Night in the House of the Crimson Moon was never truly dark.
Moonlight slid over the roof tiles, flashed on lacquered columns, and lay in a silver strip across the stone paths of the inner courtyard. The air was cool and still. Even the guards moved more quietly than usual-as if the clan itself understood that a decision had been made within these walls, one that wasn’t discussed out loud.
Arden stood outside Eyra’s chambers for a few moments before he knocked.
No answer.
He pushed the door open.
The room was lit only by the moon and a single thin candle by the mirror. Shadows stretched along the walls, softened the corners of the furniture, and made the space feel gentler.
Eyra stood by the window.
Her pale hair fell freely down her back, silver strands catching cold light. Her dress was light and domestic, but it emphasized the figure that had already begun to take shape: a slim waist, the soft curve of her hips. The fabric clung to her chest, and in the muted glow it felt too obvious.
Arden forced himself to look at her face.
She didn’t turn around.
“I knew you’d come,” she said calmly.
“You’re not asleep.”
“I can’t sleep.”
He stepped in and closed the door.
For a few seconds they were silent.
“Is it true?” he asked.
“The engagement?” She still looked out the window. “Yes.”
Her voice didn’t waver.
“How long have you known?”
“I’ve always known I’d be married off.”
She finally turned.
Her face was calm. Too calm.
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“My root is small. Three elements. I’m not the clan’s weapon.”
She gave a slight shrug.
“I’m a resource.”
Arden’s fingers tightened.
“You say that like it doesn’t even touch you.”
“It’s been touching me since I was twelve,” she replied. “You’re just catching up now.”
He stepped closer.
“You could have kept cultivating.”
She gave a short, humorless smile.
“And become a mediocre cultivator with three attributes? Fight for the fourth stage until I’m old?”
She shook her head.
“No. I chose not to waste years.”
Silence.
“You are the clan’s strength,” she said. “You grow inside it.”
“I’m what strengthens it from the outside.”
He watched her, searching for a crack.
And he found one.
For a split second, her fingers clenched the fabric of her dress at her hip.
“Just…” She looked back to the window. “Let him not be a monster.”
The words were quiet. No hysteria. No tears.
Just a request to the world.
She straightened at once.
“And don’t you dare win for my sake.”
“That’s not how it works.”
“That’s exactly how it works,” she snapped. “If you win because of me, you become a debtor. If you lose, you become an excuse.”
She came closer.
“Do what benefits the clan. Not me.”
He wanted to argue.
But he understood-she was right.
“Are you scared?” he asked softly.
She looked straight at him.
“I’m not stupid.”
That was enough.
He nodded.
“I’ll talk to Mother.”
“Of course,” Eyra said evenly. “You can now.”
He caught the bitterness in her voice.
And for the first time in many years, he couldn’t find an answer.
The clan head’s chambers sat in a separate wing of the estate.
The doors were massive, dark wood inlaid with fine silver filigree. Guards stood at a distance, not interfering.
Arden entered after a brief permission.
The room was spacious: a high ceiling, thin silk curtains, the soft light of lamps. In the center was a wide blackwood table covered with maps and scrolls. Off to the side, a low bed-and behind it, two more inner rooms.
Selena stood by the table.
Her black hair fell down her back in an even wave. Her dress, dark and deep burgundy, emphasized a slender figure. Every movement was precise, measured. Her face was calm, almost cold.
“You came,” she said.
“Yes.”
“Because of Eyra?”
He didn’t deny it.
“An alliance with the Craynes is strategic,” she continued. “It isn’t a concession. And it isn’t pressure.”
She unrolled one of the scrolls.
“Great clans don’t submit to the Empire. They negotiate.”
“Then why do they need Eyra?”
“Because she is a worthy representative of the Crimson Moon line. Calm. Balanced. Not ambitious beyond measure.”
Arden’s jaw tightened.
“And because she’s easy to hand over?”
Selena raised her eyes.
“No one in this house is handed over easily.”
Silence.
“If I win the tournament?”
She didn’t look away.
“The alliance will happen.”
The words landed cleanly.
“One way or another.”
Something inside him drew tight.
“Then what’s the point?”
“The terms,” she answered. “Victory gives us leverage in the talks. Defeat destroys nothing.”
She stepped closer.
“But if you interfere with the arrangement-if you publicly cast doubt on it-you will carry responsibility personally.”
“As the heir?”
“As a man.”
It sounded different.
“The clan can endure any alliance,” she said. “But if you choose to challenge it, you must understand the price.”
He met her gaze.
“Do you want me to lose?”
Something flickered in her eyes.
“I want you to win, if it benefits us.”
She took another step closer.
And for the first time, her voice softened.
“And I want you not to confuse strength with emotion.”
A pause.
“Eyra will manage,” she said more quietly. “I wouldn’t have chosen otherwise.”
She reached out and, for a moment, touched his shoulder.
A brief gesture. Almost unnoticeable.
“You’ve grown, Arden.”
There was no cold strategy in her eyes.
There was a mother.
Just for a second.
“And now you have to choose the future, not protect feelings.”
He nodded.
“I understand.”
“Then go,” she said, returning to the table. “The tournament is soon.”
He left the clan head’s chambers slowly.
The corridors were quiet.
The night was deep.
He understood:
Eyra had accepted her role.
The clan had made its calculation.
The Empire was not a threat.
The tournament was a tool.
But for the first time in a long while, he wanted more than just to win.
He wanted to change the balance of power.
And that was the most dangerous thing of all.
