Anyo remained where he stood after Lysara spoke.
"Mother wants all of us at breakfast."
The words lingered in the quiet room.
"All of us…"
He frowned slightly.
That almost never happened.
Breakfast inside the Truman estate was usually scattered. Damian was often already outside swinging a sword before sunrise. Lysara spent most mornings either studying or sparring with Father. Mother rarely appeared outside her study until much later in the day.
So why today?
Anyo looked up at his sister.
"Did someone important visit?"
Lysara had already turned toward the door. She paused long enough to glance back at him.
"No."
"Did Damian break something again?"
A faint smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.
"Not yet."
She opened the door and stepped into the hallway.
"Just hurry up."
The door remained open behind her.
Anyo stood there for another moment, staring at the spot where she had been.
Something about today felt strange.
He shook his head and pushed the thought aside.
Breakfast first.
Questions later.
He stepped out into the hallway.
The Truman estate was already awake.
Morning light streamed through the tall windows lining the outer wall, stretching long rectangles of gold across the polished marble floor. Servants moved quietly through the corridor carrying folded linens and trays of freshly baked bread.
The air smelled faintly of butter and warm dough drifting up from the kitchens below.
Anyo had barely taken a few steps before a familiar voice stopped him.
"You are already late, Young Lord."
Anyo froze.
Slowly, he turned.
Head Maid Vivian stood several steps down the hallway with her hands folded neatly in front of her apron. Her maid uniform was immaculate as always, the long black skirt brushing just above the floor. A pair of thin glasses rested neatly on the bridge of her nose.
Behind her stood two younger maids holding towels and folded clothing.
Marissa.
Candice.
Anyo groaned quietly.
"How did you know?"
Vivian adjusted her glasses.
"You attempted to avoid morning preparations yesterday as well."
"That was different."
"You said the same thing yesterday."
Lysara leaned casually against the wall nearby, clearly enjoying the situation.
Anyo looked between them.
Then sighed.
Even if he tried to run, it would not work.
Vivian was Level Five point nine.
Marissa and Candice were both close to five.
Against them, he would not make it three steps.
"…Fine."
Vivian gave a small approving nod.
"Very good, Young Lord."
The bathing chamber was already prepared.
Warm water filled the polished basin carved from pale stone. Thin curls of steam drifted lazily into the air while Marissa tested the temperature with her fingers.
Anyo dipped one toe into the water.
Then quickly pulled it back.
"Too hot."
Candice poured another pitcher of cooler water into the basin while Vivian watched calmly.
"Try again."
Anyo tested the water once more.
Better.
Soon he sat in the basin up to his shoulders, scrubbing soap through his hair while the maids prepared his clothes nearby. The scent of citrus soap filled the room.
Lysara leaned against the doorway with her arms folded.
"You woke up early just to read again, didn't you?"
"It was important."
"Of course it was."
"I was practicing."
"With a book."
"It worked yesterday."
Lysara shook her head.
"Just hurry."
When they finished, Anyo stood dressed in fresh clothes.
His outfit resembled noble attire at first glance.
Dark trousers.
A fitted vest.
A light coat embroidered with the silver crest of House Truman.
But the fabric itself was flexible and reinforced.
Training clothes.
He stretched his arms and twisted his shoulders.
"Finally."
Vivian adjusted his collar before stepping back.
"You are ready, Young Lord."
Anyo immediately headed toward the hallway.
The estate halls stretched wide and bright before him.
Polished stone columns rose along the walls between tall windows that overlooked the estate grounds below.
Portraits lined the corridors.
Dozens of them.
Past Trumans stared down from gilded frames.
Some stood in armor surrounded by broken monsters.
Others held intricate formations of weave glowing between their hands.
Generals.
Weavers.
Scholars.
Every portrait carried the same silver crest.
Anyo slowed as he walked past them.
He liked this hallway.
Sometimes he stopped here just to look at them.
From the tall windows he could see nearly the entire estate grounds.
The melee training yard, where rows of wooden dummies stood battered and scarred.
The weaver training ring, a circular platform carved with faint weave channels used for controlled spell practice.
And beyond that, the mixed training field, where the two disciplines met.
Further away sat the smithy, where faint sparks flashed inside the open forge.
The stables stood nearby, several stable hands already guiding horses across the yard.
The estate was enormous.
And every part of it was built for one purpose.
Strength.
Heavy footsteps echoed from the opposite corridor.
Anyo looked up just as Damian Truman turned the corner.
His older brother was already dressed for training. A sleeveless tunic exposed the strong lines of his arms and shoulders, and a practice sword rested loosely at his hip. His dark hair was slightly damp, as if he had already finished his morning exercises.
Damian slowed when he spotted him.
A grin spread across his face.
"Well, well."
He folded his arms and leaned one shoulder against a stone pillar.
"Look who survived the maids."
Anyo frowned and stopped a few steps away.
"I always survive."
Damian tilted his head slightly, studying him.
"Barely."
He crouched suddenly, bringing himself closer to Anyo's height.
"Two days left," Damian said, tapping Anyo lightly on the forehead with one finger. "Think you'll break six?"
Anyo opened his mouth—
But before he could answer, Lysara stepped into the hallway behind him.
Damian's eyes shifted instantly.
The grin on his face widened.
"Well… look who finally decided to appear."
Lysara continued walking without slowing.
"I was already awake."
Damian straightened and rolled his shoulders.
"Good," he said.
The teasing tone disappeared.
"How about a quick match after breakfast?"
Lysara stopped.
For a moment she studied him.
Then she shrugged lightly.
"If Father allows it."
Damian grinned wider.
"That means yes."
Anyo looked between them.
"…you two are strange."
Neither of them answered.
The dining hall was already bright with morning light.
Tall windows stretched along the eastern wall, allowing sunlight to spill across the long polished table at the center of the chamber.
Lord Alric Truman sat at the head.
His posture was perfectly straight, his hands resting calmly on the armrests of his chair. His dark hair was pulled neatly back, and the faint silver threads at his temples only made him appear more imposing.
Beside him sat Lady Seraphine.
Unlike Alric's rigid presence, she carried herself with quiet elegance. One hand rested lightly against her teacup while she watched the children enter the room.
The twins were not present.
Their nanny was likely feeding them in the nursery before their morning nap.
The moment Anyo stepped inside, the head butler appeared.
Charles moved with quiet precision, as though he had been waiting just outside the door. His silver hair was combed neatly back, and his uniform was pressed perfectly.
He bowed first to the head of the table.
"My lord."
Then he turned slightly.
"My lady."
After that he acknowledged the others.
"Young Lady Lysara. Young Lord Damian. Young Lord Anyo."
Breakfast was served quickly.
Warm pancakes.
Sliced fruit.
Honey.
Fresh bread.
Charles placed the final dish on the table before bowing once more and leaving the room.
For a moment the only sound in the hall was the faint clinking of utensils.
Anyo stared down at the pancakes in front of him.
Then he glanced up toward his father.
Lord Alric was already watching him.
"So," Alric said calmly.
"Anyo."
Anyo straightened immediately in his chair.
"Yes, father?"
Alric leaned back slightly, studying him.
"In two days you will take the examination."
His voice was calm.
Measured.
"The Truman family has produced weavers for generations."
Anyo nodded quickly.
"I know."
Damian snorted softly beside him.
Alric continued.
"Most citizens possess reserves between one and two."
He raised one finger.
"Adventurers generally fall between three and five."
Another finger joined the first.
"Elite fighters and lower nobles often reach six."
Anyo listened carefully.
Alric lowered his hand.
"The Truman family," he said quietly, "has never produced a weaver below six."
The room became very still.
Anyo felt his chest tighten slightly.
Then he smiled.
A bright, confident grin.
"I will do my best, father."
Damian leaned back in his chair.
"You should aim for seven," he said casually while cutting into his food.
"That way you might actually impress him."
Lysara glanced at him.
"Damian."
"What?" he said with a shrug.
"I am encouraging him."
Seraphine set her cup down softly.
"You have always been terrible at encouragement."
Damian grinned.
Alric's gaze remained fixed on Anyo.
"Are you ready to carry the Truman name?"
Anyo puffed out his chest.
"Yes, father."
He lifted his fork enthusiastically.
"Lysara already says I am strong."
Lysara did not react immediately.
Instead, she reached for her tea and took a slow sip before speaking.
"I said he learns quickly."
Anyo blinked.
"…that too."
Damian chuckled.
Seraphine hid a faint smile behind her hand.
Alric finally nodded.
"Confidence is good."
Then he added quietly:
"Results matter more."
At that moment the dining hall doors opened again.
Tutor Relan entered.
The older man bowed respectfully.
"My lord. My lady."
Then he turned toward Anyo.
"If the young lord has finished breakfast," he said, adjusting the books beneath his arm, "it would be wise to begin preparing for the examination."
He paused.
"There is much he should understand before the day arrives."
Anyo straightened in his seat.
The examination.
The moment every child in the kingdom faced at the age of five.
The moment their magical reserve would be measured.
And for the Truman family…
Expectations were high.