Ezeas made his way up the stairs, unsure whether the feeling within was relief at a day off or apprehension for the reason why. He was greeted by his smiling mother who rushed to embrace him, full of affection. He returned the hug.

“It's been such a blessing to have you visit every day. I know you don't want to acknowledge it, but yiti za'ora is here.”

“Though I don't share your enthusiasm, I am happy to visit you and father, again.”

He nodded towards a door at the end of the hallway.

“I don't suppose you know what he wants to discuss?”

She shook her head while grabbing his hand.

“Whatever it is, you know he deems it serious. When you're done, don't just slink out. I have some matters of my own to discuss with you.”

The determination in her eyes made it clear it was not a request and he knew better than to argue, so he gave her a quick nod. She smiled and squeezed his hand for a moment before letting go.

Ezeas watched her descend the stairs, wondering if he was forever doomed to be tethered to stubborn women and what it meant for his future if the answer was yes. Then he turned towards the closed entrance and readied himself; his father rarely summoned him unless there was something serious to discuss. With resolute steps, he closed the distance and made his way through the heavy cedar door, closing it firmly behind him.

The study was a room, crammed full with books and curiosities from all over the continent; some were familiar to Ezeas: gifts he had brought back from one mission or another: small models of foreign technology, colorful, spherical stones, seemingly illuminated from within, beautiful, ornate vials filled with mysterious mixtures, scintillating and twirling, constantly.

Glass cases displayed most of these small wonders, placed on pedestals in between the book cases; the surfaces were immaculately dust free and a blue sheen occasionally pulsed over the glass.

The back wall consisted of a row of tall windows, set in a diamond pattern; the calm crystal light flowed through the glass, glistening against the dark wood of Haylen Sethaernan's desk; the man himself was seated in a tall-backed chair, looking closely at a small stack of letters in his hand; his short, ebony hair was swept away from his face and his dark eyes were reading, intently.

When he finished, he looked at his son and smiled, slightly.

“Good morning, Ezeas. I take it miss Saelina has left with Laelith?”

Ezeas nodded.

“How is her training progressing?”

The gaze seemed piercing as his father waited for an answer; Ezeas took his time to find the right words.

“She's...tough. No matter how many hits she takes, she keeps coming.”

“You sound surprised?”

Ezeas considered refusing for a moment but then sighed.

“Humans...their culture would never have allowed her to learn how to fight and yet...it seems that she's got a talent for it.”

“Simply because she's tenacious?”

“No. Every time she tries again, she's changed something. Most of the corrections I make, end up sticking. It's like she's been waiting for a chance to fight.”

His father mulled over the information but did not seem surprised by the notion.

“I've learned a bit about our guest's past. It's a very real possibility that what you feel when training her is exactly the truth of the matter.”

He leaned back in his chair, dropped the letters on the desk and squeezing the bridge of his nose between his fingers.

“However, that's not what I called you here for.”

He took a deep breath and motioned for Ezeas to look at the pile of papers.

“We've received some...interesting letters. Though they're addressed to us, we're hardly the main target of their contents.”

Ezeas picked up one and started reading, his expression soon twisting into a grimace of disgust. He picked another one with much the same result.

“This should be a cruel joke,” he grumbled.

“It should be but we both know that not everyone sees a border between their words and their actions.”

“ 'Usurper of Nyxan birthright, may death undo the iniquity of your blasphemous disregard for what we hold sacred'. These people are borderline fanatical! How did they even learn she's here?”

“That is a proper question. I've asked your mother to look into the matter, but until we know more, my main reason for summoning you is with regards to the object of these people's ire.”

Haylen's gaze was calm and inscrutable as he awaited his sons decision. The younger man stared out the window, only barely registering that the wintertears were starting to bloom, their pale blue droplet petals swaying softly in the magically created wind, which swept through the city at odd intervals.

“We won't tell her. Her current predicament is already parlous and her feelings towards Islasa are middling, if not overtly negative.”

“If you feel that's best.”

His father collected the documents and put them away in a drawer, locking it securely.

“But you might want to consider revealing the truth, eventually. From what I've been able to deduce, she's more than acquainted with the kind of sentiments expressed by these people. Perhaps trusting in that toughness you've already witnessed could prove beneficial?”

He exhaled through his nose, trying to presage his father's train of thought.

“It makes little difference. Our current arrangement was only ever going to last until she knew enough to become an asset in the conflict. If she's smart she'll understand our hesitation. If not, it's not like I was asked to bond with her.”

The older man observed him, staidly. He knew the look and knew he was about to be told something, which would exasperate and vex him.

“You may find that those ties are already there, mia ke'inos. Your mother's convinced she's yiti za'ora, and I've found she's rarely wrong about these matters.”

“I don't think there's any point in continuing this conversation.”

“Maybe there isn't, yet I should like to see you face the topic, rather than shirk it.”

Ezeas considered the admonishment for a moment then inclined his head in assent. He took some time, while his father sat in patient silence.

“I will admit that the idea of being so inexplicably intertwined with someone's destiny is concerning. I thought I was done being torn by two fates.”

“You're still young,” Haylen said with a half smile.

“Fate, most certainly, is not done with you.”

“I'm doing my best to comply, yet it never seems enough.”

His father chuckled and rose from his seat, coming around to put his hands on the shoulders of his son.

“I suppose not. I hope you'll forgive your sire for indulging in musings, my teias is often filling my head with these thoughts.”

“Of course, father. I just know things are never that easy.”

The smile dropped slightly and became more melancholic than amused; he squeezed Ezeas' shoulder, lovingly, before dropping his arms.

“I understand your reluctance to jeopardize what has taken you years to reclaim.”

He went back behind his desk, waving a hand, dismissively.

“Well, you should see your mother.”

The walk from the study above to the library below was far too short to properly consider everything he had been told. He knew his parents had taken a liking to his charge and the concern that their partiality may blind them to the grimmer reality was not easy to keep at bay. No matter how easy it was to feel some connection to the human, Lyari had the right of it that they were far removed from his own people in more than appearances. Every concession she made came at a prize, every interaction was more of a battle than a conversation between them. Even so, he could not deny his own part in that.

Moving through the foyer in quick tempo, he hoped the meeting with his maternal parent would be more positive.

He knocked and opened the door to the library. Tiyala Harion was sitting in one of the red velvet chairs which filled the center of the room, a piece parchment in her hand, deep red with gold lettering.

“Come in, Essy,” she purred and Ezeas felt a scowl spread across his face.

“I've got to cast a muting spell on that woman,” he growled.

His mother's laughter was low and filled with warmth.

“I'm happy you're interacting with someone who's not a squad mate, for a change.”

“Did you call me here to gloat? Because I feel that could be just as well accomplished via letter or atop the stairs, earlier.”

She shook her head, still smiling, and held up the document in her hand.

“Something's come up, dear.”

He scanned the paper and quickly recognized the seal on there, drawing in a breath through his clenched teeth.

“What in Death's fuckery!”

“I see the news are received as well as can be expected,” Tiyala acknowledged, her tone still light.

“This is not the time for such frivolities, you know that!”

His mother pursed her mouth and put her fingers around her chin.

“Or...is it perhaps the perfect time?”

He did not respond and she continued.

“Ezeas, we both know that the current political situation is volatile and young Saelina's arrival has done nothing to settle the waters. That does not mean we can't use these events to our advantage.”

He shook his head.

“Your intrigues won't be enough to undo the damage her mere presence could cause.”

A slow sigh escaped her lips.

“My dearest, you can't control everything in life, nor should you try to.”

Though her voice was stern, her expression was one of melancholic concern. He was tempted to scoff but shook his head, instead.

“I don't believe that's what I'm doing.”

His mother said nothing but her inscrutable gaze was enough to light a small flame of doubt in his soul.