ESPERSIA: Requiem of a Revolutionary

Chapter 4: CHAPTER THREE: I READ THE NEWS TODAY, OH BOY



ESPERSIA, YEAR 1889

For as long as I can remember, I've had issues with authority. Not in a rebellious, screaming-for-attention way, but more in the sense that I just never saw the point of blindly following rules. There was always this nagging thought in the back of my mind: Who decided they get to be in charge? Why should someone else's judgment be more important than my own?

It started small, I guess. Ignoring orders that didn't make sense, questioning teachers when their rules seemed pointless, and pushing back when I thought something was unfair. That feeling grew as I got older. I didn't just dislike authority—I started to actively distrust it. The more I saw how people in power used their position to control others, the less respect I had for it.

And then, at some point, it wasn't just about ignoring authority anymore. It became about fighting it. Protests, organizing groups, pushing back against systems that felt rigged—systems that were built to keep people like me and the people I cared about in check.

I told myself I was doing the right thing, that someone had to stand up against the people who thought they had the right to decide how everyone else should live. And maybe I believed that, right up until the moment it all went wrong. Until the moment I died, thinking I could actually make a difference.

That's how I've always been. Questioning. Distrusting. Pushing back. I'm not sure I know how to be any other way.

But that was James.

Now, in this life as Zeliot, things are different. The authority I once fought isn't some distant, faceless figure—it's my father. And that changes everything.

There's this conflict in my mind I can't quite shake. James is still there, always ready to push back, to question everything. But Zeliot... Zeliot is scared. He's terrified of the Duke, of falling out of his favor. His entire life has been spent under the shadow of a man who holds absolute power. That fear runs deep.

It's strange—this fear that doesn't really belong to me. James never feared authority, he fought it. But Zeliot... Zeliot knows better.

And now I'm standing here, face-to-face with the man who represents everything I used to fight against. The embodiment of authority. But he's also my father. Zeliot's father.

Despite every instinct screaming to resist, there's a part of me—the Zeliot part—that just wants to bow. To fall in line. To please him.

The doors creaked open, and Duke Valoria entered. Conversation stopped instantly. His steps were slow and deliberate, commanding attention without a word. As he reached the head of the table, he paused, his hands resting on the back of his chair, scanning the room. He didn't sit right away, allowing the silence to settle around him.

Finally, he pulled out the chair and sat, adjusting it with a sharp scrape against the floor.

"We'll begin," he said, his voice steady and low. The room remained still, everyone awaiting his lead (except one.)

The Duke lifted his goblet, taking a slow sip of wine. The clink of metal on wood echoed in the quiet room. "I see that you're recovering well, Zeliot," he said, turning his gaze toward me.

I nodded. "Yes, Father."

He held my gaze for a moment longer before shifting his attention to the others. Raamiz was already eating, stabbing at his food with casual ease, barely interested in waiting for formalities. His smirk flickered as though the tension amused him.

Idris, in contrast, sat completely still. He hadn't touched his plate, his eyes darting between each of us, lingering on our father a second longer, always calculating.

Alba remained composed, his posture rigid but calm, hands resting neatly on the table, awaiting whatever the Duke would say next.

The Duke's gaze swept over the table again before he leaned back in his chair. "Tonight, we celebrate your recovery," he began, his tone formal. "But remember, Zeliot, the family's responsibilities don't wait. Tomorrow, you will resume your studies and training."

I nodded again, deciding to keep my responses sweet and short. "Yes, Father."

Across the table, Raamiz lifted his goblet in a lazy mock toast, his smirk returning. Idris barely moved, though I felt his gaze on me, always assessing.

The Duke took another measured sip of his wine, the silence stretching until he shifted his attention toward Raamiz. "Must you always be the first to disregard decorum?" His voice was calm, but the edge was unmistakable.

Raamiz didn't flinch. He took another sip from his goblet, eyes gleaming. "Decorum, Father? I figured we're family. Didn't think we needed to put on a show."

The room tensed. I noticed Alba's grip on his chair tighten ever so slightly, though he said nothing. Idris's eyes flicked toward Raamiz, a faint spark of interest breaking through his otherwise neutral expression.

Before the Duke could respond, Duchess Gaius cut in, her tone slicing through the tension. "Raamiz, you're too old to play the fool," she said sharply. "And too clever to think you'll get away with it much longer."

Raamiz leaned back in his chair, offering a lazy smile. "Mother, I wouldn't dream of it. Besides, it seems we're all just waiting for Father's lead." The sarcasm in his voice was obvious, though the glint in his eye made you question the motive.

The air remained heavy until Duchess Amelia spoke next, her voice calm and smooth. "How did the trip go, my Lord?" she asked, her tone light and conversational, as though the tension in the room hadn't touched her.

The Duke set his goblet down with a quiet thud. "It was... tiring," he said, his voice quieter now. "Demanding work."

He began another requisite scan across the table briefly before continuing. "I apologize for my absence. I've missed home... in my own way."

Amelia smiled gently. "We've missed you too," she replied easily, her charisma softening the mood. "It's good to have you back."

I wondered, briefly, what had kept him away for so long. Something important, no doubt. Maybe another political dispute, or some endless negotiation about land and titles.

Before I could get too far in my thoughts, Alba spoke. "Was the trip successful, Father?"

The Duke looked at him, his expression giving away little. "In a way, yes," he said carefully. "But not without its conditions." His eyes lingered on Alba. "I'll speak with you privately about the specifics."

Alba nodded, composed as ever, though there was a weight to the exchange. It was clear that whatever had happened, it involved him.

I racked my brain, trying to pull something useful from Zeliot's memories. Nothing came. I had no idea what the Duke was hinting at—trade, borders, something else entirely? Then I remembered the book I skimmed earlier—the Legon family. They were mentioned as a powerful ally. Could this be about them?

I wanted to push for answers, demanding to know what was going on. But Zeliot held me back. This wasn't the kind of place where questions were asked openly.

Of course, Raamiz didn't seem to care. He leaned back, swirling the drink in his goblet before casually raising an eyebrow in Alba's direction. "So, I take it we're not supposed to know what conditions Father's talking about?" His tone was light, playful, but the implication was clear—Raamiz was poking the bear again.

Alba's jaw tightened slightly. "Not everything requires your insight, Raamiz."

Raamiz grinned. "Right. I'll just sit here in blissful ignorance, then."

Idris finally spoke, his voice low and smooth. "Perhaps that's for the best. You tend to lose interest in things that require actual thought."

Raamiz's grin faltered for a moment, but he shrugged, taking another sip, choosing not to respond this time.

The conversation could've escalated, but Duchess Gaius stepped in again, her voice as smooth as ever. "Let's not spoil the evening with petty bickering. We're here for Zeliot's recovery." She turned to me, her smile polite, distant.

I nodded, unsure of how to respond. Across the table, Amelia smiled at me too, her expression warmer, but she remained quiet.

The Duke set his goblet down with a final clink. "Indeed. That's enough for tonight." His words were final, signaling the end of the dinner. The servants moved in quietly, clearing the plates as he rose from his seat and left the room, his presence still heavy in the air even after he was gone.

One by one, the rest followed.

After dinner, the halls felt rather empty, a strong sense of quiet. Of course, the peace was suddenly broken when I heard footsteps behind me.

"Quite the celebration, huh?" Raamiz's voice echoed behind me, sounding closer. "Everyone sitting there in silence like they were at a funeral. Real festive."

A small laugh slipped out. "Yeah, something like that."

Raamiz caught up, falling in beside me, and I could already tell he wasn't going to let the evening go. "I'm starting to think Father doesn't know how to celebrate, period."

I stayed quiet, but my mind kept circling back to Father's cryptic words. The idea of "conditions" buzzed around, but I didn't know what to make of it.

Raamiz shot me a sideways glance, his grin widening. "You're not even a little curious about what he meant?"

I shrugged, trying to play it off. "He'll tell us when it's important."

Raamiz raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "Since when does he ever tell us anything unless he has to?" He stepped in front of me, blocking my path. "Come on, Zeliot. You can't tell me you're just going to let that go."

I stopped, trying to fight off the itch of curiosity that was growing harder to ignore. My gut told me to leave it alone, but… yeah, that never worked out for me.

Raamiz chuckled, shaking his head. "Alright, alright. If you're not going to ask him directly, why don't we find out for ourselves?"

I frowned. "What do you mean?"

His grin turned mischievous. "Eavesdrop. Father and Alba are probably discussing it right now. You can't tell me that doesn't sound tempting."

Terrible idea. But I couldn't help it; the need to know tugged at me, even if it meant crossing the line—again.

"Come on, brother. What's the worst that could happen?" Raamiz teased, leaning in with a wink. "Besides, when has Father ever willingly let us in on anything important?"

I paused, but let's be honest—James' curiosity had already beaten out Zeliot's caution. Who could've seen that coming? (I could.) "Fine," I sighed, knowing exactly where this was going. "Let's do it."

Raamiz blinked, clearly not expecting that answer. "Wait—what?"

"I said let's go." I moved past him, starting down the hall. "Unless you've suddenly changed your mind."

Raamiz stood there for a moment, clearly thrown off balance before a grin broke across his face. "Well, well. Maybe head trauma does cause personality changes; the old Zeliot would've never agreed to this. Looks like there's hope for you yet, big brother."

He caught up quickly, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "Alright, let's do this. I know just the spot where we can listen in without getting caught."

We moved through the shadowed corridors, Raamiz leading the way with a kind of effortless ease, while my thoughts churned behind me.

As I walked alongside Raamiz in silence, a question popped into my mind: Why was I even doing this? Really, I had nothing to gain from sticking my neck out and risking trouble. And it's not like I was doing this to fit in—in fact, it was probably the opposite. If anything, I stood out, and Raamiz even pointed it out: Zeliot wouldn't normally go for something like this. So why was I?

I kept asking myself, but the truth was, I already knew. I was slipping back into old habits, ones that had landed me in hot water plenty of times before. There was just something in me that couldn't resist sticking my nose in, finding out what people wanted to keep hidden. And Raamiz? He was only egging me on, practically encouraging it. But honestly, I didn't want to stop, especially now that I'd somehow been given this position of nobility—one I'd never have reached before. If ever there was a place to dig deep, uncover secrets, and even change something for the better, this was it.

Maybe listening in on Father's plans wasn't just satisfying my curiosity. Maybe it was my way of finding out what kind of game I'd been thrust into. Maybe this is what I'm here for.

As I mulled over the strange pull driving me into this, Raamiz led me through the dim hallways, moving with a practiced ease that told me he'd done this many times before. The castle felt almost maze-like in the half-light, corridors twisting and branching in ways that left me disoriented. Raamiz, on the other hand, seemed to know every shortcut and hidden nook.

"Do you do this a lot?" I whispered, following closely behind him.

He threw me a quick grin. "More than I probably should," he admitted, "but you'd be surprised what you can learn if you know where to listen."

We took a sharp turn down a narrower hall, one I hadn't even noticed. "And they don't catch you?"

"Not if you know what you're doing," he replied with a wink, clearly enjoying my mix of skepticism and curiosity. "Father's usually too busy to notice much, and everyone else? They see what they want to see."

I nodded, mentally filing away each twist and turn, trying to keep up. "And you're sure we're not just wandering down here for nothing?"

Raamiz snorted quietly. "Have a little faith, brother. I know exactly where they'll be. And if you're going to keep up with me, you'll have to get used to moving quickly." He turned around mid-step, eyeing me for a moment. "Oh, and quiet."

As I followed Raamiz deeper into the dim hallways, the path narrowed, walls pressing in on either side until it was barely wide enough for us to walk side by side. We reached an alcove partially hidden behind a thick tapestry, and Raamiz slipped behind it, motioning for me to follow. I ducked in after him, finding myself in a narrow, shadowed tunnel I hadn't even known was there.

I glanced around, barely containing my surprise. "How did you even find this tunnel?"

Raamiz grinned over his shoulder, clearly enjoying my reaction. "I have my ways," he said, giving me a look that dared me to pry further.

We moved quickly, Raamiz leading us through the winding passage as if he'd memorized every twist and turn. The air felt cooler here, carrying the faint scent of stone and dust. After a few turns, we finally reached a small opening near the end of the tunnel. A thin slit in the wall offered a perfect view of the room beyond, where candlelight flickered and shadows danced.

Raamiz crouched, gesturing for me to do the same. "Trust me," he whispered, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "They won't see us here. It's the perfect spot."

I nodded, more focused on the murmured voices beyond the door.

"...It's suspicious, to say the least," Father's voice came through, low but sharp. "His injuries. There's something off about it."

My stomach twisted as I pressed myself closer to the wall, straining to hear.

Alba responded, his tone calm, controlled. "You think it was deliberate?"

"I don't know," Father admitted. "But it doesn't sit right with me. He was found at the edge of the forest, barely alive. The horse spooked, yes, but the way he fell... someone wanted him dead, Alba."

I felt a cold chill run through me. So it wasn't just an accident. The fall... someone had tried to kill me.

There was a pause before Father continued, his voice more measured now. "You weren't involved in this, were you?"

Alba responded almost immediately, his voice steady, "No, Father. You think I'd risk damaging the family like that? I know what's at stake."

Father sighed. "I had to ask. Whether you did it or not, someone did. If the other houses get wind of it, we'll look weak. Internal strife isn't a good look when we're trying to negotiate an alliance with the Legons."

There it was. The other reason we were here, hidden in the shadows—the alliance.

"The Legon family won't merge with us if we look fractured," Father continued. "They'll sense blood in the water, Alba. They'll find another way to grow their influence, and it won't involve us."

"Then we need to act unified," Alba said, the authority in his voice clear. "You can't let this Zeliot situation cause cracks in the family's image. We should make sure no one else hears a word about it."

"And what about the alliance itself?" Father asked. "Do you think it's solid?"

Alba's voice softened. "I believe so, but Lady Ilma—she won't agree to the marriage unless certain conditions are met. She wants assurances that we'll remain stable, that there won't be any... disruptions."

"Disruptions," Father echoed, almost bitterly. "You mean like a potential assassination attempt on my own son."

"Exactly," Alba replied. "We have to control the narrative. If we can manage that, we can secure the alliance and, through it, gain the leverage we need."

Alba paused, digesting the implications of what Father had just said. Finally, he broke the silence, his voice even but laced with curiosity.

"So, what exactly are the conditions she's asking for? It sounds like Lady Ilma has more on her mind than just a marriage."

There was a brief hesitation from Father, his tone more guarded now. "She's not asking for anything simple, Alba. She wants guarantees—guarantees that we can protect the Legons from any future conflicts, particularly with Penusia."

Alba frowned. "Penusia? Are they a real threat?"

Father's voice was stern. "They are. Our skirmishes with them over border territories have been quiet small recently, but if Penusia decides to launch a full-scale assault, the Legons want to make sure they're on the winning side. Lady Ilma isn't willing to tie her family's fortunes to ours unless we can demonstrate that we're militarily capable of defending both our interests."

"So she wants assurances of our military strength," Alba said, more thoughtfully. "That's doable. We've kept Penusia at bay before. But is that it?"

"No," Father replied. His tone shifted, the edge in his voice betraying his discomfort. "She also wants something else—something more dangerous."

Alba leaned in slightly, his attention focused. "What?"

"Control over legislation regarding magic," Father said, his voice flat but heavy. "She wants free rein in how laws concerning magic are made and enforced. It's the price she's placing on this alliance."

The silence that followed was thick, as if even the air in the room struggled to move. Raamiz shot me a quick look, his eyebrows raised. I could tell from his expression that this was a major sticking point.

Alba spoke next, his tone incredulous. "Magic legislation? That's... a risky demand."

"It is," Father admitted. "The power to control the regulation of magic is one of the most tightly guarded aspects of our rule. It's how we maintain control over the House of Proso and prevent chaos. If we give her that much freedom, we'll lose our ability to dictate the flow of power."

Alba frowned, his voice quieting. "And she's not willing to negotiate on this?"

Father sighed. "No. She knows how difficult it will be for us to allow that, but she's using it as leverage. The Legons are powerful, and they're already making moves to expand their influence. Lady Ilma wants to ensure that, if she aligns with us, she can shape the future of magic in this country to suit her own interests."

There was a long pause as both men seemed to weigh the cost of what was at stake.

"If we concede," Father continued, "we secure their military support and strengthen our defenses against Penusia. But at what cost? Giving her that kind of control over magic... it's a dangerous path. If we don't agree, the alliance will likely fall apart, and we'll be vulnerable."

The conversation inside had hit a lull. Father's voice dropped, low and measured, each word carefully chosen. My pulse picked up, a growing tension crawling up my spine as I leaned in, desperate to catch every word.

Then it came—a faint creak, just outside the door. Not from us, but from whoever was inside moving toward the hallway. Raamiz's reaction was instant. He grabbed my arm, yanking me toward a narrow gap between two columns. With a hard shove, he pressed me into the tight space behind one of the marble pillars, barely enough room for both of us. My back was against the cold stone, the uneven surface biting into my shoulder blades as Raamiz pushed in close to cover any part of me that might still be visible.

I sucked in my breath, trying to make myself smaller, the dim torchlight flickering across the corridor just inches from where we stood. My heart pounded in my chest, every beat hammering in my ears as we stayed still, hidden in the deep shadow cast by the pillar.

The door creaked open, and I heard the unmistakable sound of Alba's boots hitting the stone floor with precision. He stepped into the hall, each footfall heavy, almost purposeful. His eyes swept the space slowly, scanning the dark corners and recesses, his gaze sharp as a knife.

I didn't dare move. Raamiz was still, though I could feel the tightness in his grip, anchoring me to the wall as if pulling me deeper into the shadows. The space felt suffocating—too small for both of us—but there was nowhere else to go.

Alba paused mid-step, his eyes settling on our side of the corridor, lingering just long enough to set my nerves on edge. The torchlight flickered again, casting long shadows across the stone. For a brief, tense moment, I was sure we'd been spotted. My heartbeat roared in my ears.

Then, after what felt like an eternity, Alba straightened. "I'll get the documents," he said suddenly, his voice cutting through the thick silence. He turned back to the door, gave the hall one last glance, and then stepped out, his boots echoing as he walked down the corridor. His footsteps grew softer with each step, until they finally disappeared around the corner.

Raamiz stayed completely still for a moment longer, his grip easing only slightly. Once he was sure the coast was clear, he released my arm and stepped back, but his usual smirk didn't return. He let out a breath, running a hand through his hair, but the playful glint in his eye had dimmed.

"Too close," he muttered, not looking at me but staring at the spot where Alba had been.

I nodded, but Raamiz wasn't done. His face darkened as he glanced down the now-empty hall. "Well, that confirms it," he muttered under his breath, almost as if talking to himself.

"What do you mean?" I asked, though part of me already knew.

He turned to me, his tone more serious than I'd ever heard from him. "Your injury—it wasn't just an accident, was it?" His eyes narrowed. "The way Father talked about it, about the suspicion, the way Alba handled it... it all lines up."

The weight of his words sank in. I hadn't wanted to believe it before, but Raamiz wasn't one to take things lightly when it came to family. He had his doubts—maybe the same doubts I was beginning to have.

"Someone wanted you gone," Raamiz added, quieter now, as if the thought alone needed to be whispered. "And now we're neck-deep in political games."

We stood there in the dim corridor, the flicker of torchlight casting long shadows on the stone, neither of us moving. For once, Raamiz wasn't smirking or shrugging things off. His eyes were cold and focused, a rare moment of clarity.


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