CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

The Rozzlyn estate was a monument to Aether's cold, unyielding order. Its polished iron walls gleamed under the pale moonlight, casting long, jagged shadows across the courtyard. Ivan sat in the grand parlor, his fingers absently tracing the intricate carvings on the armrest of his chair. The duel with Lorcan had left him physically drained, but it was the emotional weight that lingered, gnawing at the edges of his mind. Fent's words echoed in his head, a constant reminder of the choice he had yet to make: Choose a side, Ivan. Before it's too late.

The door creaked open, and Metil stepped inside, his presence as silent and unassuming as ever. "Ivan," he said, his voice low and measured, "Fent Erasmus is here to see you."

Ivan frowned, his brow furrowing. Fent? At this hour? He stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the polished floor. "Send him in."

Fent entered the parlor moments later, his usual grin replaced by a rare seriousness. His copper-toned skin glistened faintly under the chandelier's light, and his curly black hair was slightly disheveled, as if he'd been running his hands through it. He looked at Ivan with an intensity that made the air between them feel charged.

"Ivan," Fent said, his voice steady but laced with urgency, "I need you to come with me."

Ivan's frown deepened. "Where? Why?"

Fent hesitated, his gaze flicking toward Metil, who stood silently by the door. "Not here. Somewhere private. It's important."

Ivan studied his friend for a moment, then nodded. "Alright. Let's go."

The Erasmus estate was a stark contrast to the Rozzlyn mansion. Where the Rozzlyn home was cold and lifeless, the Erasmus residence was warm and inviting. The walls were adorned with rich tapestries and paintings, the floors covered in plush rugs that muffled their footsteps. The air was thick with the scent of incense and aged wood, a comforting aroma that made Ivan feel oddly at ease.

Fent led him through the winding halls, their footsteps echoing softly against the walls. "My mother wants to meet you," Fent said, his voice low. "She's… heard a lot about you."

Ivan raised an eyebrow. "Your mother? Why?"

Fent glanced at him, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. "You'll see."

They reached a set of double doors at the end of the hall, and Fent pushed them open, revealing a spacious study. The room was bathed in the warm glow of a crackling fireplace, its light dancing across the shelves of books and the intricate carvings on the wooden desk. At the center of the room stood a woman who could only be Fent's mother.

She was striking, her presence commanding yet graceful. Her silver hair was pulled back into an elegant chignon, not a strand out of place, and her sharp gray eyes seemed to miss nothing. She wore a flowing gown of deep emerald green, the fabric shimmering faintly in the firelight. Her posture was impeccable, her hands clasped neatly in front of her, but there was a shrewdness in her gaze that hinted at a mind as sharp as a blade.

"Ivan Rozzlyn," she said, her voice smooth and melodic, yet carrying an undercurrent of steel. "I've been looking forward to meeting you."

Ivan stepped forward, his curiosity piqued. "Mrs. Erasmus," he said, inclining his head slightly. "The pleasure is mine."

She smiled faintly, her gaze sweeping over him with an appraising look. "Please, call me Liora. And do sit down. We have much to discuss."

Ivan glanced at Fent, who gave him a reassuring nod before taking a seat in one of the plush armchairs by the fireplace. Ivan followed suit, settling into the chair opposite Liora. The warmth of the fire was a welcome contrast to the cold sterility of his own home.

Liora took her seat gracefully, her movements deliberate and measured. She studied Ivan for a moment, her gaze piercing yet not unkind. "Fent has told me a great deal about you," she said, her tone conversational but laced with intent. "He speaks highly of your intellect, your passion. But I wanted to see for myself."

Ivan shifted slightly, feeling oddly exposed under her scrutiny. "I'm not sure what Fent has told you, but I'm just a student trying to navigate this world like everyone else."

Liora's lips curled into a faint smile. "A student, yes. But not like everyone else. You're a Rozzlyn, Ivan. That name carries weight. And from what I've heard, you're not content to simply follow in your father's footsteps."

Ivan's jaw tightened, but he didn't deny it. "I have my doubts," he admitted. "About Aether. About the way things are."

Liora nodded, her expression thoughtful. "Doubts are the first step toward change. But they're not enough on their own. Action is what matters. And that's why I wanted to speak with you."

Ivan leaned forward, his curiosity growing. "What do you mean?"

Liora's gaze flicked to Fent, who sat quietly, his expression unreadable. Then she turned back to Ivan, her voice low and measured. "I know you've been questioning Aether's rule. I know you see the cracks in their facade. And I know you're not alone in that. There are others who feel the same way. Others who want to see change."

Ivan's heart skipped a beat. "Are you saying you're part of the resistance?"

Liora shook her head, her smile fading. "No. Not directly. But I know people who are. People who could use someone like you."

Ivan's mind raced, his heart pounding in his chest. "Why are you telling me this?"

She leaned forward slightly, her gaze sharp and probing. "Because I see the potential in you, Ivan. The same potential I see in Fent. But potential means nothing if it's wasted. If you truly want to make a difference, you need to act. And you need allies."

Ivan's breath came in short, controlled bursts as he processed her words. "What are you asking me to do?"

Liora reached into the folds of her gown, pulling out a small, sealed envelope. She held it out to him, her expression unreadable. "Take this," she said, her voice firm. "It's a message. For someone who can help you. But be careful. Aether's eyes are everywhere."

Ivan stared at the envelope, his fingers trembling slightly as he took it. "Why are you doing this?"

Her gaze softened, and for a moment, she looked almost maternal. "Because I believe in you, Ivan. And because I believe in a better future. But the choice is yours. You can burn that letter and forget we ever spoke. Or you can take the first step toward something greater."

Ivan looked down at the envelope, his fingers tightening around it. "I'll think about it."

She nodded, her expression unreadable. "That's all I ask. But don't think too long, Ivan. The world won't wait for you."

The room fell silent, the crackling of the fire the only sound. Ivan glanced at Fent, who gave him a small, encouraging smile. Then he looked back at Liora, her sharp gray eyes still fixed on him, waiting for his response.

"Thank you," Ivan said finally, his voice steady. "For your trust. And for the opportunity."

Liora's lips curled into a faint smile. "You're welcome, Ivan. But remember—this is just the beginning. The road ahead won't be easy."

Ivan nodded, his resolve hardening. "I understand."

As he made his way back to the Rozzlyn estate later that night, the envelope clutched tightly in his hand, Ivan's mind was a whirlwind of thoughts. Liora's words echoed in his head, a constant reminder of the choice before him. He thought of Skarlett's warning: The world isn't kind to those who hesitate. And he thought of Fent's plea: Choose a side, Ivan. Before it's too late.

When he reached his chambers, he locked the door behind him and sat at his desk, the envelope resting in front of him. He stared at it for a long time, his heart pounding in his chest. Finally, he reached for it, his fingers trembling as he broke the seal.

Inside was a single sheet of paper, the handwriting sharp and precise. It was an address, along with a time and a name: Skyla Mellow.

Ivan's breath caught in his throat. Skyla. The leader of the resistance. The woman who had become a symbol of defiance against Aether's oppression. This was it. The first step.

He folded the letter carefully and tucked it into his pocket, his mind made up. He would meet her. He would hear what she had to say. And then, he would choose.