Dawn came like it had a personal grudge against his body. Everything hurt in new and creative ways — pushing from Fifth to Seventh Tier only to get spiritually bitch-slapped back to Sixth had left interesting bruises on parts of him that shouldn't be able to bruise.
A knock at the door. Precise, measured. Not servants.
"Come in."
Kai entered, already dressed for the day. No dramatic entrance, just moving with the same controlled intensity Avian remembered from the training grounds.
"Elira let me in," he said, closing the door behind him. "Thought you might want warning about tonight."
"The dinner?"
"The bloodbath disguised as dinner." Kai took a seat. "Five vault claimers, all convinced they're destined for greatness. You're going to be the main target."
Avian sat up, testing his body's protests. "Because I finished first?"
"Because you weren't supposed to finish at all." Kai's expression was serious. "The forgotten third son, suddenly claiming top position? They'll want to put you back in your place."
"Let them try."
"They will. But not with swords." Kai leaned forward. "Your brother Thane will be there. He's... not taking second place well. Then there's Lady Selia Draven — third place and furious about it."
"Third?"
"Apparently she sprinted the last ten miles thinking she might claim second. Instead she arrived to find out you'd already won and claimed the best prize." Kai's expression darkened. "She's convinced you cheated somehow."
Of course she is. Because skill only counts if you're born with the right name.
"Tell me about the others."
"Marcus Thornfield took fourth. He's... imagine if muscle mass gained consciousness and learned to hold grudges. All power, no subtlety."
"Fifth?"
"Princess Clarissa. Thane's sister." Kai shifted slightly. "She's different from her brother. Quieter. Watches everything, says little. The kind that files information away for later use."
"So both siblings made it."
"Family reunion should be fun." Kai's tone suggested the opposite. "Look, I placed seventh — only the top five got vault access. But trial participants get guest privileges for formal events. Figured you could use someone watching your back."
"Why?"
The question hung between them. Kai met his gaze directly.
"Because my family needs this. We've been seventh sons and third daughters for generations, always one step from irrelevance. Then you show up, break every expectation..." He shrugged. "I'm being practical. Better to bet on the rising storm than the established calm."
At least he's honest about using me. Better than fake friendship.
"Fair enough."
They ate breakfast in companionable silence when Elira brought it. No pretense, just two people preparing for battle with different weapons.
The day passed with preparations. Formal wear arrived — midnight blue with silver trim that actually fit properly. Kai stayed, offering practical observations about which cuts allowed for movement, which accessories could become weapons if needed.
"You're good at this," Avian noted.
"Seventh son of a minor branch. You learn to read situations or get crushed by them."
When evening came, they walked through corridors that grew grander with each turn. The formal dining hall occupied the old wing — all marble and history and the weight of centuries.
"Remember," Kai said as they approached the doors, "every word is a weapon. Every reaction gives them information."
"I know."
"Good. Try not to start any blood feuds before dessert."
The doors opened into concentrated wealth. Crystal chandeliers, gold everything, a round table that eliminated hierarchy while making every seat feel like a throne. Five figures already waited.
Thane sat rigid as stone, jaw clenched so tight Avian could hear teeth grinding from across the room. When their eyes met, the temperature seemed to drop.
Still bitter about second place, brother?
Selia Draven made violence look fashionable. Red dress, of course, cut to emphasize every weapon-ready line of her body. She smiled when Avian entered — all teeth, no warmth.
Marcus Thornfield occupied space like he was conquering it. Built like a fortress, formal wear straining against muscles that had their own muscles. His default expression suggested thinking caused him physical pain.
Princess Clarissa was stillness itself. Silver-white dress, posture perfect, eyes that tracked everything while revealing nothing.
"The hero arrives," Selia purred. "We were beginning to wonder if you'd gotten lost. The main compound can be so confusing for those unused to such grandeur."
Avian took his seat. "Your concern is touching, Lady Draven. Though I found following the trail of bitter disappointment led me right here."
"Disappointment," she repeated. "Yes, I suppose we all had expectations before yesterday's surprises."
"Life's full of surprises. Adaptability is a useful skill."
"As is knowing one's place," Marcus rumbled, leaning forward. "Something forgotten sons should remember."
"I remember plenty. Like claiming first place while you managed fourth." Avian poured water with steady hands. "Memory's funny that way."
Marcus's face flushed. "You little—"
The doors opened. Aedric Veritas entered like controlled destruction in human form. The air grew heavier, reality paying attention to someone who could unmake it if sufficiently annoyed.
Everyone stood. Even breathing felt like it required permission.
"Sit," he commanded, taking his place. The round table suddenly had a clear center — wherever he was. "I trust you've been getting acquainted?"
"Thoroughly," Selia managed.
"Excellent." His smile could have frozen flame. "Then let's dispense with pleasantries. You five represent the strongest of your generation. In theory."
A servant approached with wine. Perfect pour, steady hands, not a drop spilled. Aedric watched with the intensity of someone who noticed everything and forgot nothing.
"Tell me," he said as glasses were filled, "what have you learned about each other so far?"
"That bloodlines don't guarantee competence," Avian said mildly.
"That upstarts should mind their tongues," Marcus countered.
Aedric actually laughed — a sound like mountains learning humor. "Good. You're already understanding. The Veritas family rises through conflict, not comfort."
The meal began. Each course a battlefield, each conversation a skirmish. Selia specialized in barbed compliments. Marcus preferred direct insults. Clarissa asked carefully designed questions. Thane hadn't spoken yet, just stared at Avian like he was memorizing where to put the knife.
Through it all, Kai provided subtle support — a comment here to deflect attention, a gesture there warning of incoming attacks.
Then Clarissa shifted tactics. "The trial reports mentioned your combat style, Lord Avian. Quite unlike standard Veritas techniques."
Again with the sword style. At least this is an easy one.
"It's an improved version," Avian said simply. "Less flourish, more function."
"Improved?" Marcus scoffed. "You can't improve on centuries of tradition."
"He's right, actually," Aedric interjected, surprising everyone. "The Veritas style has become... decorative over the generations. Too much ceremony, not enough substance. Insufficient formal training forced him to strip away the useless parts. Sometimes ignorance creates innovation."
Well, that's one way to put it. Thanks for the save, father.
"Innovation," Thane said flatly. "Is that what we're calling it?"
"I call it effective. The chimera certainly didn't care about proper form while trying to eat me."
"Spoken like someone without proper grounding," Marcus scoffed. "Breeding shows in more than just bloodlines."
"You're right. It also shows in placement. How was fourth place, by the way?"
Marcus's face went through several unhealthy colors. Before he could respond, Selia smoothly intervened.
"Speaking of breeding, Lord Avian, is it true your mother was a commoner?"
The table went still.
Here we go. When all else fails, attack the blood.
"She was. A baker's daughter." Avian kept his voice level. "She died when I was five."
"How... quaint," Selia managed. "Such humble origins."
"Humble origins that produced someone who beat your noble blood by two places. Perhaps there's something to be said for common stock."
"Common blood shows eventually," Marcus growled. "Always does."
"When, exactly? When I claimed first? When I killed a chimera alone? When I sit here while you nurse fourth-place grudges?" Avian set down his utensils carefully. "Please, educate me on these limits. I seem to keep missing them."
"You arrogant—"
"Accurate. The word you're looking for is accurate."
"Enough." Aedric's voice didn't rise, but suddenly breathing became difficult. The air itself grew thick, pressing down like the weight of his attention. "Though I do enjoy watching you sharpen each other."
He gestured, and servants cleared plates with mechanical precision.
"Let me be clear about something," he continued as the pressure eased. "I don't care about your blood, your feelings, or your grudges. I care about results. And results..." He smiled. "Results say the baker's daughter's son claimed first place."
Thane's knuckles went white where he gripped his glass.
"The next trial begins in one week," Aedric announced. "Use that time wisely. Train hard. Form alliances or nurture grudges as you see fit." His gaze swept the table. "Try not to actually kill each other. The paperwork is tedious."
He stood, and everyone scrambled to follow.
"Oh, and children? Some of you have already made enemies tonight. Some of you have made enemies of your own blood." His eyes lingered on Thane. "Those tend to cut deepest."
He left, taking the room's oppressive weight with him.
"Well," Kai said into the silence. "That was bracing."
"Is that what you call it?" Selia stood, silk dress flowing like blood. "I call it educational. The forgotten son should remember — grudges last longer than luck."
"I'll keep that in mind."
She swept out. Marcus followed, apparently having hit his word limit for the evening.
Clarissa rose more slowly. "You're not what I expected," she told Avian.
"Sorry to disappoint."
"I didn't say disappointed." She glanced at her brother. "Be careful. Broken pride makes people dangerous."
She left, leaving just the three of them.
Thane hadn't moved. He sat perfectly still, staring at where their father had been.
"Something to say, brother?" Avian asked.
"Seven years." Thane's voice was barely audible. "Seven years of being the heir. Of knowing my future. And in one day..."
"In one day you learned it wasn't guaranteed. Welcome to how the rest of us live."
Thane finally looked at him. His eyes were empty, hollow in a way that raised Avian's instincts.
"You're right. Nothing's guaranteed." He stood slowly. "Especially not your continued health. Accidents happen in this compound. Training mishaps. Food poisoning. Stairs are surprisingly dangerous."
Is he actually threatening me? Points for balls, if not brains.
"Are you threatening me?"
"I'm sharing wisdom. After all, I've had seven years to learn how this place works. Where the bodies are buried. Literally, in some cases." Thane straightened his jacket. "One week until the next trial. Try not to have any... accidents."
He left without waiting for a response.
"Okay," Kai said once they were alone. "Your brother just threatened to murder you. That's new."
"Not really. He's just being honest about it now."
"And that doesn't worry you?"
"Everything worries me. But I can only fight one battle at a time."
They left together, walking through corridors that felt heavier after the evening's revelations.
"Thanks," Avian said as they reached his quarters. "For the backup."
"Told you — practical investment." But Kai smiled slightly. "Want to spar? I need to burn off the tension."
"Sure. Try not to let me accidentally break anything."
"Your faith in my survival skills is touching."
They moved to the training room, where violence was honest and straightforward. As they sparred, Avian felt some of the evening's weight lift. One week to prepare. One week to get stronger.
One week for his enemies to plot, but that was tomorrow's problem.
Tonight, he'd claimed his seat at the table. Even if everyone else wished he'd choke on it.