“Your stay has been comfortable so far, I trust?” the voice carried easily down the long table.

  Hope set his cup down carefully before answering. “Yes, Lord Renard. The manor’s been… more than generous.”

  Lady Maira Kael smiled faintly from across the silver candelabra. “We are pleased to hear it, Hope. It is rare to find guests who appreciate both comfort and quiet.”

  Hope offered a small grin, feeling the weight of her gaze. “Quiet’s not something I get often, Lady Maira. Figured I should enjoy it while it lasts.”

  Lord Renard’s stern features eased, a faint smile ghosting across his face. “I still remember the Great Barion Games. You handled yourself well for someone so young. That kind of poise doesn’t come just from tutors.”

  Hope met his gaze, a small grin flickering at the edge of his mouth. “Guess some things are easier learned by doing than by listening.”

  Renard let out a low, genuine chuckle, raising his glass slightly. “Spoken like a man who’s already lived twice his years. I like that.”

  Elayne shifted beside him, her cheeks faintly pink as she looked anywhere but at Hope.

  After a brief pause, Lord Renard continued, leaning back in his chair. “Tell me, then — do you have plans for your stay? We are a quiet household, but I would not see a guest idle.”

  Hope glanced up, offering his practiced, polite smile. “I’m not sure yet, Lord Renard. I’ll be here for a while, so I’ll try to stay out of everyone’s way.”

  “Nonsense,” Renard said, waving a hand dismissively. “You are to treat this house as your own. The gardens, the library, the training yard — all at your disposal. And should you wish for a proper spar, I daresay my knights would welcome the challenge.”

  He paused, eyes glinting with interest. “Or perhaps myself, if you care to see how rusted my blade has become.”

  Hope’s grin held, though something twisted faintly in his gut. “That’s… kind of you, Lord Renard, but I wouldn’t dare trouble you. I’m a bit out of practice lately.”

  And there’s no way I’d be able to hide these crazy new stats sparring an experienced Tier-2 knight. Not about to blow my cover just to show off.

  Lady Maira’s smile curved with quiet amusement, her tone smooth as silk. “Out of practice, or merely… otherwise occupied? I suspect a certain young lady has kept you rather engaged these past few days.”

  Elayne’s fork clinked softly against her plate. “Mother—”

  Renard laughed again, warm and unbothered. “Maira, you’ll scare the boy off before dessert.”

  Hope chuckled lightly, feeling heat rise to his neck. “No danger of that. I’ve faced worse.”

  That earned a genuine grin from the man and a knowing, amused glance from the lady — while Elayne, quiet and red-faced, tried very hard to study her plate.

  The candles flickered gently, light dancing across polished silver and soft laughter — and for once, Hope thought, a noble dinner wasn’t as unbearable as usual.

  “This… this is amazing!” Elayne said, setting her book down for a moment and taking another careful bite of the small tart Hope had baked for her. “I didn’t know you could cook so well.”

  Hope lay stretched out on the grass beside her, hands folded behind his head, eyes tracing the slow drift of clouds. “Yeah, well… got bored and decided to learn a thing or two — preferably the kind that doesn’t end with burnt dishes.”

  She covered her smile with her hand, trying — and failing — to look composed. “You call this not burning things?”

  “Pretty good upgrade, huh?” he said, grinning without looking away from the sky.

  She laughed softly, graceful even in amusement. “More than an upgrade — this is better than what our cooks make most nights.”

  Hope smirked faintly. “Guess I just got lucky with the mix.”

  Elayne tilted her head, eyes glimmering with quiet curiosity. “You always say things like that. But it’s not luck. You’re… actually really good at things, you know?”

  Hope exhaled through his nose, a half-smile playing at his lips. “Yeah, well, don’t spread that around. Attention’s my worst enemy these days.”

  Her lips curved into a soft, knowing smile as she looked at him lying there, and a faint blush crept across her cheeks. “What if it’s my attention?”

  He turned his head toward her, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Then I could never have enough, my lady.”

  Her blush deepened, but she didn’t look away this time.

  Hope’s grin faded into something more thoughtful. It had already been a couple of days in the Kael manor, and somewhere between the good vibes, the calm air, and Elayne’s smile… he’d nearly forgotten the ‘reason’ — or rather, the excuse — for coming.

  Might as well make good use of the daylight and the dozen maids pretending not to stare from the windows. Formal talk first. The rest could wait for the evening.

  “By the way,” Hope said, sitting up slightly, “I was wondering if you knew anything about the Game of Houses — and Lord Titus Weiss.” He scratched the back of his neck. “I might’ve… skimmed over it since I got back to the manor.”

  Elayne blinked, surprise flickering across her face, followed by something that looked a lot like worry. Her voice came out quieter than before. “You… you don’t know anything about it?”

  Hope shook his head, a bit caught off guard by the unease in her tone.

  Elayne hesitated, fingers tightening slightly over the edge of her dress before she drew in a slow breath. “Alright.”

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  Hope narrowed his eyes. Something told him there was serious stuff coming.

  Elayne straightened a little and began, “Before the arrival of the Venerable Titus Weiss, the Three Great Houses — Feran of the East, Ufgur of the South, and Barion of the West — were locked in near-constant war.”

  Her tone softened as she went on, carrying the quiet, practiced cadence of a noble educated in history. “For centuries, they fought over borders, pride, and power. Territories shifted hands so many times that even the scholars stopped keeping proper records. But all of that changed when the Venerable came.”

  Hope tilted his head slightly. “Came? Like… from the outside? The void?”

  She nodded. “That’s what the records say. He descended from the heavens — or rather, from beyond them — and settled in the North. His presence alone was enough to silence the wars. Some say his arrival split the skies themselves, and that his power could turn mountains to dust.”

  Hope gave a low whistle. “Sounds like quite the figure.”

  And probably a Tier 3 existence… not sure I like the sound of that. Better be tactful around the old man.

  Elayne smiled faintly, though it felt a little strained, before continuing. “To prevent further bloodshed, the Venerable Titus Weiss decreed that all disputes between the Great Houses would be settled through the Game of Houses. Every four years, each of the Three sends three of its Tier 1 scions — chosen heirs or prodigies — to compete for their House’s honour.”

  She paused, eyes thoughtful. “No one ever knows what form the Games will take, or even what truly happens inside, since only the champions themselves can step into his dominion in the north—Haven.”

  “The trials are designed and overseen by the Venerable Titus himself. They’re said to test the champions to their absolute limits and are extremely dangerous—but those who survive bring immense glory to their House.”

  Hope nodded. “And the prize?”

  “The winning House gains dominion over the central lands for the next four years, though they must rule peacefully and make no major changes to the realm itself,” she replied. “And, more importantly for you, I suppose, the champions are granted gifts according to their performance. These come directly from the Venerable’s great treasury — said to hold marvels from the vast void itself: items, relics, and treasures capable of altering one’s fate.”

  Hmm… quite the generous fellow. Doesn’t like wars and hands out prizes to strangers on a random planet? What’s he getting out of it?

  If Hope was certain of one thing in life, it was that there was no such thing as a free lunch. Still… who knows. The void’s a big place — maybe it’s got its share of oddballs like Eve floating around too.

  Yet none of that really answered his main question.

  “So… eh, does this Venerable have any family? A heir, maybe?” Hope asked.

  Elayne blinked, half amused, half puzzled. “A… heir? Well, I would not presume to know of the Venerable’s private affairs in Haven, but since his arrival seventeen years ago, there has been no mention of any relatives, partner, or descendants — nor has he spoken of such things, as far as I am aware.”

  Damn, Captain… what happened to the simple, straightforward missions? He actually missed the days when a job just meant hunting some oversized bird on a random moon.

  How in the void am I supposed to become the heir of a Tier 3 being?

  Should he… what, show off at the Game of Houses? Impress the Venerable enough that the old man just smiles, nods, and says “You’re my grandson now”?

  Hope let out a low sigh, and Elayne tilted her head slightly, studying him with those soft, perceptive eyes. “You look… bothered by the information?”

  He hesitated, trying to mask the swirl in his head, but before he could answer, Elayne’s lips curved into a playful smile. “Or… are you disappointed? Were you hoping the Venerable might have a lovely granddaughter somewhere — and perhaps an heir’s seat conveniently vacant?”

  Hope blinked, then smirked faintly, summoning just enough of that mock noble charm Selera would’ve approved of. “Ha. Guess you’ve got me all figured out, my lady. Unfortunately, my heart already beats loud for one of such grace, and my eyes refuse to stray elsewhere — tragic, really.”

  Elayne’s cheeks flushed a delicate pink as she tried — and failed — to keep a straight face. “You’re shameless,” she murmured, looking away with a smile that didn’t quite hide the warmth in her eyes.

  Hope grinned, leaning back on his hands again. “Takes one to recognise charm when she sees it, doesn’t it?”

  Elayne shot him a quick look — half scandalised, half amused — before turning her gaze back to the book resting on her lap, trying to hide the small smile tugging at her lips.

  “Anyway,” Hope went on, stretching a little, “since I’ve clearly lost my chance with the Venerable’s nonexistent granddaughter, maybe you can help me with something else.”

  She glanced at him, curious. “Such as?”

  “The Games,” he said. “You mentioned the champions get those fancy void relics and all. Is there… anyone here in Barion who’s actually won one of those Games? Someone I could meet or talk to?”

  The brightness in Elayne’s expression dimmed. She let out a soft breath, her gaze lowering to the open book resting on her lap. “I’m afraid not,” she said quietly. “Barion has… never won a Game of Houses.”

  Hope frowned. “Huh? So, ehm… what happened?”

  Elayne glanced at him — not annoyed, just thoughtful — before her shoulders eased with a small sigh. “Not the best talk after a delicious tart,” she murmured, “but… very well.” Her tone shifted, more solemn now, her noble poise returning. “There have been three Games of Houses since the Venerable’s arrival. The first began barely a year after the decree that ended the wars. For House Barion, it came at the worst possible time.”

  She looked down at her hands, voice soft but steady. “We had just come out of a long conflict against the Feran in the East. My father was knighted during that war — a victory, yes, but one bought with too much blood. When the fighting ended, the younger scions were either too inexperienced or had already ascended to Tier 2 to serve in the armies. We had no one left of proper age to compete. The same was true for the Feran.”

  She paused, then continued, “House Ufgur of the South took advantage of it. They had strong scions of the proper age — trained, confident, and ready. They claimed the first Game without much struggle.”

  Hope nodded slowly. “So… bad timing. What about the next one?”

  “The second Game,” Elayne said, “came four years later. Many believed Barion would have a chance, but… it didn’t happen. The Ufgur won again. Yet this Game was far harsher than the first, with most champions… never returning.”

  Hope’s brow furrowed. “Wait… never returning, as in…”

  She met his eyes and nodded, her tone softening. “Yes, Hope. They died during the Games.”

  Hope exhaled quietly, gaze shifting to the fading sky. So much for a man who wanted ‘peace’. He didn’t say it aloud, but the thought lingered. Something about all this stank like rottin’ shit.

  “I see…” he said after a moment. “So, in these Games, to survive you must win? Or can you survive without winning?”

  “The Venerable is not without mercy. Any contestant is offered the chance to withdraw before each trial begins — though few ever do. Pride, duty, or the lure of the Venerable’s rewards tends to outweigh fear. But those who forfeit… they live.”

  Hope’s mouth curved into a thin, humourless line. Yeah… ‘merciful’, sure — for an old man who gets his kicks watching kids die for amusement.

  The thought of having to become that kind of person’s “heir” sent a cold shiver crawling down his spine. Still… Captain Syra wouldn’t just toss him into a death pit for fun. Right?

  He felt his gut tighten for a moment, then forced a quiet breath through his nose. Not the kind of thoughts I should be having.

  When he looked back at Elayne, her gaze was lowered, the usual light dimmed from her eyes. Well… that killed the mood.

  Still, he needed to know. And even more so now that he’d heard enough to confirm things here weren’t nearly as shiny as they looked on the outside — something her expression told him was a thought shared by many… just not one anyone dared to say aloud.

  The words he’d thrown at the ‘toad’ came crawling back to bite him now. Truth is what the strong decide it is. And in this small world… the Venerable… was god.

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