Time bled away, the sun sinking toward the horizon in a slow, bruised ache, yet they were still walking.

  Still tracing the endless stone veins of the Estate.

  Esterra’s expanse was a continent unto itself—the journey from Finlay's crumbling annex at the edge of the world to the High Manor at its heart was a grueling traverse that swallowed the better part of a day.

  At least, at the pace of a normal man.

  Which Finlay was.

  Remy was something else She could have crossed this distance in a heartbeat—a blur of frost and motion, and she would have been gone.

  Yet she remained, anchoring her divine stride to his heavy, rhythmic trudge. Finlay couldn't help but marvel at her patience.

  Could he own the very sky, but choose the filth of the road for the sake of another? It was a special kind of penance.

  A slow, unadulterated martyrdom.

  He had even considered asking her to carry him. To just... scoop him up like a sack of potatoes and sprint the rest of the way.

  But his pride as a was the only currency he had left in this House. He couldn’t watch that last shred of respect dissolve in her cold eyes.

  So he just walked. And walked. One grueling step after another, dragging his body toward the ill-fated Family Dinner. The Beggar’s Sword thudded against his thigh—silent and fretful—as if goading him to quicken his tempo.

  Of course, the walk wasn't a waste.

  It gave Finlay the chance to field-test his cursed gift to his heart's content. He’d even settled on a name:

  Absolutely.

  Not even slightly.

  He was a man running on fumes; he just needed a tool that worked.

  The memory of the grotesque knight——still clawed at the back of his mind. He shoved it into a dark corner of his brain and labeled it:

  For now, the Estate was mercifully free of nightmares. The servants he passed were just ordinary , and the repetition allowed him to finally master the toggle. He could kill the feed at will now—without the gut-wrenching urge to retch, even.

  Constantly seeing the world as a grand, terrifying board was a fast track to a mental ward, and he wasn't ready for a padded cell just yet.

  Pushing forward along the endless stone path, Finlay let out a slow, measured exhale. His gaze locked onto the High Manor. Its walls loomed over the horizon like a stone tidal wave, frozen in mid-crash, watching his approach with a silent, gray indifference.

  A bitter truth settled in his chest, heavy and unyielding. For nineteen years, he had been a blind piece on a stage, shoved around at the whim of players he couldn’t even name.

  But the board was no longer invisible. From now on, he was going to flip this game.

  His heart stilled.

  Sensing the stifling silence stretching between them, Remy adjusted her pace. She didn't look at him, but her steps slowed until they were in perfect, ghostly sync with his own.

  "I assume you’re nervous about the Family Dinner, Brother? will be there."

  The name landed in his ribs like a stone dropped into still water. The ripple went deep.

  His heart buckled.

  Just as before, the mention of caused something to snap—not in the Finlay who stood here now, but in the hollow shell of who he used to be.

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  Father.

  In the dictionary of his soul, that title sat alone: etched squarely between instinctive and a starving, pathetic need for

  The King of Kings. The Judge of Judges. The man of absolute gravity around whom the House of Esterra simply orbited.

  He tried to dredge up the last time they’d spoken—a single sentence, a shared glance—but the deeper he dug, the colder the trail became. Six months, a year, further.

  He could remember the metallic taste of a breakfast from last spring. He could recall the exact lattice of sunlight on a forgotten Tuesday.

  Nothing.

  Not a breath of speech. Not even an echo.

  Just.

  The problem wasn't a faulty memory; there simply weren't any words to recall. His chest tightened, the vacuum of his childhood pressing inward. He looked at his sister and gave her a jagged smile.

  "I assume that's how it is."

  "Brother, you..."

  Remy bit her lip. Fell silent.

  They walked in hushed stillness for a long, time. Only when the gardens receded and the Manor’s shadow surged forth to meet them—a place where the sun dared not follow—did Remy stop abruptly.

  Finlay nearly collided with her before his senses caught up. She stood like a statue, carved from the same cold stone as the walls.

  "Brother."

  The High Manor caught the call, distorting the familiar syllables into something barbed and alien. By the time it reached him, the sisterly warmth had been stripped away, leaving only the echo of the Esterra.

  "Yes, Remy?"

  "You’re pathetic, you know that?"

  Finlay didn't flinch.

  "I know."

  The silence that followed was leaden.

  "...You have no Spark. No Blood. No Power. You're "

  "It’s true."

  "...They will never acknowledge you, Brother. Never."

  "Same for me."

  "...And you will always be ain that Constellation. A ghost haunting a hall that doesn't want you. Do you understand?"

  "I do."

  Normally, Remy would have stopped there.

  But perhaps she sensed it—the world stood on the precipice of great changes—consequences that even she was powerless to foresee?

  Her lips parted once more.

  "...Then why stay? Is the Esterra name worth your life?"

  Finlay didn't answer. He couldn't.

  "Leave the Family." She whispered, her voice hoarse. "Sever the cord and just... be a nobody. At least a nobody is "

  Her eyes no longer looked into his.

  "Find a place... a Marry. Grow old together. Just..." A silence, the word arrived carefully, as though she'd been carrying it for years. "Just , Finlay. Like a human being."

  The looming shadow of the manor surged, drowning the last of the light and burying them both in the gloom.

  Her words seeped through his defenses like a slow, seductive poison. They were sweet.

  For a fleeting second, the thought of an easy exit beckoned—a shimmering mirage of a quiet life. A life far from the iron taste of blood. Far from the rot of the Manor.

  For a heartbeat, the door to a simple existence stood ajar, offering him the light.

  Then he slammed it shut.

  "I think I’ll decline."

  Something charred in his hollowed-out chest.

  It would be more than irresponsible; it would be a theft.

  He had already paid for his seat at this table with nineteen years of silence, of bruised bones, of being the blank space in every room. He wasn't standing up until he'd collected the interest.

  He knew, with a clinical certainty—he would regret this. His Future Self would him. That he didn't run when the gate was open.

  But... it was decision.And that was enough.

  She recognized the flavor of his refusal. An old bitterness. Her head lowered, the porcelain lines of her silhouette slagging into the gloom.

  "You're... you're..." She peered at him from deep within the wool. "As stubborn as a stone, you know that?"

  He didn't blink, his gaze as steady as the rocks she compared him to.

  "Of course. It's set in stone, isn't it?"

  Remy exhaled—a long, freezing sigh that seemed to mist in the stagnant air of the manor’s shadow.

  "Good. Then stay as silent as one during the Dinner. Try not to let any of that leak out."

  His lips curved into a thin, jagged line—a expression that, in a kinder world, might have passed for a smile.

  They moved together through the threshold where the last of the afternoon died. Two figures in lockstep, the light behind them and the High Manor ahead—its windows lit from within like the eyes of something that had been watching patiently for a very long time.

  The great doors were already open.