Dinning room (2)

His steps slowed briefly as he took in the hall. The ceilings arched high with chandeliers of aether-glass casting cool glows of blue and red flame. Portraits of past clan heads loomed over the walls like silent judges. The long black table, etched with curling infernal runes, stretched nearly the length of the hall.

Almost all the chairs were empty —the throne-like seat belonging to Valek Demios, the clan head—remained empty. His mother's was also unoccupied.

But the rest…

Only seven of the seats were occupied.

The Crownkin— only two were present, although he didn't recognize them, he instinctively knew because they were the only adults, while the rest of the people seated he didn't recognize them.

The crownkin are the siblings of Valek Demios— the clan head. The men and women once whispered about in noble gatherings as monsters in noble clothes. Each bore the unmistakable aura of those who had awakened to their Aether long ago—and sharpened it through blood and war.

They were the pride and terror of the Demios line.

Zephyr recognized none of them personally, but fragments from the body's memories gave him hints—too few, too faded. Still, instinct screamed that they were dangerous. And watching him like a predator might regard an injured cub foolish enough to wander near the den.

He bowed his head slightly, respectfully. Then walked to the far end where the unclaimed seats sat—beneath the stained-glass crest of the Demios serpent. He pulled out a chair and sat without waiting for permission.

The silence stretched uncomfortably.

Until a sharp voice cut through it.

"Well. What courage have the stray mutt cultivated to leave the pit".

Zephyr paused, fingers tightening briefly around the goblet before him. He didn't want to acknowledge who it was that just spoke but the muscle memory from his previous— turning around at the slightest sound kicked in, he turned around to face a girl.

Kyra Demios.

He glanced toward her—long red hair twisted into elegant braids, her features sharp as broken glass. Her beauty was untouched by age, but there was something venomous in her eyes, something theatrical in the way she lifted her wineglass to her lips and smirked. And her very being was heavy with jewelry. He didn't know what they were but they looked similar to diamonds, her hands, her ears, hell even in her nose there were piercings.

One of his cousins. Keede own daughter. The resemblance was there, from her posture to her make-up filled face— Although he didn't know Keede or her daughter he knew that a surge of annoyance was bubbling upward.

Zephyr remained quiet, sluping loudly from the goblet clenched in his hands.

A Crownkin chuckled darkly from the left. A pale man with white tattoos coiled around his neck. "Perhaps we should check the barrier. Did a rat find its way in?"

Soft laughter echoed across the table. Not all joined in—but none defended him.

Zephyr's jaw ticked, but he didn't respond but instead focused on the food, immediately the food touched his tongue his brain became overloaded from the flavors, his body visibly relaxed as he begun to gobble up the food, eating like a shatter shot.

Kyra leaned forward slightly, gaze glittering. "It's rude to ignore your elders, child. Or perhaps no one taught you manners during all those years you spent questioning the your pathetic existence."

He breathed in slowly.

The memories in this body—they weren't pleasant. He knew a lady called Keede had always despised him, she would always tell some Veiled to summon him and then she would torture him ridiculously, from his memories he could see that the most hated person was Keede, although he haven't met her personally just thinking about her was enough for his anger to build over. Rumors whispered that she wanted Valek's line to end with Ladarius. That Zephyr's birth was a stain. A mistake. But there were just rumors as she wasn't that hard on his remaining brother and sister— but he knew the truth, she has stated numerous times that she hated her sister and everything that gave her joy including her children, she was so sure that zephyr won't survive that she would curse recklessly in his presence back in the pit, but now he was out and he didn't know how she would react.

"Was your seat not warm enough in the dark corners of your little room?" Kyra continued, voice silk-wrapped spite. "Now that you tried to do some pretty nasty things on the princess you think you have grown, but guess what you are still a dog".

More laughter.

Zephyr finally exhaled.

Seeing the food laid out in delicate porcelain trays and polished silver bowls, he reached for a piece of warm bread while still munching from a piece of meat, doing his best to focus on the meal. But then…

He felt it.

A weight. A presence. Not from Kyra or another crownkin—but from further down the table.

His eyes shifted slightly… and locked with hers.

She sat at the far end, her back straight, a glass of crimson wine cupped elegantly in one hand. Long, red hair cascaded over her shoulder like waves of crimson blood, gleaming in the warm glow of the chandelier above. Her face was calm, composed—but her eyes…

Those eyes were a storm waiting to break.

His chest tightened involuntarily.

Rachel.

From his body's memories, he knew her. His sister. A prodigy of the main family—beautiful, deadly, revered. She had awakened the Black Flame of the Demios clan when she was born. His blood sister.

And she had tried to kill him.

Twice.

Once with poison hidden in sweetened tea. Another time with a whisper-thin blade beneath the folds of her robe.

The first time when he wasn't ready to awaken his bloodline, no one believed him.

The second time after he failed his awaken, no one cared.

Their gazes stayed locked across the long stretch of table. She didn't smile. Didn't flinch. Just… studied him. As if trying to see if it was really him. If he was still weak, still a stain on the name Demios.

He gave nothing back—no nod, no words, no emotion. He continued munching his food as he studied her.

'Not bad for a prodigy she's a beauty'.

She raised her glass in a mock toast—just slightly—and took a slow sip, not breaking eye contact.

He looked away first.

Not out of fear.

But because he had finished munching on the delicious bread in his mouth, he adverted his gaze back to his food, picking up a piece of meat this time consuming it quickly, he didn't know why but he was as if his body was urging him, telling him if he didn't eat to his full he would regret it later, so he tuned out their insults and began to devour the food.

But even being quiet wasn't enough for him to get out of trouble.