"If the gods had given him strength, the Sword had made him all but invincible. Where he walked daemons died. Where he led, victory was inevitable. But he could not be everywhere and with every day the forces opposed to him grew stronger and those who followed him grew fewer and fewer."

  —Aenarion’s struggle.

  Three weeks had passed since Calethor’s visit to Arathion and his twin sons, Tyrion and Teclis. He had returned home successfully, with the artificer housed near his family's villa, along with his family and servant. The potions they had brought had restored Teclis to the best health he’d ever been in—obviously still sickly, but as long as he regularly drank the tonics, he would be able to live a relatively normal life.

  Arathion had entered another phase of obsession at the influx of resources to continue repairing the armor.

  A smile had dawned on the Cothique’s Prince face as the first boxes of tools and materials were dropped in. Calethor had spoken to the seneschal of his family to every so often check on Arathion to ensure he doesn't get too lost in his work.

  But now came the hard part — getting his parents to fully agree. They had allowed him to bring Arathion back, but he still needed to prove the investment was worth it.

  Calethor was about to speak with both of his parents as to why he had emphasized it was so important to him to hire Arathion. Their patience in waiting for a proper explanation from him was honestly impressive. Elves were known to have flights of fancy or obsessions every so often, none more so than the noble families of the ten kingdoms. Of course not all were so lost in personal pleasure, court gossip, and other frivolous things. Just more than you'd like.

  He was now walking to a small but tastefully decorated sitting room near his parents' chambers. Dedicated in hosting meetings and conversations of a more personal nature. Prior to him leaving for Cothique, he had given a brief outline of his plan. Cale had failed to go into detail though, and wanted to explain himself to his parents so they weren't left uncomfortable or questioning his judgment.

  Truthfully, he wasn't too worried. Letting himself into the sitting room, he saw that both his parents were already waiting for him. His mother, Lysandria, sat with the composed grace expected of her, dressed in layered robes of deep blue trimmed with gold. Her silver-white hair was intricately braided and pinned, adorned with delicate ornaments that caught the light. She looked every bit the accomplished mage and noblewoman she was — elegant, refined, and sharply observant.

  His father stood beside her, tall and commanding even while relaxed. Talarion wore robes of rich crimson and gold, the colors of House Stormvaine, with a white fur draped over his shoulders. His pale hair fell long and straight, framing a face that carried the weight of authority without needing to announce it. His arms were crossed loosely, his expression calm but expectant.

  Talarion's hand rested on Lysandria's shoulder as he spoke. "So. Explain to us why this Cothique Prince was worth the effort."

  The tone his father used was more curious than accusatory. Cale was sure if he couldn't explain himself well, it would shift to something more annoyed. But he wasn't worried—he was confident in his reasoning.

  Sitting down on the couch across from them, he relaxed into the cushions. Calethor wanted to start with the strongest point first.

  "The major reason was that both twins are related to Lady Malene of House Emeraldsea. She is their aunt." Both his parents were heads of their currently thriving noble house—he was sure he didn't need to explain why that connection mattered.

  The shift occurred almost instantly. The moment he said Emeraldsea, both his parents' expressions turned more thoughtful. House Emeraldsea was one of the wealthiest, if not the wealthiest, noble merchant houses in Eataine. Their fleet was second only to the reigning Phoenix King's. Their influence could not be overstated.

  "A connection to House Emeraldsea is promising," his mother said, her tone thoughtful. "But it does not guarantee a return on our investment. If their aunt valued them so highly, why leave them housed in the mountains like that?"

  That was a fair question and something Calethor did not have a straight answer for. So he could only hypothesize.

  Calethor responded. "I believe with her sister's death — Alysia — she is still in mourning, as is the father. Arathion has yet to fully recover from his wife's death. Only three years have passed. It will be only a matter of time before she comes to check on the twins."

  "You believe." His father's tone was calm, but unmistakably firm. "That is not enough. What do you know?"

  At his father's question, he felt himself sweat a bit. His father was an Elf of presence, to be sure — the combination of how he carried himself, his tone, and the weight behind his words came together to be quite intimidating.

  "Arathion is a descendant of Aenarion, which makes him a relative of ours," Cale said, thinking quickly as he spoke. "Which means the twins will have to be tested for the Curse when they are sixteen. When they go before the Phoenix King, Emeraldsea will show themselves."

  His father considered what he'd said, while his mother now seemed to have something to add. Cale felt like he was getting the good cop, bad cop treatment.

  Lysandria's expression remained composed. "The testing requires the father's presence, not the aunt's. You still have not explained why House Emeraldsea would concern themselves with this."

  "Arathion is not a typical Elven Prince. He has no love for the intrigue of court, nor any desire to play those games. He has but one obsession." Cale paused for emphasis. "He is in possession of Aenarion's Dragon Armor — an artifact from the older days, when daemons and the Chaos Gods were unchained, before the making of the Vortex. It is damaged. Arathion is an artificer who has made it his sole focus to repair it to what it once was."

  He needed to explain who Arathion truly was. They were thinking of him as a typical prince of the ten kingdoms — one who loved drama and the sound of his own voice. This was not the case.

  His father's expression shifted at the mention of the armor, his personality leaning more towards the martial. His mother, however, seemed relatively unimpressed by it. That was fine — Cale was sure she was still interested in the benefits the young sons could bring through their connection to Emeraldsea.

  "Let me understand," Lysandria said, her eyes narrowing slightly. "You believe Arathion is too consumed with his work to fulfill his duties as a father? That he would simply... not go?" She paused, piecing it together. "Which means Lady Malene will eventually have no choice but to involve herself. And by that time, the twins will be under our roof." She looked at Talarion, then back to Calethor. "Giving us favor with House Emeraldsea."

  Talarion nodded at his wife's words, but Calethor could see his mind was already elsewhere. The armor had him.

  "How much progress has he made?" His father leaned forward slightly. "And we are certain of its authenticity?"

  Unfortunately, while Calethor knew it to be the real thing, he had no way of explaining his other life's knowledge. But with his parents' resources, they could vet it.

  "No one doubts that what he possesses is ancient. But whether it is Aenarion's armor itself — that is where others begin to doubt." He spoke honestly. "I believe it is."

  He continued. "But we can have our family's blacksmiths, artificers, and loremasters examine it as well. While I do not believe anyone will be able to fully verify it, I know they will at least not disprove it. They will see it to be the work of our ancestors regardless. It is unlike any modern craftsmanship."

  His father considered that, his excitement tempered but not entirely gone. "I will have to see it for myself," he said, half to himself.

  His mother had watched the exchange and now wore a small smile as she looked at his father. She knew his interest in anything regarding warfare, and knew his hobby of collecting weapons and armor. She shook her head with quiet amusement. He had won his father over.

  His mother turned her full attention back to him. "You have clearly given this considerable thought." There was approval in her voice. "Your reasoning is sound, even if the presentation could use refinement. More importantly, you believe in this enough to see it through." Her expression softened slightly. "And I am glad you helped the younger twin. We would have provided treatment regardless of whether you could convince us. I am not so cold as that."

  Warmth filled him at his mother's words. While he had focused on the future of this world, he could not forget that he was considerably blessed with a wise and loving family. They would not look to tear him down — they wanted him to grow.

  "Thank you." He smiled at them. "And I also propose that if, by the time they reach sixteen, Emeraldsea has not shown up, we revisit this discussion. While I believe wholeheartedly in my decision, I won't pretend I can't be wrong."

  They both nodded. Talarion glanced toward his wife, a question clear in his eyes. Lysandria's smile turned knowing. She gestured him closer, and when he leaned down, she kissed his cheek lightly. "Go look at your precious armor." There was warmth in her voice, and his father actually looked faintly embarrassed at being so transparent.

  Calethor kept his eyes fixed on the table in front of him, pointedly looking anywhere else while his parents had their moment. Some things never stopped being awkward, regardless of how old you got.

  He looked up at the sound of the door closing. His father had slipped out, no doubt already planning his visit to see the armor. His mother caught his expression and let out a soft snort, clearly entertained by his discomfort.

  "One more thing I want to add," Calethor spoke up. "While Arathion is obsessed, he will still craft things for us in return for our patronage. He understands that we facilitate an easier path to repairing it, even if it doesn't seem like it. I can't promise he will fulfill tasks that would take him away from the armor for long, though."

  "Your artificer sounds intriguing." His mother's expression was thoughtful. "It surprises me that a prince would accept such an arrangement, regardless of their circumstances. Pride tends to outlast wealth among our kind. But if he is as focused as you say, perhaps pride matters less to him than his work."

  He let out a soft sigh, feeling the release of tension now that he'd convinced them. He had accomplished what he'd set out to do. Leaning back, he rested his head against the couch cushion and looked at the ceiling.

  "You know we were only being so strict because we care for you, yes?" His mother's voice was gentler now. "There are far less kind elves who would seize any opportunity to undermine you — simply for who you are. The courts are battlegrounds, Calethor. And you are more honest than most." The way she framed it made honesty sound less like a flaw and more like something precious.

  "I do understand," he responded. "And I appreciate it. I fear I will never be as politically savvy as you, Mother."

  His mother smiled at that. "You will find your own way, Calethor. You always do." Her expression shifted slightly, becoming more businesslike. "Now, I will need to draft a proper agreement between our houses. Diminished or not, Arathion is still a prince. These things must be done correctly."

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  She stood, smoothing her robes. "Go. I am sure you have other things to attend to." There was affection in her tone, dismissal without any coldness.

  He rose, bowed his head slightly to his mother, and left through the doors. Two armored guards flanked the entrance, spears upright. They dipped their heads in acknowledgment as he passed.

  Cale hoped this small change would allow the twins a happier childhood, especially Teclis. Or would he still grow up bitter and sharp, as he had in the books? Only time would tell.

  The days that followed settled into a comfortable rhythm. With Arathion's situation handled and his parents satisfied, Calethor allowed himself something he'd been neglecting — time with his family.

  Cale had decided that, in the time left before his hunt, he should enjoy his time with family and friends. Most of his time since his "remembering" had been dedicated to study, training, and depressing thoughts. Of course, he had taken downtime to refresh himself, and he had spent time with his mother, father, and sister. It still wasn't as much as he felt it should be.

  His sister, Ariandrel, sat across from him with a frown on her face. She was sixteen now. His mother sat at a table a short distance away, reading a scroll.

  "How are you so good at this?" Ari pouted, holding a gold piece. "You said you never played before."

  His attention was pulled back to the game he was playing with his sister. He had honestly forgotten that chess existed in this world. Calethor had never been interested in it, so it had slipped his mind. David, on the other hand, had loved it. So now he was stuck in the middle ground—never having played it in this life, but carrying a real fondness for it anyway.

  He smiled. “I haven’t. Ask Mother if she’s ever seen me play.”

  “Liar.”

  “Ask Mother,” he said, nodding toward the table.

  Their mother didn’t look up from what she was doing. “To my knowledge he has never played.”

  Ari pointed at the board with the chess piece. “Then how?”

  Calethor moved one of his pieces. “Maybe you’re just bad.”

  Ari’s eyes narrowed.

  She leaned in, studying the pieces. “Don’t move. I need time to think.”

  “You’ve needed to think for the last six turns.”

  Ari made a small sound of offense. “Stop talking.”

  “You started it.”

  “I asked a question.”

  “And I answered.”

  “No, you didn’t.”

  Calethor sat back, hands up in surrender. Enjoying teasing her immensely. Wondering if she would realize that he was annoying her on purpose. “It just makes sense when I look at it.”

  Ari stared at him like that was somehow worse. “That’s not fair.”

  She dragged a piece forward with too much confidence. “There.”

  Calethor didn’t hesitate. He slid his dragon across the board and took one of her loremasters. The game used different names for the pieces, but thankfully the core rules had stayed the same. It had only taken him a moment to connect the new names to their movements.

  Ari froze. “You can’t do that.”

  “I just did.”

  “That’s not how it moves.”

  “It is,” Calethor said, and glanced toward their mother again. His voice is sickly sweet. "Mother, could you inform my young sister of the rules once more.”

  Age did not matter in the internal war of rage baiting a sibling. It was a sacred tradition passed through time and space. Calethor saw that now with memories of two lives.

  Their mother sighed without looking up. Not taking his side unfortunately, but luckily he had a back up plan.

  “Maerthas?” Cale looked at the Chracian in the corner.

  “I am afraid those are the rules, Princess.” He had closed his eyes, appearing disheartened to be pulled into the battle between siblings.

  Ari’s jaw dropped. “Since when?”

  “Since always,” Calethor said.

  Ari slapped the gold coin down on the table. “Then this game is stupid.”

  “You say that every time you start losing.”

  “I’m not losing.”

  Calethor tapped the board with one finger. “Ari. You have three pieces left.”

  She looked down, then up, then down again, as if the pieces might return. “That’s because you’re cheating with your face.”

  “My face?”

  “You keep making smug expressions to distract me!”

  Calethor laughed. “That’s not cheating. It is my duty as your older brother to keep you humble in all things.”

  Ari leaned closer. “Who decided that?”

  “Every elder sibling in the world met in council to make the rules,” he said confidently.

  Ari grabbed another gold piece and flicked it at him. It bounced off his shoulder and clinked on the table.

  Their mother finally looked up, eyes sharp. “Ariandrel.”

  Ari straightened immediately. “It slipped.”

  Calethor picked it up and rolled it between his fingers. “Only a younger sibling would stoop so low to violence.”

  “I’m going to bite you,” Ari muttered.

  Calethor smiled, then pointed at her side of the board. “It is still your turn.”

  Ari made a move, slower this time. She glanced up at him like she was daring him to laugh.

  Calethor nodded once, a serious look on his face. “Could be worse.”

  Ari’s eyes narrowed and she huffed. “If I win, you owe me something.”

  Calethor arched a brow, enjoying the expressions he could make as an elf. It seemed they had a natural control of their facial expressions, at least compared to what he remembered as David.

  “That is a big if.”

  “...”

  She stared at the pieces like they’d personally offended her.

  “Stop being smug.”

  “I’m not smug.”

  Ari tapped her coin against the table. “You are smug. It’s your face again.”

  Calethor’s smile widened.

  She made her next move with exaggerated care, muttering under her breath the whole time.

  Calethor watched, then shifted his piece into place. “You're about to lose your Everqueen.”

  Ari’s head snapped up. “No, I’m not.”

  He started wiggling his eyebrows at her.

  She stared at him. “I hate you.”

  Deciding he’d had enough fun tormenting her, he said, “Why don’t we call it a draw, then? In the next couple turns you might have won.”

  They had already played multiple matches together, and while he immensely enjoyed himself, he could tell Ariandrel was reaching the end of her patience with losing. He could have let her win a couple times to be nice, but that was counter to his older-brother instincts.

  “I like that idea. Of course, I was only going easy on you. Had to let you learn the game,” Ari said.

  “Of course.” Cale smiled at her. “It’s decided, then. A draw.”

  He held his hand out to her, fist closed. One small thing he had missed was fist bumps, so he’d taught Ari how to do it—telling her it was a secret greeting between them.

  Ari bumped her fist against his.

  She stood up first, pushing back from the table and scooping up a couple of the pieces they'd been using. She paused, then pointed one at him. "Next time, I’m winning."

  "I look forward to it," Calethor said.

  Ari flicked a coin back onto the board with a huff and wandered off, already scanning the room for something else to chase down. Calethor watched her go, then leaned back in his chair for a moment, the quiet settling in after the noise of it all. His eyes drifted to his mother across the room, scrolls spread in front of her. He stood, stretched — feeling his back pop — and headed over.

  His father was probably off conducting some important meetings with other noble families—always business with him. Calethor couldn’t blame him, though. He’d acquired the same focus in self-improvement. Mostly through external motivators sadly.

  The room they were in was a comfortable space with tall windows that ran along one wall, letting in light. Through them, Calethor could see a courtyard below. Carved chairs sat around the broad table where his mother was sitting.

  He seated himself across from her and poured a glass of water from a pitcher left on the table. Lady Lysandria was an elf who had only recently passed three centuries, and had been married to his father for a quarter of that time. She was an accomplished mage who, earlier in her life, had served on many High Elven ships within their fleet, as many gifted in magic did.

  Using the Winds of Magic to pull wind into sails, casting spells that allowed their ships to cut smoothly through the stormiest seas—mages were a critical reason the Elven fleets reigned supreme on the oceans, even as humans and dwarfs embraced gunpowder.

  More importantly, though, she was a doting mother to Calethor and his sister. Surprisingly, she had never pushed Calethor to learn magic, which made sense, he supposed. He had no overwhelming talent in it, nothing so rare it would have been a waste not to cultivate, but elves were a magically inclined race regardless, and he could have learned.

  The blame was on him. Calethor, prior to the merge with David’s memories, just hadn’t been interested. It was mind-boggling to him now how he’d ever decided he didn’t want to learn magic. Magic.

  “What were you reading?” he asked. His mother had only just put it down.

  Lysandria turned the scroll slightly so he could see the heading written in Eltharin, the language of the High Elves. She rolled it up with practiced ease. “A report from Lothern,” she said. “Ship movements, merchant discussions, and the current goings of the Phoenix Court.”

  Calethor gave a small hum. “Sounds thrilling.” He meant it too, perhaps if he had been the Calethor before there would have been sarcasm.

  She looked at him curiously, as if to see whether he was serious.

  “My adorable little Calethor seems to have vanished in a blink. Do you realize how much you have changed?” she said, and there was sadness in it.

  Calethor held her gaze. It made him uncomfortable. Undeniably, she was his mother—he remembered every little thing from his childhood. The love and time she had given to his upbringing would never leave him. Even with the recollection of an entirely different life, it didn’t take away from her importance to him. It just put things into perspective.

  He could not stay how he was.

  “You’ve been quieter… more serious,” she continued. “I’m not angry about it. It just feels like you’ve grown up.”

  He let out a slow breath. “I believe I’ve been given some much-needed perspective recently.”

  “I know.” Her tone softened a fraction. “I suppose I should be grateful you’ve only changed this much. Some have been changed far more by far less.”

  He knew both of their thoughts went to his near-death at the hands of the Dark Elf incursion. It wasn’t uncommon for small bands to slip in from the shores and try to steal away families. Their long-lost kin from a violent civil war past, any chance to mend that rift had been taken away with time.

  It was convenient that he’d regained his memories only after something so traumatic. It explained most, if not all, of the changes his family saw in him. More than just a near-death experience had happened to him.

  Calethor tried to cheer her up. “Well, regardless of the circumstances, I was going to change. We should just think of it as me maturing a little sooner than we expected.” He smiled. “Surely it was needed for me to take life a little more seriously.”

  His mother reached out and rested her hand over his for a moment. “Maturing isn’t a bad thing,” she said. “I’m just reminiscing. Your changes aren’t bad—probably for the better. But it’s the nature of parents everywhere to worry.”

  It didn’t cheer her up as much as he’d hoped, and he searched for something else to say. The thought hit him suddenly, and he sighed inwardly. In front of him was a gifted magic user, and he was now interested in learning. Cale was also looking for a teacher. In all this time, even with his newfound appreciation for it, he had still shoved it to the back burner.

  “Well on another note.” He began changing the subject. “If I had gained an interest in learning magic from you, what would be your thoughts?” He questioned.

  She blinked, as if she wasn’t sure she’d heard him correctly.

  “You’re serious,” she said, and there was a small lift to her voice.

  “I had accepted that the magical arts hadn’t interested you. I tried gauging your interest when you were younger.” She shook her head once. “Only swords and spears had held your interest.”

  The sadness from earlier left her as she considered his question. “I do wish you would have told me about your newfound interest before you go off to hunt a White Lion in hand-to-hand combat.” Her tone came out exasperated.

  Calethor winced, She was not wrong. He really wondered how he had overlooked something so important. Maybe his views of it as Calethor still held some sway, but David’s were raging against his forgetfulness. His perspective on anything magical that he could learn beyond angry they had missed that chance to be learning it all this time.

  No use thinking about it now though. He would just have to look forward to it after he accomplished his hunt. He wasn't sure if magic was even allowed for it anyway, so it was like it would have improved his odds. Cale couldn't help himself at the thoughts of eventually being able to cast spells, excitement thrummed through him.

  He looked at his mother and smiled, embarrassed. “Well, it’s something to look forward to.”