Ilyari’s hand locked around Tazien’s as they crossed the threshold of the ballroom.

  “They’ll remember this day,” she whispered, her voice low and tight. “Every one of them. And they’ll pay.”

  Tazien didn’t speak. He only nodded once—jaw clenched, eyes still rimmed with red.

  The hallway was cool compared to the heat of the ballroom, quiet save for the muffled murmur of other nobles dispersing to the post-ceremony festivities. A courier stood waiting near the marble colonnade, stiff and wide-eyed. He bowed quickly and held out two thick envelopes sealed with the Academy’s crest.

  “Official summons for orientation,” he stammered. “Signed and witnessed. Congratulations... Your Graces.”

  He bolted before either of them could respond.

  Vaelen was waiting at the outer portico, arms crossed, one brow lifted. His cocky smirk faltered the moment he saw their faces. “I take it the match didn’t end with applause and a kiss.”

  “Do not speak,” Ilyari muttered, sweeping past him.

  Tazien followed, too drained to mask the grief carved into his features.

  The ride back was quiet. The kind of quiet that thickened the air.

  Vaylen, for once, said nothing.

  When they finally stepped through the shop’s door, Ilyari paused, fingers trailing the edge of her sleeve. The silver silk shimmered even in the low light. Tazien’s coat—once gleaming with pride—was creased now, heavy with the day’s weight.

  “These were only meant for today, weren’t they?” she murmured. “Single wear.”

  Tazien touched his lapel. “We can’t wear this again.”

  Vaylen appeared in the doorway from the workroom, a faint grimace tugging at his mouth. “That’s nobility for you. Flash over function.”

  Vaylen leaned casually against the counter. “That’s not entirely true. Nobles build wardrobes. Collections. Each piece tells a story. Worn once, maybe twice. Then retired, gifted, or—if it’s good enough—auctioned.”

  Ilyari looked down at herself. “Auctioned?”

  “You’d be surprised,” Vaylen said, eyeing her thoughtfully. “There are collectors who pay obscene coin to own gowns tied to infamous moments. Especially scandals.”

  He smiled, but there was something more thoughtful behind his gaze now. “That dress might fetch you half a scholarship one day.”

  Ilyari didn’t laugh.

  Tazien sank onto the shop’s small bench, letting his back hit the wall with a quiet thud.

  There was still blood under his fingernails.

  And the weight of a vow in both their bones.

  Vaylen took the garments with a long, dramatic sigh. “You know these were supposed to be single use, right?”

  “They’re too beautiful to toss,” Ilyari said softly, smoothing a wrinkle in her skirt. “Could you… keep them? Maybe repair them, if it’s possible?”

  Vaylen’s brow twitched, but he nodded. “Fine. I’ll mend and archive them. But don’t think I’m turning into some sentimental cloth hoarder.”

  “Too late,” Tazien muttered, half-smiling.

  They walked the rest of the way home quietly. When they reached the narrow cottage, the moment they stepped inside, the weight returned.

  Tazien sat down at the small table and didn’t speak for a long time. Then, finally: “Was it true? What Caedin said. About our brother. Our parents.”

  Ilyari didn’t answer right away. She pulled off her shoes, folded her arms tightly, and stared at the cracked ceiling above them.

  “Yes,” she whispered. “I remember… they brought Eryk back. He was…” Her voice broke, and she swallowed. “He tried to protect us. He bought us those extra seconds. But I held you so tight because I thought they were going to do the same to you next.”

  Tazien looked down, fists clenched in his lap. “I hate them.”

  “I know,” she said, sitting beside him. “But we’re still alive. And I promised—I will always protect you. No matter what.”

  They didn’t say much else. Eventually, the quiet overtook them both, and they went to bed.

  —

  The next morning, before the sun was fully over the rooftops, a sharp knock startled them both upright.

  A soldier stood at the door, crisp in the red-and-black trim of the Academy guard.

  They stood in front of the old doorway, the one they’d passed through a thousand times—mud-caked boots, sunburnt shoulders, laughter echoing from the street outside.

  But this time, it was different.

  Brinna stood just outside the threshold, one hand gripping her cane, the other folded over her middle. She’d done up her shawl tighter than usual, and the corners of her eyes were suspiciously glassy.

  Ilyari stepped forward first, swallowing hard. “Are you… sure you don’t want to come with us?”

  Brinna scoffed, though the sound lacked its usual bite. “And ruin your noble entrance? No thank you. Besides, someone’s gotta make sure the rats don’t steal the roof while you’re off learning how to eat soup with the right spoon.”

  Tazien chuckled weakly, but his smile faltered. “We’re really going, huh?”

  “You are,” Brinna said, her voice softening. “And you’re going to be fine. More than fine.”

  There was a pause, the kind that stretched and ached at the edges.

  Then Ilyari moved forward and hugged her—tight and wordless.

  Brinna stiffened for half a second, then sighed and wrapped one arm around the girl’s shoulders, her cane rattling against the stones as she shifted. “You’re my girl,” she whispered roughly into Ilyari’s ear. “Both of you. I don’t care what title they stamp on your forehead, you’re mine first.”

  Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

  When Ilyari pulled back, Brinna turned to Tazien. He didn’t wait—just stepped into her arms and squeezed.

  She kissed the top of his white hair like she had when he was small. “You keep your sister close. And you keep your chin up, boy. You hear me?”

  He nodded silently, blinking fast.

  The soldier cleared his throat nearby.

  Brinna straightened. “Go on. Get moving. You’ll see me again. I’ve still got legs, don’t I? I’ll pop by when you least expect it. Probably scare some aristocrat right outta his slippers.”

  Ilyari laughed through the tears and grabbed Tazien’s hand.

  They stepped off the porch, belongings slung over their shoulders, got into the waiting carriage heading down the cobbled path.

  And Brinna stood there, one hand lifted in farewell, until the morning mist swallowed them up.

  ????????????

  The carriage clattered to a stop in the shadow of the Emberstone House.

  Rain speckled the windows as Ilyari and Tazien peered out in silence. The estate stood tall, three stories of pale stone stained gray by years of weather and neglect. Wild vines clung to its face, curling through broken latticework. Weeds choked the cobbled path to the front steps, and the iron gate groaned as the soldier pushed it open. Tall glow willow trees waived their tangled dotted pink glowing fronds in the wind.

  “This is it,” the driver muttered, handing down a thick envelope.

  Tazien took it. The official wax seal snapped beneath his thumb, and inside, on a sheet of aged parchment, were the words:

  Deed of Occupancy – Willowgrove House

  Issued to:

  Ilyari Aierenbane (Exiled)

  Tazien Aierenbane (Exiled)

  azien unrolled the parchment slowly, the wax seal still intact.

  The deed was elegant—etched in silver filigree across heavy vellum, the border shimmering faintly with mana glyphs that authenticated the document. The first thing they noticed was their names… and the sting that followed.

  Ilyari Aierenbane, Exiled.

  Tazien Aierenbane, Exiled.

  The title branded like ash on silk.

  “They put it on the deed,” Ilyari murmured, her voice flat. “As if we needed a reminder.”

  Tazien stared at the words, jaw clenched. “They want us to carry it with us. Always.”

  “But look,” Ilyari pointed farther down, frowning.

  The deed continued in elegant script:

  Property includes the three-story stone manor at 17 Emberstone Row, complete with surrounding perimeter walls, five overgrown gardens (including a medicinal herb plot), and one sealed pond structure located behind the north greenhouse. A small detached workshop, formerly used for trade repairs, is included in the property’s title.

  Her eyes widened.

  “A pond?” she whispered.

  “And gardens,” Tazien said slowly, blinking. “There’s a greenhouse?”

  They both leaned over the parchment, reading again as if it might vanish.

  “And a workshop,” Ilyari added. “Taz… a workshop.”

  Tazien’s silence said everything. His mind was already spinning.

  That wasn’t just a room. That was possibility. Hope. A future.

  Ilyari watched him, something bright flickering behind her tired eyes.

  “Well,” she whispered, voice soft but steady, “they gave us exile. But they also gave us tools.”

  Tazien folded the deed reverently, as if it were a sacred scroll.

  “Then we’ll build something,” he said.

  A soldier stepped forward. “Your residence is under Royal Academy protection. You’re to keep it clean, well-maintained, and ready for inspection. Supplies will be provided monthly.” He gave them a once-over. “No staff. No servants. You’re responsible for your own upkeep unless you can pay servants salaries yourself. And you’re in charge of hiring them.”

  He turned and marched off without another word.

  Ilyari blinked at the retreating soldiers, then looked up at the house. “Well. Home sweet home.”

  They pushed open the heavy oak door. Dust wafted into the air like old breath, and the smell of mildew and long-faded perfume hung in every corner. Cobwebs clung to the stairwell. Wallpaper peeled in long strips.

  But the bones of the place were strong. A formal parlor to the left, cold and still. A long hallway stretched to the rear garden. The staircase rose in a spiral, railing chipped but intact.

  “This place hasn’t been touched in decades,” Tazien whispered.

  “They want us to know we’re not welcome,” Ilyari said.

  They found the bedrooms on the second floor—musty, with old linen still covering the beds. A mattress leaned against the wall. Its cloth yellowed. Tazien grabbed it and dragged it outside with a grunt.

  They spent the next hour beating it under the covered archway with a cracked broom handle while the sky wept overhead. Ilyari scrubbed the bedsheets in a rust-stained basin and draped them over the railing. The scent of lavender still clung faintly to the fabric—faded, but not gone.

  The rain started in earnest by dusk.

  “I guess they’ll dry on us,” Tazien muttered as they brought the damp sheets inside.

  They made the bed together, fighting with stubborn corners and lumpy stuffing, then sat on the edge and stared at their hands. Rain pattered softly against the windows.

  “It’s still… big,” Ilyari said at last. “We’ve never lived in anything this big.”

  Tazien nodded slowly. “Even if they don’t want us, it’s ours.” He bounced on the balls of his feet as he peered out the side window toward the rear garden. The house still echoed faintly with their footsteps, the stone walls absorbing light like secrets.

  “I want to see the pond,” he said, already turning toward the back hall. “And the greenhouse! And—there’s a workshop, Ilyari. A whole workshop!”

  Ilyari gave him a look, one brow raised as she wiped dust from the hearth with the edge of her sleeve. “And do you want to fall through a rotted floorboard on your first day?”

  He paused mid-step. “I mean… no. But—come on, it’s ours. Don’t you want to see what’s back there?”

  She turned to the ancient dining table and blew on the surface. A puff of gray shot up, making her cough. “Taz, this house is old. You saw the ivy climbing through the windows. We don’t even know if all the floors are stable, and that garden path looked like it was planning a rebellion.”

  Tazien groaned and flopped onto one of the less-dusty chairs. “But the deed said there’s a pond. A pond, Ilyari. I could fish! Or swim!”

  “Swim?” she snorted. “You want to get a parasite and fall through the porch?”

  She grabbed a cloth from her bag and tossed it to him. “Start with the table. These rations aren’t going to eat themselves, and I’m not biting into dry soldier bread on top of a cobweb.”

  Tazien grumbled but took the cloth, wiping in large, aimless circles. “Fine. But the second this place stops trying to murder us, I’m going to that workshop.”

  Ilyari crouched beside the hearth, sweeping out a mess of old ash and crumbling soot with the edge of a broken broom. “We probably have to fix the chimney before we can even light a fire in here.”

  He looked around at the cracked stone and mildew-smudged corners, then back at her. “How are we even supposed to fix all this? Who do we hire? Do we just… ask the Emperor for a construction stipend? 'Oh great sovereign, your Exiled gutter royals need new shutters'?”

  Ilyari leaned on the broom handle. “We can’t hire anyone.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because we can’t pay them,” she said flatly. “Unless you’ve got a stash of gold hidden in your boot, we’re broke.”

  Tazien sighed. “So what, we clean the whole estate ourselves? Fix the plumbing? Patch the roof? Figure out how to rebuild a greenhouse with two books and a prayer?”

  She shrugged. “Seems that way. Unless we want to owe the nobles even more than we already do.”

  He let out a long breath, staring at the tarnished chandelier above them. “We’re gonna need help eventually.”

  “Then we’ll figure it out.” She straightened up, brushing ash off her skirt. “Maybe you can use that workshop to tinker. Build something we can sell. Or fix up the house in ways that count.”

  His eyes lit up. “You mean… like the golem?”

  Ilyari gave him a tired smile. “Maybe. If it hasn’t rusted into a block because you left your bag outside for three hours while we beat the mattress. Poor thing didn’t even make it this long.”

  Tazien grinned, energized all over again. “If I can get it running, I could automate some of the heavy work. And maybe—maybe even make more. Sell them to nobles who don’t want to lift a hammer.”

  “That’s the spirit,” she said, grabbing the ration satchel and sitting down beside him. They ate and in the darkness resigned that they could do nothing else and set to go to bed.

  They lay down—damp linen and all—and pulled the thin quilt over their shoulders. For all its flaws, the house was quiet. Solid. Real.

  They lie awake for a long while until Tazien’s snores and the sound of rain on the windows pulled Ilyari into sleep.