The sun had barely begun its lazy descent when the family returned to the estate, a quiet hum of contentment clinging to them after the day spent together. Aren walked with Selene by his side, their granddaughters clinging to their hands, the peaceful feeling of a full heart settling inside him like a balm.
At dinner that evening, it was Aren who stirred the next wave of excitement.
"We need a new project," he said casually, setting down his wine glass and meeting each pair of expectant young eyes. "Something for all of us to do together."
Lyra leaned forward immediately, sensing a plot. "Another trip?"
Aren shook his head, smiling. "Something more lasting. I was thinking..." he paused dramatically, "...of building a secret garden."
Mira gasped and clapped her small hands in delight. Even Elara, ever-serious, couldn't fully hide the light that bloomed in her eyes.
"A secret garden?" Selene echoed with a chuckle, already picturing Aren — Grand Duke, legend, war hero — tending flowers with his granddaughters. The image was too precious.
"A place just for the family," Aren confirmed. "Hidden away. Where no title, no duty, no outside world can reach us."
The girls erupted into excited chatter, Mira imagining trees with swings hanging from them, Elara (after a beat) suggesting a quiet pond for reading, Lyra teasingly proposing a corner where their mother could hide when she needed a break from the two whirlwinds.
Aren listened to them, letting their dreams build atop one another. It was perfect. This was what he fought for, all those years. For moments like this.
"And once the weekend is over," he added, ruffling Mira's hair gently, "I'll visit your school, as promised. See where you two terrorize your teachers."
That earned a chorus of giggles and a rare, shy smile from Elara.
Selene leaned her head briefly on Aren's shoulder, whispering so only he could hear, "You're making memories they'll never forget."
He squeezed her hand under the table.
But the warm atmosphere cooled slightly when a servant arrived with a silver tray holding four formal envelopes. Imperial seals glinted in the candlelight.
Aren took them, instantly feeling the heavy magic layered into the parchment. He opened the first — addressed to himself and Selene — and scanned it quickly.
"An imperial banquet," he murmured aloud.
"Already?" Darian asked, frowning.
Aren passed the other invitations to his eldest son and his partner. Lyra and her husband waited expectantly — but there was no fourth envelope.
Nothing for them.
Aren's eyes hardened, golden irises flashing. His family noticed the shift instantly, the room becoming still.
He had seen it clearly:
He and Selene were invited because of the legend he was — the blood, the sacrifice, the myth they had built around him.
Darian and his wife were invited because he now officially bore the title of Grand Duke.
But Lyra — spirited, brilliant, his daughter — was ignored. As if she were nothing more than a footnote. A relic of a time the world thought was over.
It burned inside him.
Aren's aura, usually tightly controlled, cracked. A faint, almost imperceptible wave of bloodlust swept across the room.
It was not violent. It was simply absolute — the kind of pressure that reminded anyone breathing it that they stood before a force that could erase kingdoms.
The girls stiffened, sensing the shift even without understanding it. Lyra's partner went pale. Darian flinched slightly despite himself.
Only Selene calmly reached for Aren's hand.
He blinked, realizing his mistake, and immediately reined his aura back in. The room inhaled collectively, like a drowning man breaking the surface.
"I'm sorry," Aren said, voice low. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, then looked at Lyra. "I lost control for a moment. But I won't apologize for why."
Lyra, wide-eyed but composed, listened.
"You were ignored," Aren said simply. "As if you don't matter. As if the blood and heart you inherited from me are somehow less. I won't accept that."
Lyra opened her mouth — whether to protest or agree, no one could tell — but Aren was already moving forward.
"You and your partner," he said, voice brooking no argument, "will come with us to the banquet. So will Elara and Mira. I don't care if your names aren't on the list."
Selene smiled softly beside him, pride glowing in her violet eyes.
"And whoever thought they could insult my daughter..." Aren added, golden eyes glinting with a dangerous light, "...will find that legends are not so easily dismissed."
The table was silent, reverent almost.
Darian bowed his head, murmuring, "Father... thank you."
Lyra stood slowly, pride and love radiating from her like sunlight. She walked over to Aren and, without hesitation, hugged him tightly — the mischievous daughter, the lively spirit, still his little girl.
Aren closed his arms around her, feeling Selene's gaze warm against his back.
This was his family. His life.
No empire, no noble court, no whispered slight would diminish what they were to him.
He would carve the truth into the world if he had to.