I was guided by Le?ncio through the upper halls of the Castle of Seasons.

  The noise grew louder with every corridor. Servants rushed back and forth. Nobles whispered about the festival. And yet, among so much life… my body felt like it was walking alone.

  Why did he summon me? My father never did this. Not at dinners. Not in training. He never asked anything of me. And now… suddenly… “Lukas, come.”

  We reached an imposing door, flanked by statues of ancient warriors.

  — Wait here until you’re called, young master, — said Le?ncio. — I’ll announce you.

  I nodded, trying to breathe.

  As I waited, I heard whispers behind my back:

  — That’s the tenth son, isn’t it?

  — Yes… they say he’s the shame of House Kyros.

  — Why would the Patriarch call him?

  Anger boiled inside me, but I didn’t let it out.

  Again, the same words. Again, whispers like knives.

  But I would not bow.

  Not today.

  Le?ncio returned.

  — You may enter, young master.

  The doors opened.

  The herald’s voice echoed solemnly:

  — Lukas Fernandes. The tenth son of Patriarch Kyros.

  I stepped into the hall.

  Twelve columns upheld the ceiling, each carved with images of the races protected by Kyros. But what stole my breath were the six elite captains — three on each side — standing like living walls.

  The pressure was suffocating. As if the air itself gained weight. As if breathing were a privilege reserved for the strong.

  And then, he entered.

  My father.

  Kyros José Fernandes II. The Thunderous Phantom.

  He walked with firm steps, a silent thunder. As he passed me, his hand rested on my head — only for an instant — before he continued toward the throne.

  He didn’t need words. His presence filled the world.

  When he sat, the entire hall seemed to bow.

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  Then Naira, the vice-commander, broke the silence:

  — My lord, the festival proceeds as planned. The platoons are stationed on the roads. The royal family will arrive before sunset, as expected.

  Lancelot spoke:

  — About the border with the Winter Elves…

  Kyros raised his hand. Silence.

  — I already know. His voice was calm, yet cut like a blade. — The Winter Elves still hate us. Even after all these years… we remain intruders to them.

  He leaned back.

  — But today, Kotan Aspen will come. He and I… we share history.

  — Yes, my lord, — Lancelot bowed his head.

  Gerald continued:

  — The Elves of Summer, Autumn, and Spring have already arrived. Helena Summer, Aurelius Rowan, and Flora Anapelum were received and are walking through the city.

  — Good.

  Elena stepped forward, hesitant:

  — The Fairy Queen, TinBell, has also arrived… but we couldn’t locate her.

  Kyros smirked.

  — That’s normal. Even I can’t keep that little rascal in place. If you find her near wine or bells… handle her gently.

  Draken reported:

  — The beastmen have also arrived. Rubya, the White Tigress, caused some commotion… but calmed down with wine and meat.

  — Very well. That always worked.

  Then Catarina stepped forward.

  The captain. The obstinate one. The one who always dared to speak what others didn’t.

  — My lord, I must insist… we need to speak about—

  The world froze.

  Kyros looked at her.

  He didn’t move a muscle. Yet his aura crashed down like an invisible wall.

  Catarina staggered. Sweat dripped from her temple. Her hands clutched her stomach. The pain bent her to her knees.

  — Catarina… — Kyros spoke, his voice a contained thunder. — That matter is closed. Consider this your final warning. Bring it up again… and you will no longer belong to this house.

  — Y-Yes… my lord… — she gasped.

  — Now leave my sight.

  She withdrew with difficulty. The tension faded.

  — If there is nothing else… you may leave. I want to be alone with my son.

  The captains departed in absolute silence. The doors shut.

  Only the two of us remained.

  Kyros looked at me. His eyes held no anger — but something far heavier: expectation.

  — Come closer, my son.

  I walked to the foot of the throne. Swallowed hard.

  Up close, he was even more overwhelming. The stubble, the black hair, the bronze skin. At sixty-three, he carried the vigor of a warrior in his prime.

  — How are you, my boy? — he asked with an unexpected smile. — Forgive me for not calling you at dinners. I know you’re not comfortable among your siblings.

  — Father… you’re… crushing me with all this attention, — I tried to smile.

  He chuckled.

  — It’s time to form your own house. The Tenth House of Fernandes. Your siblings have their divisions. Your youngest sister is about to enter Delos. You will join the festival. You’ll gather allies. Perhaps… win hearts. And maybe… choose your first banner.

  I lowered my gaze.

  — No one would want to follow me, Father. They’d be throwing their lives away. I’m… just an empty shell. Resembling you on the outside… hollow inside.

  Kyros leaned back on the throne.

  — I was empty too, Lukas. I slept on the streets. I was humiliated. I stole to eat. One day… I joined the army. I was beaten. I fought. I learned. And then… I made the world listen.

  — This city was born from nothing. A gift from the races I once aided. A place with four seasons in the same month. Because here, all are welcome. Humans, elves, fairies, beastmen. Blood doesn’t matter. Here, everyone can smile.

  — That’s why I named it: Smile. The Capital of Dreams. Because the world outside still rots in prejudice. But here… they have a home.

  My throat tightened.

  — You’re incredible, Father…

  He grinned wide.

  — I still receive letters from maidens wanting to marry me. — He laughed. — I should probably refuse with more courtesy…

  — Father…!

  — Anyway. You will take part in the festival. You will show the world who you are. And I will be watching.

  I nodded.

  — I… I’ll do my best.

  — That’s what I expect of a Fernandes.

  Then I dared:

  — Father… what was Catarina trying to say?

  The air shifted. His smile vanished.

  — Don’t think about it. His voice was a wall. — Just prepare yourself. And… enjoy.

  I le

  ft in silence.

  But inside me… that question pulsed like an open wound.

  End of Chapter 3