Chapter 3 #2
Three hundred souls filled the hall, mostly demons, with a scattering of branded men and women seated among them. Conversation hummed through the chamber, low and expectant, every glance drifting again and again toward the raised dais.
The royal family sat there.
Elathiel was perfectly still, regal as a carved statue. Goroth looked mildly bored, one arm draped over the armrest of his throne. The daughters… were painfully, theatrically uninterested, slouched, fidgeting, clearly counting the seconds.
Aldric opened his mouth to speak.
He didn’t manage to utter a word.
The king lifted his goblet toward him, a knowing smirk tugging at his mouth, then gave a single, decisive nod.
The signal.
Servants moved at once. Platters appeared, goblets were filled, and the hall surged into motion as the morning meal began.
Seraphae leaned close and whispered, “I need to sit with my family.”
Aldric followed her gaze.
There was only one seat free at the royal table.
He understood immediately.
“Ancient rules, hm?” he murmured.
She winced slightly.
“Yeah. You’re not mad, are you?”
He shook his head, just once.
“No. Go. Be with your family. I’ll be fine.”
She hesitated, then nodded, and bounded off toward the dais.
Aldric turned, scanning the hall.
Near the middle tables sat a lone human.
An empty chair beside him.
Aldric approached.
“May I join you?”
The man looked up.
Short-cropped hair. Sleeves rolled to the elbow. A faint brand traced along his left forearm. His eyes were a bright mossy green.
“Of course, Sir Aldric. Please.”
Aldric sat, poured himself a glass of water, and drained it in one go.
“You can call me Reirdan.”
Aldric nodded.
The hall buzzed around them. Demons laughing, voices interspersed, the scrape of cutlery against stone plates.
Aldric glanced toward the royal table.
Seraphae caught his eye instantly, smiling brightly before blowing him a playful kiss.
Reirdan followed his gaze, then hummed softly.
“I’ve never seen princess Seraphae this happy.”
Aldric smiled faintly.
“I’ve heard she was a handful back in the day.”
Reirdan chuckled.
“That’s putting it lightly. When I first joined the court, she had at least two contenders a week. The dinners were always a spectacle. So much drama.” He shook his head with a faint grin. “I lost months worth of coin pouches to wagers alone.”
Aldric smirked into his cup.
Gambling.
No matter the race, no matter the realm, always the same vices.
“What happened with her? Why did she leave the court?”
Reirdan straightened, the humor fading just a touch.
“I don’t know what truly happened,” he said after a moment.
“Only that there was a major scandal involving a noble house member. The next day, she was gone.” He paused. “No one knows what transpired the night before.”
Aldric nodded slowly.
Across the hall, the royal table burst into giggles.
Reirdan’s gaze drifted that way.
And lingered.
There was something different in his eyes now.
Focus.
Aldric noticed.
A knowing smile curved his lips as he began piling cured meat onto his plate.
“So, how long have you been into her?”
Reirdan blinked.
“Huh?”
Aldric tipped his chin toward the dais.
“Zira. Or Nyxelle. Hard to tell from here.”
Reirdan flushed.
He glanced again, just as Nyxelle stood, snatched something from Kaela’s hands, and retreated to her seat amid peals of laughter. She was flushed now, fanning herself, eyes bright.
Reirdan’s stare followed her.
Hungry.
“Well, um…”
Aldric reached for a pitcher and poured himself water.
“Have you talked to her?”
Silence.
Aldric chewed thoughtfully.
“…Right.”
Aldric decided to pivot away from the love life of a man he’d met less than ten minutes ago.
He studied Reirdan for a moment.
“You carry yourself like a soldier. A knight. Yet I don’t see any armor on you.”
Reirdan hummed softly, approval flickering across his face as if Aldric had seen through him.
“You’re perceptive. I was a knight, in my past life. Before this. Before my brand.”
He lifted his goblet slightly.
“I’ve lived here for nearly half a millennium. I used to wield a blade. Now, I make wine.”
Aldric raised his brows.
“That’s quite a change.”
Reirdan smiled, this time genuine.
“The best decision I ever made was stepping into the fog and crossing into this land.”
“What made you do it?”
Reirdan leaned back, fingers curling around his goblet.
“My battalion was wiped out. We were sent to oppose some lord who’d invaded another’s territory.
I don’t even remember their names.” He took a slow sip.
“I was lucky. Took a blow to the helmet early, hard enough to knock me unconscious on the outskirts of the battlefield. If that hadn’t happened, I’d have been trampled under horses like the rest.”
Aldric listened without interruption.
“When I woke,” Reirdan continued, “the battle was over. The field was quiet. Then I saw men moving through the dead, finishing off anyone who still breathed.”
Aldric’s jaw tightened.
“I fought. Managed to steal a horse. Rode as far as I could. Then I ran. Away from them. Away from the madness.”
Aldric nodded slowly.
“I’ve read about the rebellions that plagued Isendor half a millennium ago.” He paused. “Still… I never thought I’d meet someone who lived through them. The brand extended your life that much?”
“Yes, it did. I age much like high demons now, but earning the full brand was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”
His gaze drifted, unbidden, to the royal table.
Nyxelle laughed at something one of her sisters whispered.
“…Yet,” he added quietly.
Aldric chose not to press.
“You said you make wine now. Do you own a vineyard?”
Reirdan smiled again, but this time it didn’t reach his eyes.
“In practice, yes. I manage everything at the Nyzeth Vineyard. But on paper? No.” He shrugged. “Ownership requires royal sanction. And the demon I technically work for has been at his sea estate for over three hundred years.”
Aldric exhaled through his nose.
“Politics.”
Reirdan hummed in agreement.
His attention drifted, drawn briefly to someone at the neighboring table.
Aldric’s gaze dropped instead to the faint glow of the brand along his forearm.
A slow unease crept into the back of his mind.
So this is what awaits me.
When I complete the brand.
I would age with her.
The thought brought a brief pause.
A faint, unexpected smile.
Then the warmth faded, replaced by something hollow.
What would happen then?
Just… living?
Is that all that awaits me?
He looked back at Reirdan.
“How do you cope?” Aldric asked quietly. “Knowing you’ll live so long. Don’t you ever grow tired of doing the same things, over and over?”
Reirdan laughed, low and genuine, then met his gaze.
“I asked myself that same question. Roughly half a century after completing my brand.”
Aldric listened.
“I tried distractions,” Reirdan went on. “Hunts. Women. Gambling. Glory. Anything that made time feel shorter. Anything to drown myself in. Then I realized I was running from the wrong thing.”
Aldric frowned.
“What do you mean?”
“My purpose,” Reirdan said simply. “I stopped asking how to escape and started asking myself how to live with it.”
Aldric shook his head slightly.
“And how did you find it? How do you commit to one thing for centuries?”
Reirdan chuckled again.
“Just because something is simple doesn’t mean it’s shallow.
There is endless depth in it, if you choose to see it.
For me it’s different soils. Different grapes.
Demon and human palates. Time. Patience.
Subtlety.” He gestured vaguely, as if encompassing the vineyard beyond the walls.
“It’s never finished. There’s always something to refine. ”
He looked back at Aldric.
“My past life had always an end in sight. Wars are simple. You have an enemy. You kill them. You win.” A brief smile tugged at his mouth. “And then the cycle begins again.”
Aldric stayed silent.
“Living for centuries,” Reirdan continued, “requires pursuits that don’t end. Goals you can grow into. Values that shape something better than what came before.”
Aldric studied him for a moment, then asked, almost defensively,
“And for you… that’s winemaking?”
Reirdan smiled with the patience of someone who had asked the same question once.
“Yes. There’s no shame in creating something that brings others joy. Everyone has a way to make the world a little better.”
Aldric opened his mouth to continue—
And the world lurched.
For a split second, his vision blurred, the edges bleeding into crimson.
Sound dulled, then surged back all at once.
Scents sharpened violently: meat, spice, wine, iron.
Too vivid. Too close. Heat bloomed beneath his skin.
Aldric drew in a careful breath, forcing his expression to remain neutral.
His fingers curled briefly against the table’s edge until the worst of it passed.
Reirdan stilled.
“You all right?”
Aldric waved it off with practiced ease.
“Yeah. Just the last remnants of a hangover catching up to me.”
Reirdan nodded.
But his eyes lingered on Aldric a moment longer than necessary.
“How long do you intend to stay in Nerathys?”
Aldric exhaled softly.
“For a while. I want Seraphae to be happy, and…”
He hesitated.
“And?” Reirdan prompted.
Aldric’s gaze dropped briefly to his goblet.
“For the first time in my life, I don’t have a purpose. I have no battle or war to get to.” His fingers brushed unconsciously near his shoulder. “Now I carry this brand, and I know nothing about it. I can feel it pulling at me, demanding something I don’t yet understand.”
Reirdan nodded once, slow and measured.
“Once you begin that journey, it will become easier to see the next step you need to take.”
“But where should I start?”
Reirdan considered that for a moment, then answered casually, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
“Nerathys has a library.”
Aldric was silent for a moment.
Then he nodded.
The brand still lingered.
? ? ?
Soon after breakfast, Seraphae came bouncing across the palace gardens toward him, sunlight catching in her hair. She was in an unmistakably pleasant mood.