
Selene sat gracefully at Aren's right, gently sipping tea.Darian discussed estate affairs with his wife in low tones, while Lyra giggled at Mira's playful antics.
Mira and Elara, bright-eyed and still a little sleepy, sat side-by-side swinging their legs beneath their chairs, whispering and laughing about desserts, swordfights, and whatever grand adventures only children could imagine.
Aren sat quietly at the head of the table, a peaceful smile touching his lips as he watched them.
It was mornings like these — simple, precious — that made all the battles he had fought feel worthwhile.
Yet deep within him, a familiar unease stirred.
The world outside this hall was sharpening its blades.The heavens were moving.And Aren — even with all his strength — knew he was only one man, one sword.
He would fight the skies themselves if he must.But he would not gamble the lives of those he loved.
As Mira and Elara chattered animatedly, Mira suddenly piped up, her voice bright and eager:
"Grandpa! Will you come visit our school again soon?"
"Yeah!" Elara added quickly, her serious little face lighting up for once. "Everyone still talks about you."
Aren chuckled, setting down his teacup.
"I suppose," he said with exaggerated thoughtfulness, "if my precious granddaughters demand it... I have no choice but to obey."
The girls giggled and high-fived under the table.
But Aren's smile softened into something more serious as he looked around at his gathered family — Selene, Darian, Lyra, Mira, Elara.
This peace was fragile.
He set down his napkin carefully and spoke, his voice calm but firm:
"Starting today," Aren said, "there will be a new routine."
Everyone turned toward him, sensing the shift.
"Every day at four o'clock sharp, all of you — from the eldest to the youngest — will join me at the training grounds."
Mira's eyes widened.
Elara sat bolt upright, excitement and anxiety fighting on her face.
Darian blinked, confused.Lyra raised an eyebrow curiously.Selene — the only one who understood the reason — simply smiled serenely.
"It won't be anything too harsh," Aren continued smoothly. "But from today onward, presence is mandatory. No excuses."
"But—" Mira began, pouting slightly.
Aren leaned forward just a little, golden eyes twinkling with mischief and unyielding authority.
"No buts."
The playful atmosphere dissolved into chuckles and mock groans — but they all nodded.Even Mira, though she huffed dramatically and crossed her arms.
Breakfast continued with lighter chatter, but a new current ran beneath it — a feeling that things were shifting, becoming sharper, more serious.
After the meal ended, as the family drifted off to their daily routines, Aren rose, adjusting the cuffs of his black formal coat.
Selene caught his hand briefly before he left the hall, squeezing it gently.
Her eyes said everything:Be safe.
Aren kissed her knuckles lightly and offered a quiet smile.
Then he turned and walked alone toward the estate gates.
The guards at the front entrance stiffened as he approached.
He wore no armor, carried no sword — and yet the very air around him seemed heavier with each step.
"My lord—" one of the guards began nervously.
"I'm heading to the palace," Aren said simply.
They straightened like boards, saluting with a snap.No carriage was summoned.No escort was requested.
Aren walked alone into the morning streets, and people instinctively moved aside without realizing why.
At the Imperial Palace gates, the guards were already on edge when he appeared.
The sight of him — towering, calm, eternal — sent ripples through the ranks.
The captain of the guard, a seasoned veteran who had once fought in the empire's deadliest wars, swallowed audibly.
"My Lord Vale," he said, bowing deeply. "How may we serve you?"
"I seek an audience with His Majesty," Aren said mildly.
There was a brief moment of terrified hesitation — then the captain barked rapid orders.Within minutes, a royal messenger was dispatched at a dead sprint into the palace.
The message returned almost immediately:Permission granted. Immediate audience.
The grand double doors of the council hall swung open for Aren alone.
Inside, the Emperor sat at the head of the long meeting table, surrounded by generals clad in dark military regalia, and a handful of dukes whose faces were grave and lined with worry.
Maps sprawled across the table.Documents and magical artifacts glowed faintly.
Discussions died the instant Aren stepped in.
Every head turned.Every voice fell silent.
Even the mightiest generals — men who commanded armies, who had bathed their hands in blood — felt their throats dry and their palms sweat.
The presence that entered the hall was not a man.It was a force of nature.
For one long heartbeat, no one moved.
Then the Emperor rose from his seat, a small, genuine smile tugging at his lips.
"You are all dismissed," he said.
There was no hesitation.The generals and dukes bowed low — first to the Emperor, then, with even deeper fear and reverence, to Aren Vale.
No one protested.No one dared.
The heavy doors closed behind them, leaving only two men in the vast hall.
The Emperor.And Aren Vale.
A meeting of the two strongest humans alive —Not as Sovereign and Subject,But as old friends standing on the edge of the end.