San and Sina boarded the carriage, and it departed with them to their aunt's palace.
While Osana returned to immersing herself in the details of the party, as if returning to a battlefield whose terrain she knew well, Rina remained behind her, fixed in her place, like a statue forgotten to be completed.
Her hands were trembling.
Not from cold, nor from direct fear—
but from a memory that had suddenly awakened.
Sina's words were not just a passing whisper.
They were a rusty key forced into an old lock.
Robinson's promise.
That name no longer carried a sound… but a threat.
He said he would break her if he was broken.
He said it with a coldness that resembled not madness… but a covenant.
And Rina, although she still didn't know what had happened to him, understood that the punishment that befell him had not been light, nor gentle, and was not forgettable.
She knew it from the palace itself.
From the way the servants began bowing more than necessary.
From their glances that preceded their steps.
From the respect saturated with fear, and the esteem that stemmed not from affection, but from the terror of making a mistake.
They didn't see her as the Duke's daughter.
They saw her as a treasure that must not be broken.
She whispered to herself, trying to quiet the storm: He won't be able to harm me.
But the words fell dead in her chest.
Because the thoughts didn't stop.
They pushed, tangled, giving birth to others, like a whirlpool without a center, like a memory that had lost the ability to exhale.
…
The palace was no longer as it was.
The change wasn't merely a new arrangement…
It was a rewriting of identity.
The furniture was replaced with an older style, more dignified, less showy, as if the walls had suddenly decided to remember who they were before they adorned themselves.
As for the portraits…
They weren't being hung.
They were being summoned.
The first portrait dates back a decade.
Osana and Theobald stand firm and calm, and between them is Karina, a little girl, smiling with an innocence that doesn't yet know the meaning of the name she carries.
And Yuri, beside them, taller, less silent, not yet consumed by cruelty.
Then another portrait.
Quieter… and heavier.
Osana.
Theobald.
And Revellina.
That woman who passed through their lives like a warm breeze, and left an indelible mark.
Her smile in the portrait wasn't broad—it was aware.
As if she knew her presence was temporary.
And Yuri, in that shot, a teenager whose features weren't yet closed, who hadn't learned cruelty as armor.
Then a third, older portrait, and more silent.
The Grand Duke.
Rina's grandfather.
Standing as if time didn't dare push him a step.
Beside him, Osana and Theobald, younger, less stern.
Yuri… a small child, hiding behind his mother, laughing without fear of tomorrow.
Then the portraits continued.
All the way to the first founder.
Faces Rina didn't know by name, but she felt their weight.
As if the walls themselves bowed in respect to them.
And beneath the portraits, achievements were inscribed.
Names not written for boasting, but for remembering the price.
Osana—the woman who held the Duchy together when it nearly fell after her husband's death.
Theobald—slayer of the Blue Dragon when it went out of control, leaving a scar on the land's history.
Yuri—builder of the Mages' Tower, guardian of balance when magic faltered.
Arthur Vershi—who wasn't in the forefront, but was present when needed... and whose cultural achievements are unforgettable.
Then the achievements of the ancients.
Politics.
Blood.
Decisions that changed the fates of generations.
And suddenly, the doors opened.
Guards entered carrying stone statues from the old Vershi palace.
Silent faces, eroded features, but their posture still proud.
They were placed carefully, as if they were tombstones for a time not yet buried.
Everything said:
This is not decoration.
This is testimony.
…
The invitations were limited.
Residents of the South.
And the Emperor.
But the hall didn't feel empty.
Because the minor lords would also attend.
Because this party wasn't a palace party—
but a land party.
A loyalty party.
…
And the day arrived.
Everyone wore luxurious attire, leaning towards the first style, before the Duchy became ornate.
Heavy fabrics, deep colors, embroideries that didn't scream, but imposed themselves.
The family of three stood.
Osana—the Grand Duchess, standing as if she had never left this place.
Theobald—the current Duke, with the features of a man who knew the price of every decision.
And Rina… standing between them.
The future Duchess.
They waited.
They waited for the rest of the Vershi lineage, to finally gather, after years of absence, as one family.
In past years, no one came.
The rifts were deeper than pleasantries.
But this day… was different.
The doors opened.
They entered in two rows.
Arthur Vershi at the front, walking with a confidence not without caution, and beside him his twin sons, identical to the point of confusion.
And near them, Clara Vershi, her features pale, the divorce still fresh in her eyes.
Behind them, Luigen Vershi,
and Claude Vershi beside his wife, Rowelan, who scanned the hall with the gaze of a woman who forgets nothing.
The greetings began.
Then the handshakes.
Theobald played his part calmly.
As for Osana…
She smiled only because protocol demanded it.
In her memory, these faces were not unfamiliar.
Their fathers—her brothers-in-law—
were the first to try to break her.
They called her the outsider blood.
Said she didn't belong.
That her existence was a mistake.
But the Grand Duke, Iron Vershi, stood against them all.
Fought.
And cemented her name beside his.
And when Osana gave birth to Theobald…
She could no longer be erased.
And as the party continued to form, Rina watched silently.
Feeling that this day wasn't just a celebration.
But a test.
For the family.
For their history.
And for her… more than she cared to admit.
…
Arthur advanced with measured steps across the marble floor, each step emitting a faint echo as if the palace was re-weighing the name he carried. He stopped before Osana, and bowed with noble discipline, the bow of a man who knew well how to embody the weight of the Duchy without raising his voice.
He said in a quiet, polished voice:
"Greetings, my lady… It has been a long time since we last met. I wish to offer my apologies for this long absence."
His apology was not submission, but a formal ritual, a masterful performance of a dignity learned since childhood.
The rest bowed in turn, their heads tilting without words, as if silence alone was safer than any sentence that might be misread.
Karina was standing beside her grandmother, her body straight, her eyes watching the scene with cautious anticipation. As for Osana, her features had calmed slightly—a calm that didn't mean forgiveness, but control—and she nodded slowly, then gestured for them to straighten up and rise from their bows.
At that moment, Theobald moved and signaled for Rina to approach.
She stepped forward with quick steps, her features steady, without confusion or haste. Her shoes tapped the marble with a clear rhythm, a sound echoing in the hall like an announcement of a presence that couldn't be ignored.
Theobald said in a decisive voice:
"This is my daughter…"
Rina placed her hand on her heart and bowed a light bow, her tone pure, deliberate:
"I am called Karina Vershi."
A quiet smile formed on Arthur's face, not devoid of distant memory.
"I remember you when you were much younger… You've grown, Princess."
---
Nearby, Clara was leaning against the back of a nearby chair, her hand pressing against the small of her back with obvious fatigue. Her gaze slid with open contempt towards her brother's children, then she whispered to them sharply, unconcerned with those around her:
"Ugly… like your father."
Rina heard the phrase and blinked with slight confusion, as if doubting whether she had truly heard it.
As for the twins, they stuck their tongues out at Clara with crude, childish mockery, and she let out a short, sharp laugh, then straightened up as if nothing had happened.
She said with a sarcastic coldness:
"Stop chattering, you bores."
A heavy silence lasted for a few seconds, before Luigen pounced with his angry voice:
"Shut your mouth, woman."
Clara turned to him with eyes sparking fire, and replied with a verbal brutality devoid of any embellishment:
"I'm the one who'll shut your mouth… and open it with a serrated blade."
Claude intervened immediately, his voice taut like a rope about to snap:
"Enough, both of you! Don't push me to commit a folly I'll regret."
And the scene turned in moments into a chaos of overlapping voices, an old quarrel breaking out from under the skin without invitation.
Arthur tried to intervene, raised his hand, took a step forward… but the voice that cut through everything was heavier than them all.
"All of you, be silent!"
Theobald's voice cleaved the hall like a sword's edge.
Silence fell immediately, a sharp silence as if the air itself had frozen.
Rina was standing with shocked features, her mouth half-open, not yet accustomed to this face of the family.
Osana, in contrast, didn't move. She knew well that the nature of this lineage was built on trivial quarrels hiding older resentments beneath.
Clara took a step forward, trying to reclaim her dignity:
"Cousin, Lord Theobald… they were the ones who started bothering me."
Voices erupted again:
"Lies!"
"Slander!"
"Shame on you!"
Theobald raised his hand in a decisive gesture.
"One more word… and I'll cancel the party."
The words fell like a final verdict.
Everyone fell silent.
Even Arthur, who seemed as if he had nearly lost his balance from the intensity of trying to contain this family explosion, merely lowered his head slightly… and remained silent with them.
….
The streets had donned their finest attire, as if the entire city had decided to bow to the memory of Vershi's founding. Decorated fabrics stretched across facades, silk ribbons embraced atop columns, and even the simplest vendors—those with only their wooden carts—adorned their spots with small flowers and modest flags, as if silently, proudly sharing the family's glory.
Then… the announcement resounded inside the hall.
The moment of the Vershi family's entrance was announced.
The crowd visually parted before physically parting, as Karina stepped to the front. Her steps were calm, measured, without haste or hesitation, as if the ground itself recognized her tread. Directly behind her was Theobald, his posture straight as a marble column, and beside him Osana, her features still carrying the dignity of long years of endurance and struggle.
Behind them, Arthur walked with slower steps, beside him Luigen, his presence less noisy but no less weighty.
In the next row came Clara, her features taut like an unplayed string, and beside her Claude and his wife, then at the very end of the line, the two children—their presence light, but a reminder that the lineage doesn't end, but extends.
For the first time in many years…
The lineage gathered complete.
Not at a funeral, nor in a crisis, but at a party that belonged to them alone, a party that redefined the name they carried. Inside the hall, astonishment was clear on the faces; intermittent whispers, held breaths, and glances trying to comprehend this long-absent gathering.
And the eyes weren't captivated only by the names…
But by all that surrounded them.
The hall was a painting of pure nobility: the decorations, the lights, the colors chosen with a care resembling ancient rites. Every detail in it said that Vershi wasn't celebrating… but declaring.
As for the Emperor, he was seated on his throne, his back supported, his gaze steady, missing nothing.
And deep within him, there was no hesitation.
This family—with all its contradictions, conflicts, and inherited ferocity—
must remain his ally.