Blood and Burden

The city of Erelion, as grand as it was ancient, sprawled across the horizon like a vast jewel. Its walls, gleaming faintly in the sunlight, were reinforced with intricate runes that pulsed faintly—a reminder of the city's long-standing reliance on engineering. Beyond the gates, the spires of noble estates reached for the heavens, their tops crowned with pennants fluttering in the wind.

Nathan's carriage passed under the towering archway, where guards flanked the entrance in gleaming armor. Unlike the checkpoint, here the guards stood at rigid attention, offering a salute as the Greinthsion crest rolled past.

Erelion dwarfed the dukedom Nathan had always considered his sanctuary. Streets stretched endlessly before him, a vibrant tapestry woven with the spirited cries of vendors hawking their wares, the melodic strains of performers captivating passersby, and the rustle of noble finery as highborn families strolled with an air of entitlement. Everything appeared larger, louder, and pulsating with an almost intoxicating vitality. Yet, despite the exhilarating spectacle before him, Nathan's focus remained steadfastly elsewhere, as if he were caught in a reverie that shielded him from the bustling allure of the city.

His eyes fixed on the imposing edifice in front of him: the Noble Court, a stronghold of authority. The expansive grounds of the court stretched across a hill, bordered by wrought-iron gates adorned with elaborate symbols. Its main tower shot up into the heavens, a symbol of its supremacy over both wisdom and heritage.

The carriage slowed as it approached the court gate. Nobles milled about, some laughing, others focused on their own paths. A ripple of whispers swept through the crowd as Nathan's carriage came into view.

"Is that… the Greinthsion carriage? Could it be the siblings?" one noble murmured, craning their neck.

"No, Marcus and Seraphina aren't supposed to be here," another replied, squinting.

As the carriage door opened and Nathan stepped out, a hush fell over the crowd. His striking features—the crimson eyes and fiery red hair—immediately caught their attention.

"Who is that?" someone whispered.

"Another Greinthsion? But there's only two of them, aren't there?"

"I heard something once… about a second son."

Nathan ignored the murmurs, his gaze steady as he surveyed the court gates. If he felt any discomfort under the weight of their stares, he didn't show it.

Lila descended gracefully after him, her movements fluid as she bowed slightly to Nathan, a gesture imbued with both respect and familiarity. As she stepped onto the cobblestones, she too became the focus of the crowd's inquisitive stares, their eyes flickering with a mix of intrigue and speculation. Yet, she brushed aside their scrutiny with practiced ease, her composure unshaken, a testament to her years of service in the noble household.

"Why didn't the Greinthsion's announce him? Is he illegitimate?"

"Maybe he's a spare. You know, just in case something happens to Marcus."

"Do you think he's here to make a move for the succession?"

Nathan's lips twitched faintly at the last comment, though it wasn't quite a smile. He had no interest in the succession games his brother played, but it amused him to hear their theories.

Reaching the main gates of the academy, he paused, glancing back briefly at Lila, who watched him with quiet concern.

"I'll be fine," he said, his voice low but steady.

Lila nodded, her expression softening. "I know, young master. But do be careful."

Nathan turned away and stepped through the gates of The Noble Court, the whispers and stares fading behind him.

*****

The path leading to the Noble Court stretched ahead of Nathan like a grand promenade, flanked by lush gardens and ornate lamp posts enchanted to glow faintly even under the midday sun. The court's sprawling compound was nothing short of a marvel, encompassing nearly an eighth of the city of Erelion. From the intricate wrought-iron gates to the furthest reaches of the grounds, it was a testament to the wealth and power of the empire's elite.

Beyond the gates lay a collection of buildings, each an architectural masterpiece. Buildings stood like small fortresses, their stone facades adorned with banners of various noble houses. Libraries rose with towering spires, their windows catching the light in a kaleidoscope of colors. The garden extended toward the east, vibrant with the sounds of nobles strolling and conversing.

At the center of it all loomed the Main Hall, a monolithic structure that rivaled the Greinthsion mansion back in the dukedom. Its grand façade was lined with columns carved into the likenesses of legendary figures, their eyes gazing imperiously down at all who approached. A massive set of double doors, plated in gold and embossed with the court's sigil, marked the entrance.

Nathan walked steadily along the cobbled pathway, his crimson eyes taking in the sheer scale of the court. Despite the magnificence surrounding him, his expression remained calm, detached even, as if unimpressed.

But he could feel the weight of the stares—again.

Nobles paused mid-conversation to glance at him, their gazes darting to the Grayson insignia embroidered on his finely tailored cloak. Whispers began to ripple through the crowd, speculation and curiosity mingling in equal measure.

"Isn't that the Greinthsion crest?"

"Marcus and Seraphina's brother? No, wait—he doesn't look like them at all!"

Nathan ignored the murmurs, his steps never faltering. He had long since learned to let the opinions of others roll off him like water on glass.

The highlight of the day's schedule resided within the Main Hall, in a spacious area alive with energy. Lines of wooden tables were arranged beneath the grand chandelier, creating a horseshoe formation. Behind them, a small crowd moved about, weaving a lively tapestry of hues and motion.

Nathan's arrival didn't go unnoticed. His striking features and the Greinthsion insignia on his attire made him an immediate focal point. Conversations quieted as heads turned in his direction, eyes filled with a mixture of curiosity, envy, and apprehension.

He walked past them all, his expression impassive, until he reached in the middle of the formation. A long table stood before him, manned by a massive figure that wears the similar attire as him. It is his father, the Duke of Greinthsion, Fritz Greinthsion. The mere presence of the man dominated the entire hall, an aura of command radiating from him like heat from a roaring forge.

Fritz Greinthsion was a man carved from the very bedrock of the dukedom he ruled. His broad shoulders carried the weight of his lineage, his square jaw set in an expression of unyielding authority. Age had etched lines upon his face, but rather than diminish him, they only seemed to reinforce the sense of gravitas he exuded. His eyes, a piercing one, swept over his son and the assembly with a precision that missed nothing. There was a sharpness to his gaze that spoke of a mind honed by decades of strategy and statecraft, tempered by the battlefield's cruel lessons.

His appearance brings Nathan to mind of their half-siblings, unlike him a rather fiery red looking figure, he is more of a mysterious dark man from top to bottom. His hair as black as the night sky, same as his pupil that resembles a dead man staring into nothingness. Yet, his attire is far more elaborate and splendid than his soulless demeanor, seemingly rendering him even less of an imposing figure than he already is.

"You are late, Nathan," Fritz said, his voice a deep baritone that rolled through the chamber like distant thunder. Though there was no trace of warmth in his tone, neither was there outright disdain. It was the voice of a man who had little patience for frivolity, whose expectations were as unyielding as the laws he enforced.

"My apologies, Father," Nathan replied, inclining his head in a gesture of respect. The words were carefully measured, devoid of excuses. He had learned long ago that Fritz Greinthsion valued action over explanation.

"You're in the absence of a closed yet still an official meeting. I expect you to employ your manners, Nathan" Fritz intoned, his voice dripping with a gravity that amplified his already menacing presence.

By that statement, crowd began to murmurs inside the hall and gazes once again fixed upon the small Nathan in the middle. "Apologies, Patriarch. I thought the papers only said its a closed one yet… there's too many eyes and ears here," Nathan said in a provoking manner.

"Watch your language, young master. You're disrespecting the code of conduct here in this sacred noble ground," admonished a nobleman, his voice laced with an imperious authority. His garments, lavishly adorned and reminiscent of a military uniform, were a striking combination of pristine white and deep blue, elegantly tailored to accentuate his stature. The intricate embroidery shimmered subtly in the ambient light, enhancing the regality of his presence and underscoring the weight of his words as he cast a disapproving gaze upon Nathan.

Without uttering any further comments, Nathan instinctively lowered his head, aware that it would be unwise to provoke the third most prominent family in the empire, which also possesses the greatest military influence in terms of size, the Margrave of Cainwelt.

The individual delivering the warning is none other than the Margrave himself, a figure of both authority and command. He occupies the pivotal role of second-in-command of the imperial military, a position that grants him considerable influence and power within the empire's vast hierarchy. Moreover, he is the exclusive commander of his own territory, the Cainwelt Margraviate, a domain renowned not only for its military might but also for its strategic importance in the political landscape of the realm. His presence alone commands respect, and his words carry the weight of a thousand unspoken threats, a reminder of the delicate balance of power that defines the empire.

Demetrius Cainwelt was a man whose very presence seemed sculpted to embody authority. His visage, sharp and angular, bore the stamp of both discipline and heritage—high cheekbones shadowed beneath the muted glow of the hall's lamps, a strong jawline that appeared as unyielding as the iron of his dominion, and thin, pressed lips that seldom curved into anything resembling warmth. His eyes, cold and calculating, were a piercing shade of steel gray, carrying the glint of a man accustomed to weighing lives and fates with a detached precision. They seemed to pierce through Nathan with a weighty, silent judgment that needed no words to convey its gravity.

His silver hair, streaked with white, flowed neatly back from his forehead, reflecting both noble lineage and years of commanding armies. Age had etched faint lines at the corners of his eyes and mouth, yet these marks enhanced his gravitas, a reminder of hard-won experience. His impeccable posture and broad shoulders squared beneath his resplendent uniform, which fit him as if woven directly onto his frame.

"Then, from this moment forward, I, Fritz Greinthsion, head of the Greinthsion family, will initiate this gathering of nobles with the primary topic of 'Nathanael Greinthsion's duties as a noble.' He has fulfilled the necessary criteria that every nobleman must meet, having graduated from the Royal Academy." Without skipping a beat and exuding a commanding presence, Fritz declares his status as the one who will oversees this meeting.

The duke then retrieves a scroll of parchment from within his coat. A purple ribbon secures its form, and as he unfolds it, the hall falls silent, and everyone present rises to face the duke. "By the emperor's decree, I will proclaim the responsibilities of this new noble," he proceeds while he perused the document.

*****

He paused to let his gaze sweep the assembled nobles before returning to the document. His eyes, sharp and discerning, glided over the script as though weighing its words for their worth. "First, it is noted and affirmed that Nathanael Greinthsion's noble status is rooted not merely in lineage but in the rare and peculiar gift bestowed upon him."

The hall tensed with palpable curiosity, yet none interrupted the duke's steady cadence, which bore a faint undercurrent of unease, as if the words held enigmatic weight. "This power, granted by one of the myriad gods, is unaligned with the known pantheon. It originates from a deity whose name and nature elude scholarly records and faith's annals—a god shrouded in obscurity, beyond temples or doctrines."

The declaration lingered like an unasked question, nobles exchanging guarded glances, revealing intrigue and apprehension. The duke continued, his voice steady but briefly drawn to Nathan, whose back bore the unmistakable sigil of divine authority. The enigmatic four-point arrow shape, an intricate blend of angular lines and fluid curves, pulsed faintly with a subdued light."

"While the empire recognizes the legitimacy of this power," the duke continued, his voice measured yet laden with caution, "it likewise emphasizes the uncertainty that accompanies it. This mark, the emblem of an unknown deity, binds you to an enigma. Nathanael Greinthsion is therefore charged with the responsibility of… one, overseeing the town of Horgzene, a settlement nestled near the border of the Klythen Dominion. Its proximity to foreign lands has rendered it a point of strategic interest and subtle tensions. Nathanael will be expected to maintain vigilance over its governance and report directly to the imperial council any developments—political, economic, or otherwise—that might hint at discord or opportunity."

A murmur rippled through the crowd, swiftly quelled by the duke's commanding glance. He continued, his words precise as the scratch of a quill upon parchment.

"Second," he read, "Nathanael is to embark upon a series of scouting expeditions, serving as both envoy and observer. These missions will encompass various territories, including uncharted stretches of the empire's hinterlands and territories along the Klythen border. His reports are to detail any potential threats or assets, be they military, natural, or otherwise, and he is to act as an intermediary between the empire and its allied border provinces."

Here, the duke's voice grew sharper, his enunciation emphasizing the weight of the next charge. "Lastly, Nathanael is to represent the Nova Port name at the Grand Symposium of the Concordant Realms, an assembly held once every five years within the Farberg Sovereignty up north. This tradition, which calls for the presence of dignitaries from every kingdom and empire upon the continent, is as much a matter of diplomacy as it is of spectacle. Nathanael's presence will serve as both a testament to the empire's commitment to unity and a test of his capacity to navigate the labyrinthine complexities of noble society."

The hall remained silent, the air thick with unspoken questions and veiled glances. The duke rolled the scroll with deliberate care, his piercing gaze settling upon Nathanael. "These are no trifling errands, but matters of imperial consequence. Your conduct shall reflect upon not only yourself but the emperor's judgment."

Nathan took a slow glance at the gathered nobles, their expectant gazes sharp as the gilded edge of a blade, before drawing a measured breath to steady himself. The weight of the moment pressed down upon his shoulders, the decree hovering over him like a sword poised to strike. His voice, though tempered with humility, held an edge of quiet resolve when he finally spoke.

"I am fine with the first and second tasks, Your Grace," he began, the words deliberate, as though each syllable needed to be chosen with care. "Keeping an eye on the town near the border and scouting the surrounding territories are duties I can fulfill. They are within my reach, even if they demand vigilance and diligence."

His tone shifted ever so slightly, a flicker of unease threading through his words. "But the third... the noble gatherings…" His gaze faltered, dipping briefly to the polished floor before meeting the duke's once more. "It may prove difficult. I have never attended a ball with other young nobles. My position within my family has afforded me little opportunity for such affairs."

A wry smile ghosted his lips, barely there, as though mocking his own inadequacy. "The line of succession in the Greinthsion Dukedom places me far below my elder brother. I was never expected to grace such halls or participate in these traditions. My place has always been elsewhere—on the outskirts of noble life, far removed from the grandeur and intrigue of courtly dances."

The murmurs that rippled through the hall were soft but palpable, a subtle undercurrent of judgment and curiosity. Nathan straightened his posture despite the faint sting of their unspoken opinions. "I do not refuse, Your Grace," he added quickly, his voice gaining a steadier rhythm. "I merely wish to acknowledge my lack of experience in such matters. If it is expected of me, I will learn. I will adapt."

"As the head of the noble assembly, I will convey your statements and concerns to His Majesty, the Emperor," he declared, his words imbued with a quiet finality. "Let this decree serve as both a mandate and an opportunity—a reminder that the expectations placed upon those of noble blood are as heavy as the crowns they uphold."

He allowed a pause, his gaze sweeping over the assembly, ensuring that none could mistake the weight of his words. "And with that, this gathering is adjourned. Tonight, there will be a banquet in the ball hall to mark this occasion. I expect the attendance of every noble present. Let us not only fulfill our duties but also our traditions."

With a curt nod, the duke folded the scroll with practiced precision and tucked it back into his coat. Without another word, he turned and strode out of the hall, his presence lingering even after he disappeared through the grand doors. The nobles, like ripples following a stone cast into a still pond, began to rise and follow him, their movements fluid yet laced with an undercurrent of whispered intrigue.

All but one.