The banners were already raised by dawn.
Ashborn silver trimmed with dark navy cleaned, pressed, and enchanted to shimmer faintly in the wind. The guards stationed at the main gates had their armor polished to near-blind brightness. Even the household maids moved with sharpened posture, their heads lowered, their expressions carefully neutral.
They had been told the guests were from the Drayke Empire distant cousins of the Imperial court. Not high enough to command deference, but too noble to be dismissed.
They had also been told one more thing;
"Whatever they see," Lord Caelum had said, "make them believe it is exactly what they hoped to find."
The Ashborn patriarch now stood in the center of the reception hall hands behind his back, expression stone-set, flanked by his wife and eldest daughter.
Cassandra. Lightning-born. Ardent realm.
She didn't smile.
She didn't need to.
The posture of strength was in her very bones.
Behind them, further down the reception line, the other siblings arranged themselves according to rank, standing as perfectly spaced pieces on a chessboard.
One of them, however, was missing.
And no one mentioned it.
Not even once.
Kalel watched from the upper walkways overlooking the atrium, carved into the inner frame of the estate's east wing. There, behind the carved lattice, he could see the guests, their posturing, and the practiced smiles and subtle nods that made up noble diplomacy.
He wasn't expected to attend or observe, but he learned that observation is power unspent.
Two carriages had arrived earlier one marked with the sigil of House Velkyn, a Drayke-born coastal family known for naval engineering and quiet ambition. The other bore no crest, suggesting either power above protocol or something more intriguing.
Lord Darrion, the Velkyn envoy, was already deep in conversation with his father, his voice too polite. He spoke in downward tones, as if explaining things to a lesser officer instead of negotiating with an equal.
Rowen stood behind Father, back straight, jaw squared, wearing armor that hadn't been scratched in days, meant to be seen, not tested.
Cassandra stood next to him, arms folded behind her back, posture impeccable.
But Sylen looked unsettled, his eyes darting toward the second guest, the one who hadn't spoken or moved.
She stood at the far end of the line, veiled in white silk, without a crest, jewelry, or guards.
Her presence alone made space for itself.
When Lord Caelum addressed her, he didn't bow but slightly inclined his head.
"You've traveled far," he said.
"Distance is relative," she replied. "Especially when the stars move closer than expected."
No one reacted, but Kalel, watching from above, recognized the stillness.
She was a Seer, an Academy-aligned clairvoyant answering to powers higher than the empires.
She was looking at the Ashborns, searching.
Her gaze scanned the family line like a slow flame.
I shifted behind the lattice, barely moving, but she paused.
As if she'd caught something unseen.
Then, she moved on.
I exhaled.
She didn't know. The Origin slept, buried. Fragments stirred the frost days ago, but she couldn't hear them.
Yet, her pause was enough.
Kalel leaned forward.
"Sylen?"
Why him?
The Seer could've chosen anyone: Cassandra, whose strikes carved stone; Rowen, whose aura buckled the floorboards; or even Valeria, whose shadow arts were beginning to take shape.
But she chose Sylen.
Why?
Because of doubt? Hesitation? Or—
She sought the gap, the one the records didn't account for.
Sylen, with his quiet eyes and subtle glances toward me, had noticed that gap too.
She tested him, watching us.
Sylen stepped forward, bowing slightly, hands raised, palms facing outward.
"I'm honored," he said quietly.
"Don't perform," she said. "Resonate."
Sylen closed his eyes.
Water gathered around his fingers a slow swirl of condensed mana, shaped by discipline rather than brute force. It rose, curved, split into mirrored ribbons. A dance. Fluid. Controlled.
Not strong, but graceful.
The Seer watched.
Not his form, not his mana, but his mind.
Then her eyes shifted slightly to the upper gallery, where I stood.
Kalel felt the air around him shudder, not in vibration, but in alignment. Something ancient had adjusted its weight. He stood still, too still, like a hunted animal freezing.
Her eyes didn't rise, but her aura did. For a moment, the Seer's spiritual presence brushed against his, reaching, mapping, searching. It stopped inches away, like a spear pressed just shy of skin.
She knew something was here, not who or where, but something. Then Sylen lost concentration, his technique faltering, and the water burst prematurely. He apologized, but the moment passed. The Seer smiled politely and thanked him, but she didn't speak again.
After the guests departed, the guards returned, and the banners were lowered, Lady Elowen entered the study where her husband stood alone.
"She was looking for something," Elowen said.
Caelum nodded. "She didn't find it."
Elowen remained silent, unsure.
Deep in her mother's instincts, something told her the Seer found what she sought, but not where she expected.
That night, I stood before the frost-lined glass.
I drew a twenty-star circle with a single center in my journal.
This time, I added a small crescent, curled just outside the orbit, half-hidden and nearly invisible.
It was her.
She wasn't a star, but she had passed close enough to feel gravity.