Rebirth System: Blood and Ash

The banquet hall buzzed with soft whispers and the quiet clinking of goblets.

Nobles shifted in their seats, fine silks and embroidered robes rustling as they spoke in voices just loud enough to be heard by those beside them, but low enough to avoid prying ears. They spoke of the princes, their futures, their triumphs and tensions.

But, here and there, in the quietest corners, behind jeweled fans and silk-gloved hands, a different topic slipped between the lips of only the most daring: the emperor's rumored illness.

"Do you think he—?" one noble muttered, his words half-lost in the dimness.

"Hush," his companion warned, glancing around with a flash of fear. Heads turned away quickly, eyes darting to each other with guarded suspicion, for even the mere hint of sickness in the emperor was enough to lose one's standing—or worse.

Yet beneath the murmur of conversation and the delicate mask of courtly civility, there was a slight tension, as if everyone was aware of some unspoken truth, afraid that with one careless word, the wrong person might overhear.

As the night drew on, Aric finally took his leave of the main hall.

He moved through the dim corridors and shadowed passages until he arrived at a secluded room lit with only the soft glow of sconces along the walls. Inside, his father, Emperor Xavier, sat at the head of a polished table surrounded by a handful of senators.

Their faces, hardened and weathered by years of court life, barely moved as he entered, yet their eyes followed his every step.

Aric sat quietly, only glancing once toward the emperor, whose face, though impassive, held the weight of a man bearing a hidden burden. The conversation turned swiftly to Aric's conquest of Byzeth, the rebels crushed, and the once-defiant king, Aszer, now lying lifeless by Aric's hand.

The emperor's voice was measured, noting Aric's success with quiet approval. Yet even as they spoke of Aric's achievements, the opposing senators shifted uneasily in their seats, and it was not long before one spoke up.

"Of course, Prince Aric's mission in Byzeth was… well-executed," one senator remarked, his tone thinly veiled, "but it's hardly as if he did so alone. We all heared Ysir, the Northrender princess, and her legion played a… critical role."

It was a notion already dismissed by the emperor, but it was all they had.

Another senator nodded, leaning forward with an expression of feigned admiration.

"Indeed. Without the might of the Northrenders… well, such an endeavor might not have ended in victory."

Aric met their gazes evenly, refusing to let the barb land.

"You think?" he began, his voice calm as still water, "but I was the one to sever the head of Aszer myself." His eyes glittered coldly as he added, "Even the Byzeth king's own men could attest to this fact."

The senators murmured, shifting uncomfortably, the confidence in their jabs waning as Aric continued, his voice low, his words deliberate.

"Tell me, if you believe that Ysir and her Northrender legion had such a strong interest in aiding me, why then? Why would they, out the blue, want to aid me against a rebellious king?"

The senators exchanged uneasy glances. One cleared his throat, but no one could summon an answer. The room fell silent, save for the faint crackling of the torches, the tension thickening like mist.

Aric leaned back, letting the silence stretch.

"I wonder," he said at last, his gaze unyielding, "if any among you actually knew Aszer's true plan." He paused, watching the flickers of shock cross their faces, relishing the unsettled looks that spread like wildfire.

"He had courted the Northrenders, formed alliances that could have thrown our empire into a war of a scale you sit here blissfully unaware of. Had his ambitions come to fruition, the men of winter would have poured into Valeria, and the little games of politics you are all so obsessed with would have become irellevant."

The senators shifted, eyes widening as the gravity of his words sank in. Their mouths opened as if to respond, but no sound came. They simply stared, as if seeing him for the first time, unable to reconcile the prince they'd dismissed as weak with the man who had ended a rebellion before it could reach their gates.

One senator finally cleared his throat, an edge of disbelief clinging to his words.

"But… without the strength of ki… How did you alone prevent this? How did you secure the Northrender princess's loyalty and… kill the Byzeth king?"

Aric laughed, a sound that echoed through the room, sharp and unrestrained, each beat of laughter seeming to echo off the walls and dig deeper into the senators' pride.

"Why should I tell you?" he replied, his voice suddenly cold. "What have any of you done to earn that knowledge?"

The senators flushed, the silence filling with unspoken anger, their hands curling into fists, jaws clenched with rage. But before the tension could erupt, Emperor Xavier's voice sliced through the air.

"That's enough. All of you—leave."

The senators straightened, unwilling to meet Aric's eyes as they filed out, expressions taut, shoulders stiff. One by one, they disappeared into the corridor, leaving only the emperor and his son in the quiet, the moment falling over them.

The door shut, sealing them in a silence so complete that Aric could hear the steady pulse of his own heartbeat, the slow rustle of his father's robes as the emperor rose from his seat. Instinctively, Aric stood as well, the motion swift and precise, born of years of training and discipline.

Xavier approached him slowly, his face shadowed in the dim light, unreadable. He stopped before Aric, his gaze lingering, searching, as though trying to piece together fragments of a puzzle.

Then, in a movement as unexpected as it was gentle, Xavier reached out, his hand resting on Aric's shoulder, before slipping around the back of his neck, pulling him into an embrace. His voice was low, softer than Aric had ever heard it, yet his words carried a depth that settled into the marrow of Aric's bones.

"I know how difficult it must have been," Xavier whispered, his voice rough yet warm. "I am proud of you."

For a moment, Aric was frozen, his breath catching as the words echoed in his mind, each one peeling away layers of hardened resolve. Pride—his father was proud. A surge of emotions rose within him, powerful and untamed, and he clenched his fists, his nails pressing into his palms as he fought to keep his composure.

Yet in that moment, the years of steely resolve, of calculated indifference, wavered.

His father's embrace, this brief show of affection, cracked through the armor he had so carefully built. His hardened gaze, the brutal mask of a warrior, faltered. The familiar coldness in his eyes softened, and for the first time, a flicker of something raw and vulnerable glistened in his pupils, bright as burning steel.

And as he closed his eyes, he felt a warmth that had been foreign to him all his life, a warmth that made his heart ache even as it healed.

For beneath the prince's cold precision, beneath the strategist's cunning, was a son who, for the first time he could remember, was held not as a warrior, not as a pawn—nor a king he fought so hard to be, but simply as a son.

A son who made his father proud.