Once again, the night passed with a familiar discomfort in Jacob's room. Tangled in his bedsheets, sweat slicked across his brow and soaked through his shirt, Jacob groaned lowly as he twisted from side to side, caught somewhere between the terror of his dreams and the awareness of the waking world. Across from him, on the temporary bed that had been brought in only the evening before, Arthur stirred from the noise, sitting up with a sluggish blink before his gaze locked on the restless figure thrashing under the sheets.

He was on his feet in an instant, barefoot on the wooden floor, his brows pulled together as he crossed the room and reached out, grabbing Jacob's shoulders and shaking them gently but urgently. "Jacob? Jacob, what's going on? Wake up!"

Jacob's eyes snapped open, glassy and unfocused at first, before they settled on Arthur's concerned face hovering above him. He blinked twice, then slowly looked down at himself, as if only now realizing the soaked fabric clinging to his chest and back.

"…Oh," he muttered, almost to himself, before pushing himself up to a seated position. "You can go back to sleep. I won't be disturbing your rest anymore."

Without another word, he stood and made his way toward the desk tucked in the corner of the room, lit a stubby candle that gave off a faint golden glow, then pulled a book from the nearby stack and slipped on his glasses. He didn't say anything else just bent his head and buried himself in quiet study as if nothing had happened.

Jacob turned slightly after a moment, his eyes meeting Arthur's. The younger boy was still standing beside the bed, visibly shaken, mouth slightly parted as if unsure whether to press the matter. Jacob gave a quiet sigh and said, his voice even, "You should get some proper sleep. We'll probably meet our mentors tomorrow, and you'll need the energy."

He didn't say it out loud, but he'd already taken the time to write Arthur's summary for him. Not out of charity Jacob didn't believe in that but because the kingdom wouldn't arrange their mentor meetings until all three submissions were filed. Abel would have submitted his already, Jacob trusted that. Arthur, on the other hand, had no idea how to even start. Jacob had done it to keep things moving, but also… to learn.

The summary Arthur had given him had been too carefully flawed, errors that felt intentional, logic that looped in strange circles. It didn't take long for Jacob to realize the truth: Arthur had deliberately hidden parts of his aspect. It wasn't a simple mistake; it was misdirection. And not even clumsy misdirection just enough to plant false assumptions.

Jacob didn't pry. From what Arthur had shared, he could form a vague picture of the truth. Arthur's aspect, Mana's Chosen Mage, allowed him to interact with mana without relying on runes, creating a direct, intimate bond with the raw force itself.

On paper, it sounded impressive, revolutionary even. But most trained sorcerers could channel mana without runes, runes simply made it safer, cleaner, stronger. The difference with Arthur was subtle but profound: he shouldn't be able to outperform rune use, and yet… his aspect made it so that channelling raw mana was not only viable but preferable for him.

Arthur tilted his head, breaking Jacob's chain of thought. His voice was quiet, tinged with concern. "Are you sure you're alright?"

Jacob didn't respond. He simply turned another page and waved a dismissive hand.

Arthur hesitated a moment longer, then nodded and made his way back to bed, crawling beneath the sheets and settling down again. As his breathing began to slow, Jacob whispered into the candlelight, "This is why I didn't want him staying with me."

A voice answered softly from the shadows. "Because of the nightmares."

Jacob nodded slightly. Belemir's voice was always calm, unobtrusive. But he understood more than most.

They came every night now. Always different, yet always the same, full of shadows, and guilt, and that unbearable pressure behind his eyes. Worse, they were growing stronger, and yet he still couldn't remember them. He suspected they were connected to his aspect somehow, but that only raised more questions, none of which had answers worth chasing. Not yet.

The night faded into morning. Pale sunlight leaked through the window slats, spilling onto the floor in thin gold ribbons. Arthur yawned and sat up, scratching his head groggily before glancing toward Jacob's bed and froze when he saw it empty.

Jacob, from the desk where he still sat hunched over his book, said dryly, "Stop staring at the sheets. I'm right here."

Arthur jumped, startled, and turned toward him. Jacob stood now, dusting off his coat, the dark circles under his eyes more pronounced than ever. Arthur frowned. "Hey, did you even sleep last—?"

"We should get breakfast," Jacob cut in, already walking toward the door.

Arthur followed quietly, still frowning but knowing better than to push. The two made their way through the halls of the Skydrid estate, the towering ceilings and sunlit corridors still unfamiliar to Arthur, who looked around with wide eyes.

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"This place is huge," he said, barely containing his amazement. "You probably burn more energy just walking to breakfast than actually eating it."

That got a dry chuckle out of Jacob, who didn't bother hiding it this time. "Try to suppress the urge to broadcast your childishness," he said, though his tone lacked bite.

Arthur blinked. "Did you just laugh?"

"Must've been your imagination."

After several more turns and one spiral staircase, they reached the kitchen. Jacob walked in, his eyes immediately landing on a small plate resting off to the side. He strode toward it and picked it up with practiced motion.

"Belemir," he said aloud, "escort Arthur to the dining room. I'll eat in my room."

Before he could turn away, Belemir appeared at his side, placing a firm hand on Jacob's shoulder. "Lord Jeremiah said to inform you he's accepted your refusal to eat with the family for long enough."

Jacob's brow twitched. The implication was clear this wasn't a request.

With a scowl, he turned to Arthur. "Come on," he muttered, and walked off with stiff, irritated steps. Behind him, he heard Arthur lean toward Belemir and whisper something, but the steward gave no response and vanished as quietly as he had come.

Jacob soon stood before the wide double doors of the main dining hall. He inhaled deeply, twice, then pushed the doors open.

The dining room was as grand as ever, bathed in soft morning light filtering through high, arched windows that cast pale rectangles across the tiled floor. A long, rectangular table dominated the space, its surface nearly sagging under the weight of carefully arranged dishes, steaming eggs, cured meats, fresh-baked bread, golden butter, and pitchers of cold milk and juice each item placed with a precision that spoke of both wealth and habit.

Seated around the table were the members of Jacob's family. At the far end sat Jeremiah, upright and stern, with Hera poised at his side, her posture impeccable, her expression unreadable. To Jeremiah's right was Alex, seating upright with impeccable posture, and across from him sat Isaac, already fingering a silver fork though the meal hadn't yet begun.

Next to Isaac was Isa, her gaze fixed somewhere in the middle distance, and beside her, Jessica, brushing invisible lint off her sleeve in a slow, almost meditative motion. Henry occupied the seat closest to Alex, spinning a cigar between his fingers, the unlit end occasionally tapping against the polished wood of the table. Two empty seats remained at the far side, waiting.

Jacob hesitated only a moment before stepping forward, his footsteps muted against the smooth stone floor. The moment he entered, every head turned toward him, eyes narrowing slightly, expressions unreadable but clearly expectant. He realized, with an unpleasant jolt, that no one had touched their food. They had been waiting. For him.

Something tight twisted in his chest something warm and dangerous that he immediately smothered. 'They waited for you.'. But even as the thought whispered through his mind, he clamped down on it with cold precision, forcing his expression to remain blank. 'You don't deserve that,' he reminded himself.

Without a word, he walked to the seat beside Henry, carefully set down his modest plate, just two slices of plain bread with a thin pat of butter melting slowly atop them and sat. The chair creaked faintly under his weight. No one spoke.

Behind him, Arthur entered a few moments later, a little slower, his steps uncertain. He nearly tripped on the polished edge of the rug, caught himself with an awkward hop, and glanced up with a sheepish grin as he scratched the back of his head. Jacob didn't turn to look, but he could practically hear the eyes shifting from him to Arthur, the weight of the room's silence pressing down on the boy like a stone.

Arthur bowed hastily, his voice fumbling through the formal greeting. "Greetings, Lord Jeremiah, Lady Hera, Sir Isaac, Isa, Alex, Henry, and Jessica," he said all in one breath, the words tripping over each other.

For a moment, no one replied. The silence lingered, awkward but not cruel. Then, with a collective shrug of invisible tension, the family turned their attention to the meal, reaching for food with practiced ease, as though the interruption had never happened.

Arthur made his way to the seat beside Jacob and settled in, glancing around in awe at the spread before them. After a second, he leaned toward Jacob and gestured at his plate. "Uh… are you going to eat just that?" he asked, his voice lowered, eyes flicking between the two dry slices of bread and the abundance within arm's reach.

Jacob didn't look up. He took a small bite and chewed slowly before replying, "This is what I can afford."

Arthur blinked, confused. "But… your family is rich."

Before Jacob could answer, Henry's voice drifted in from the side, dry and unbothered. "Leave the bastard be. Never wants to take anything from us, no matter how much we offer." He exhaled slowly through his nose and spun the cigar again. "Suit yourself, I suppose."

Jacob said nothing, but he could feel Arthur's stare pressing into the side of his face, questioning, maybe even pitying. He didn't care for either.

Henry continued, as if the thought had just come to him, "Oh, by the way, Rivius asked me to let you know that you'll be meeting your mentors today."

Arthur, mid-chew, nearly choked. "Really?" he asked, wide-eyed, mouth half full as he turned to Henry, who didn't so much as glance up from his plate.

Jacob, meanwhile, kept his face carefully composed, but inside his chest, something leapt, an excited, fluttering beat he immediately clamped down on. He didn't allow himself the luxury of smiling. He hadn't earned that.

Across the table, Henry finally looked up. A small smirk played across his lips as he took a bite of sausage, then wiped his fingers on a cloth napkin before continuing, almost offhandedly, "Also heard that Lazarus's people asked for your aspect summaries."

The words dropped like a stone in water, sending ripples through the table. Forks paused halfway to mouths. Conversations stopped mid-sentence. Even the casual clinking of plates went still. The silence was immediate and total.

Jacob stiffened. For a few seconds, he didn't move at all, didn't breathe, didn't blink. Then he slowly turned to Henry, eyes sharp and disbelieving. "Lazarus?" he repeated, the name landing with the weight of something ancient, something terrifying and revered all at once.

Henry didn't respond. He merely continued eating, the smirk on his face vanishing behind his neutral, lazy chewing. It was clear he had no intention of elaborating, and even clearer that the topic was closed.

Jacob's mind was no longer on the meal. It raced, each thought crashing into the next, all of them swirling around that one, impossible name:

Lazarus.

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