The Architect's Legacy

Caedrion descended not long after his bath was concluded, with Aelindria by his side; the two of them were properly clothed in courtly attire.

In particular, with House Ferrondel's colors. Less militant, and more majestic. A white tunic, with golden embroidery and knotwork.

His trousers were brilliant scarlet with gilded embellishments.

And Aelindria's attire was much the same.

Blending the inherent militancy of a Magi's role with the finely spun and tailored craft that only a noble house could afford, even one as minor as Ferrondel.

The dining hall of House Ferrondel was silent as always. No laughter, no clatter of goblets or forks.

Just silverware placed gently against marble, and the soft breathing of its few remaining heirs.

No servants stood behind them. Ferrondel did not flaunt like the Ignarions. Their prestige was not in opulence. But in survival.

Caedrion took his seat at the long, glacial table carved from pearlglass and veined mithril.

Aelindria sat to his right, ever the sentinel. Across from them, faces he knew from boyhood… and yet didn't know at all.

At the head of the table was his father, Lord Malveris Ferrondel.

A man whose face and posture showed traces of a once proud and noble bearing, now sullen with the defeat and despair of life.

Next to him was not Caedrion's mother, but rather his aunt. Lady Sylene Ferrondel, she was graceful, even if hauntingly so.

Age appeared to have no hold over her looks, as the blood of the Architect pulsed strongly in her veins. Keeping her appearance youthful, even if she was anything but.

The family resemblance was noticeable, but even Moreso for Aelindria, who was practically a clone of the woman.

Neither Caedrion's mother nor Aelindria's father was present. They both passed away when the two of them were young, young enough to have no memories of them.

Considering how important control over magic bloodlines was in society, there was nobody left suitable for the two to wed a second time. They were the last of a dying house, of a dying bloodline.

And they would rather die strong than diluted. Thus, Caedrion and Aelindria being cousins, were truly the last hope of the Ferrondel line.

Aside from the Lord and Lady of the House, there was one other familiar face present.

Lucien the Hematurge. Healers of their own bloodline. One might consider them the doctors of this world, selling their services to those who could pay for it.

And no doubt a great cost had been asked to save Caedrion from the mythic poison that should have easily claimed his life, and his soul with it.

Even now, Lucien eyed Caedrion with caution, albeit with respect hidden underneath. And it was not until Sylene spoke that the tension broke.

"I see you are alive and well, my son… The Architect be praised. He seems to have saved you when no mortal otherwise could." 

She shot a glance at Lucien, and a silent not was exchanged with it.

Sylene was a healer, not of the conventional kind who were special magi labelled as Hematurges. No, their family held the blood of the architect. Structural Magic.

And she in particular was the last of an ancient and nearly forgotten lineage of that school of magic known as Somatic Reconstruction.

In essence, she and those like her used structural magic to repair bones, organs, and nerves with geometric precision.

But there was something in the tone with which she spoke the words "my son" that unnerved Caedrion. It wasn't malicious, or even disapproving.

But it also didn't sound like a soon-to-be mother-in-law showing the man proper courtesy and affection either.

He couldn't quite describe it, but it was no doubt a deeply familial tone, as if the woman herself was his mother.

And perhaps she could be described as such. She had raised him after all as if he were her own son, when his own mother had passed while he was so young.

With this in mind, Caedrion gave it no further thought, and began to partake of his meal with a confident smirk on his face.

"Praise be to the Architect indeed, for I have received his divine blessing. I not only feel unburdened by the poison which ravaged my body, but I feel like a man born anew."

This only caused Sylene to gaze at Caedrion further, noticing the pattern of his leylines.

They had shifted subtly since his collapse. In all her life, she had seen the shifting of leylines perhaps twice. And Caedrion was now one of those two.

Her eyes were filled with suspicion, but she said nothing of the sort. Instead, shifting softly as she perhaps accepted whatever boon or omen this subtle change would bring with its arrival.

"That is good to hear. If it were not for my daughter having already occupied the space by your bed, the Architect himself could not have removed me from your side…."

There was a subtle glance cast between the mother and daughter, hinting at something Caedrion didn't quite understand, but causing Aelindria to fluster in embarrassment and perhaps a bit of shame.

Ultimately, the moment was cut short as Malveris voiced his caution

"You should not have survived, boy. Lucien's account reads like a miracle, but I know sorcery when I smell it."

There was a subtle flare of power in Caedrion's eyes, just enough to make Lucien twitch, but it faded before another breath could pass.

"Then thank the Architect… that I still reek of Him."

Sylene didn't buy Caedrion's words for a second. Nor did his confident lies remotely resemble the quiet and meek boy she had once known.

She leaned in close to her future son-in-law cold, deliberate, picking at his posture, and the way his gaze lingered too long on old relics on the wall.

"You've changed. There's something... ancient in your gaze. Not arrogance. Not an illness. Something else."

Caedrion didn't bother responding; instead he masked his internal thoughts with a swift drink of wine from the cup in front of him.

But nevertheless his thoughts were clear as day with his gaze.

'She sees it. The echo. I must veil it better.'

Luckily for him, before the woman could probe further, Malveris spoke again, tone heavier.

"Valerius Ignarion has been named Flamewright Commander."

Aelindria's fork trembled.

"They say the king is considering a marriage alliance between the Ignarions and the royal line. There are whispers in the capital… they say Ferrondel is obsolete."

Caedrion's eyes did not flinch. His voice was quiet. Icy.

"Obsolete tools are often discarded. But some are buried… and later unearthed as relics. Sacred. Dangerous."

Lucien muttered, eyes still on Caedrion:

"And some are better left buried."

No one spoke after that.

Dinner ended in silence.

Later that night, Caedrion wandered the great hall alone. The air still smelled faintly of spiced wine and old dust.

He stopped before the ancient mural of the Architect.

Half-burned, half-erased.

Once, this was the heart of Ferrondel's legacy.

He reached out.

At the moment his palm met stone, a faint shimmer danced behind the eyes of the mural.

A golden thread.

Not flame.

Not water.

But circuitry.

He did not flinch this time.

The legacy wasn't forgotten.

It had merely been waiting for someone to wake up.