The sharp clash of steel echoed from the rear courtyard, rough and unrefined. Two knights fought in plate armor, their strikes heavy, their movements more brutal than disciplined. It wasn't sparring—it was a grudge with rules.
Fergis sighed, shaking his head. "The one with the chainmail hood is my brother Finroy. He serves under Meya Rowe—best sword in the family, though Violetta probably has more potential. The other is Badturgen. Knighted, sure, but quick to anger and twice as arrogant."
The combatants broke apart, heaving for breath. It wasn't clear who had the upper hand, but they stopped as if by silent agreement.
Then Badturgen spotted them. He gestured toward Finroy, voice raised. "Looks like the runt of the litter is back."
Cane slowed. Fergis reddened but said nothing.
"Fin, this is my friend, Cane," Fergis said with calm precision, brushing the insult aside. No grudge today.
Fin sheathed his sword and stepped forward with a hand out. "Well met, Cane. Welcome."
Badturgen snorted. "We done now that your little sister showed up?"
Cane casually tapped the psi-rune behind his ear.
Cane: Why are you letting him run his mouth?
Fergis: His father's a lord. Mine's a very wealthy merchant. That gap still matters around here.
Badturgen had the look of someone permanently scowling. Swarthy, broad-shouldered, with his scalp shaved and eyes set wide apart, his upper lip bore a jagged scar that curled his mouth into a permanent sneer.
"I haven't seen my little brother in a bit," Fin said, placing a hand on Fergis's shoulder—an apology for Badturgen's behavior.
"You fresh, runt? Come on, let's spar. I'll go easy on you since you're not used to real action." Badturgen thumped his breastplate with a mailed fist.
"My brother's a mage an—"
Cane stepped forward, cutting him off. "Who the hell is this joke?" he asked, eyes fixed on Badturgen. "Action? What kind of action have you seen? Sparring in a garden while everyone's too polite to hit back?"
"What did you say?" Badturgen growled.
Cane didn't answer. He formed a union with the ringworld and shifted—appearing behind Badturgen in a flicker of motion. He placed a hand on the man's armor, sealing it instantly into a seamless prison of metal. Then he stepped back in front.
"Your idea of action is a pretend duel where no one dares offend your pride," Cane said. Then, with a single finger, he shoved him.
Badturgen toppled like a felled tree, crashing onto the grass in a metallic thud.
Without a hint of hesitation, Cane stepped forward and placed his foot on the man's chest. "You've offended me. If your father doesn't come personally to my estate tomorrow and apologize, I'll bring it up with my Uncle Telamon."
"LET ME UP!" Badturgen roared, struggling. But his limbs wouldn't move.
Cane leaned in, voice calm. "You speak of action like you've earned it. Fergis helped kill a Legion Commander—Terror himself. He helped destroy the Zuni Command Center. What have you done? You inherited a title because someone else in your family actually mattered. That must be a heavy legacy to hide behind."
Fergis stood just behind, failing to suppress a grin. "You're not going to release him?"
"Nope." Cane stepped off the armor. "Let his family come peel him off the ground. I, Cane Ironheart, take full responsibility."
Fergis chuckled as he led Cane through the back doors and into the estate's wide halls. Once the door shut behind them, he threw an arm around Cane's shoulders.
"Brother... that was amazing."
"I can't stand people like that," Cane muttered—then paused, seeing someone approach.
Violetta.
She stepped past her brothers with a grin, eyes bright. "At least someone in this city isn't afraid to put that fool in his place."
"Nice to see you again, Violet," Cane said, shaking her offered hand. "Didn't recognize you for a second."
Her blonde hair was styled, her gown elegant—far from the battlefield armor he remembered. "Is that a compliment? Do you like this better?"
"Just an observation," Cane replied, dodging the trap with a slight smile.
Violet made a face, then winked at Fergis. "He's quick. I like this one."
"No fool," Fergis admitted. "Where are our parents?"
"Mum's in the foyer, having tea with some of her friends," Violet said, eyes still studying Cane. "Not sure where Father is. I think he mentioned a Merchant Board meeting."
Her gaze lingered. "I was watching earlier. I've never seen anyone move that fast. You're not part elf, are you?"
Cane shook his head with a small smile. "Definitely not. Why aren't you with Meya?"
Violet blinked at the casual reference. "First Knight Rowe attends the King when he's not at the palace."
"Tell her Cane says hi." He smiled, either oblivious or intentionally irreverent.
"Don't start an argument, Violet," Fergis warned, smirking. "Not everyone wants to polish Meya's armor."
"What?" Violet's pale face flushed pink. "What does that mean?"
"Can't talk—urgent retreat," Fergis said, grabbing Cane and pulling him up the staircase while he still had the upper hand.
"Nice tactical withdrawal," Cane said approvingly as they ascended.
The foyer opened into a spacious room designed for both comfort and quiet status—arched bookshelves, elegant furniture, and sunlight spilling through tall windows.
Three well-dressed women sat at a small tea table, the scent of spiced biscuits and flowered steam filling the air. The conversation paused when they noticed the newcomers. Cane recognized the setup immediately—this was a place for news, opinion, and finely-brewed gossip. He'd seen his own mother do the same around their kitchen table.
"Mum," Fergis said, his grin wide as his mother looked up.
"Fergis!" The woman rose with a grace that spoke of confidence, not affectation. She was slim, middle-aged, and strikingly elegant—freckled skin and vibrant red hair, the source of her son's ginger fire.
Fergis wrapped her in a hug—an honest, arm-wrapped, nose-brushing kind of hug, the kind not often seen in merchant estates.
"This is my mum, Elena. Mum, this is Cane."
At the name, Elena's eyes widened slightly in recognition. She stepped forward with warmth. "It's a pleasure to meet you, young Sir."
"Just Cane, please." He smiled gently. "I'm happy to be here."
The two women beside her regarded him with sharp eyes—measuring the rumors of recent months against the quiet strength of the boy in front of them. Somewhere in their minds, lists of eligible daughters began to reorder themselves.
"It's a shame Brodan isn't here," Elena said, voice touched with longing. "This Knighting business is so exciting."
Fergis waved off the comment. "Fin's already a knight."
"Yes, but he served for years as a squire, built a solid reputation," she said. Then her attention returned to Cane. "But you—you've done it by merit alone. No title. No guard. You've raised yourself up."
Fergis scratched his head, unsure how to respond. "So, uh, someone mentioned a ball after the ceremony?"
Elena lit up. "Yes, quite the affair. Normally we wouldn't be invited to something so grand, but since our son is among the honored guests, the entire family is attending."
"Great. Dancing," Fergis muttered, elbowing Cane. "At least I won't be the worst on the floor."
"Yes, you will," Cane replied with a smirk. "But I won't be attending. I've got family business right after."
Fergis didn't press, but he knew Cane well enough to guess it involved Moriwynn.
"Come on," he said instead. "I'll give you the quick tour."
Cane offered polite goodbyes as they slipped away. The moment the door shut, the whispers began—curious, hushed, and spirited.