The estate was quieter than usual. Too quiet. Stefan noticed it immediately: the servants spoke in shorter sentences, footsteps in the halls carried unease, and the guards had doubled their patrols. It was not the silence of peace, but the silence before a storm.
At breakfast, Fabio's brow was furrowed as he scanned through telegrams and reports. Lena tried to maintain her usual grace, but her hand lingered a moment too long on Stefan's shoulder, as though unconsciously bracing him. Anna, however, gave nothing away — her face a mask of calm precision, though her eyes were sharper than ever.
Something was coming.
Visitors from Madrid
By midday, two cars arrived at the estate gates. They were not family, nor trusted friends. These were men in suits — too formal, too deliberate. One bore the insignia of the Ministry. Another Stefan recognized faintly from whispers around Fabio's office: a liaison between the government and foreign embassies.
Their arrival was framed as routine: a discussion of upcoming trade matters, a casual luncheon. But Stefan read the air. It was no courtesy call.
He was invited — no, summoned — to join them after dessert.
A Child Among Wolves
The drawing room was heavy with cigar smoke and polished mahogany. The men smiled too much, their eyes lingering on Stefan longer than politeness required.
"This is the young man we've heard so much about," one said with a chuckle. "Already a student of history, I am told."
Stefan bowed his head politely. "I read what interests me, sir."
Another leaned forward, his voice warm but edged. "And you have quite the gift with words, I hear. Your little speeches to your… friends." He let the word drip with careful condescension.
The Silent Parliament. The words had reached them. Stefan masked the tightening in his chest with the ease of someone far older than six. "We play games," he replied lightly. "Children invent rules all the time."
The men laughed, but it was a hollow laugh. They were not convinced.
The Temptation
One of them leaned closer. "Games can be dangerous things, boy. Sometimes, what begins as play turns into… politics." He tapped ash into a tray. "And politics is not forgiving."
Another added: "But perhaps you are clever enough to understand that. Perhaps even clever enough to imagine a different kind of Europe." His gaze sharpened. "Tell me, Stefan — what would you change, if you could?"
It was a trap. Hill's voice echoed in Stefan's mind — the Devil tempts not with evil, but with opportunity. If he spoke too boldly, he revealed too much. If he cowered, he would lose respect.
So he smiled, childlike yet deliberate. "I would change nothing, sir. Only learn. Because children who don't learn… drift."
The room stilled. For a heartbeat, silence reigned. Then one of the men laughed again, a shade too loud. "Sharp tongue. Very sharp."
But Stefan saw it: a flicker of unease in their eyes.
The Masked Threat
As the meeting drew on, the questions grew subtler, sharper. They asked about his friends — their names, their families. They asked what stories he liked, what games he played, what he dreamed of when he read maps.
Every answer Stefan gave was a dance between candor and concealment. He shared just enough to appear innocent, but never so much as to betray the Parliament's true nature.
At last, one man rose, his smile thin. "Enjoy your games while you can, young Stefan. Childhood does not last forever. And when it ends… one must choose very carefully which side of the table one wishes to sit on."
The words carried no direct threat — but Stefan felt the weight of steel hidden beneath them.
Counsel in Shadows
That night, Fabio found Stefan awake at his desk, the candle flickering over his maps.
"You should not have been in that room today," Fabio said softly, his voice taut with anger — though not at Stefan.
"They wanted to test me," Stefan replied. His tone was calm, measured. "They wanted to see if the stories were true."
Fabio sighed, sitting heavily in the chair across from him. "You are a child. They should not even think of you as… as anything else."
"But they do," Stefan said simply. "And pretending otherwise will not protect us."
Fabio looked at his son then — really looked. And he saw not only the boy before him, but the shadow of the man he might one day become. A man others already feared.
The Notebook
After Fabio left, Stefan turned to his notebook. He wrote, his hand steady, his thoughts sharp:
The world is beginning to watch. First with curiosity. Soon with suspicion. Then with fear.
They will test me again. They will try to tempt me, corner me, break me. But I will not drift. I will not give them what they seek.
He underlined the last sentence with firm precision:
The Parliament must remain invisible until it is inevitable.
A Glimpse of Krieg
Later that night, as he walked through the corridors, Stefan paused at the window overlooking the guards below. The soldiers moved in rigid discipline, their breaths forming clouds in the cold air.
He envied them for a moment — the simplicity of orders, of obedience. No games of masks or hidden questions. Just action. Just sacrifice.
But then he shook the thought away. Leaders could not afford such simplicity. His war would not be fought with rifles and uniforms. His war would be fought in words, alliances, betrayals — battles unseen until the victors were already crowned.
Closing Resolve
As he lay in bed, the weight of the day pressed down on him. For the first time, he had faced the outside world not as a boy, but as a player. For the first time, he had felt the cold edge of scrutiny sharpened against him.
And for the first time, he understood: the Silent Parliament was no longer his secret alone. It was a threat others had begun to sense.
He whispered into the dark, a vow only he could hear:
"If they see me as a danger, then I must become one worth fearing. If they force me to play their game, I will not play to survive. I will play to win."
The candle died. The vow remained.