Letting someone enter your personal room, especially someone whose death was reported days prior, was not only unwise but borderline reckless regardless of whether they shared your blood.
Yet Atreus did it without hesitation.
He already ran through the calculations in his head and weighed every potential gain against the possible risks.
Now, seated across from his sibling in a dim and quiet, he spoke in a calm manner, choosing not to acknowledge the strangeness of Seven's presence or the absurdity of his return.
He acted as if nothing unusual happened at all.
"What about milk then?"
"No."
Their conversation unfolded after that with a strange simplicity: Seven asking for two rooms at least until the academy began its term (though he was not enrolled yet, given that he did not partake in the examinations) and exclusive access to the roofed training grounds.
Seven also brought up the compensation again, to be paid in Zevi cards.
Atreus nodded.
But just as he thought the discussion was nearing its end, Seven announced…
"I withdraw my right in the succession."
"...?!"
For a brief second, Atreus's expression faltered although he recovered quickly and began to laugh.
After all, Seven was not even in the age of formal acknowledgment; his fifteenth birthday, the point at which he would be officially recognized as a contender for the throne.
And yet, here he was, withdrawing his right to partake before that.
"Ahahaha…"
That amused Atreus more than he cared to admit.
With Seven stepping down, that left only one other potential rival: Nzita Rui Hart, his fifth sibling.
But Atreus already dismissed Nzita from the equation long ago, given that he just spent his days composing poetry and whispering to birds, far more invested in nature than politics.
Still, despite the apparent surrender, Atreus narrowed his gaze.
"Did I hear that correctly?"
Seven did not answer immediately.
Instead, he just remained still in his seat with eyes fixed on nothing in particular. Then, as if the moment grew stale, he stood without care and walked toward the door.
Atreus leaned back slightly in his chair.
"You said you wouldn't participate in the succession."
"..."
"And I assume that was not some cryptic metaphor for changing allegiances or delaying your entry?"
Seven's hand hovered near the door handle but didn't move.
"It means what it sounds—"
"Youngest. Do you think this makes you neutral?"
Atreus cut him off, leaning back inside the table and supported his chin with his wrists.
"The crown isn't won by retreating, Seven. You know as well as I—governance, strength, influence—that's the true measure."
Seven turned slightly, just enough for Atreus to see the side of his profile.
"I think… I don't give a damn."
"Ahaha..."
Atreus laughed one more time, though it was a little sarcastic this time.
"You're exceptionally clever, youngest; or perhaps, simply a clown.
"Perhaps a bit of both.
"But you carry the blood of the Harts, and that means—-"
"Seven zevi cards. Charge for extra time."
"...!!"
Seven raised the compensation from a single zevi card to seven, as Atreus extended the conversation even after seeing his attempt to leave, and that marks seven hundred zevi coins.
For a moment, Atreus just stared at him.
With a slight nod, Atreus pulled ten black cards, each wrapped in the shimmer of zaen and hovered mid-air before they glided forward and slipped neatly into the inner pocket of Seven's clothes
"That's ten."
Seven did not reply. He simply opened the door and closed it behind him, leaving Atreus inside who stretched his body and relaxed himself.
Haah…
Atreus sighed.
Then, a wave of zaen exuded from his body elegantly and not in rampage, strongly evident from the four white bracelets tattooed on his wrists.
'...I'll keep an eye on you, Seven.'
***
In the Hallway
Seven walked down the quiet hallway, with Lythian following behind. Neither of them said a word until they reached the two rooms at the far end.
Seven lifted a hand and pointed lazily toward the room on the right.
Lythian gave the door a glance.
"Get in, change, and don't take seven years."
"Fucker, what—"
Without letting Lythian finish his words, Seven opened the left door and stepped inside.
The room was better than what he had gotten used to at the exile mansion. This one looked, without needing to count, at least seven times more expensive.
He dropped his bag onto the low table near the window and pulled off his coat. He changed into a cleaner, more casual set of clothes and barely tied back his hair given that it was not that long.
Creak.
He stepped back out into the hallway.
Lythian was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, who eyed him from head to toe.
"You good now, your highness? Took you long enough."
Seven did not answer.
Instead, he walked past him with the same calm, unreadable face as always.
"Hey, fucker. It was a joke."
Lythian straightened off the wall and followed.
"Where the hell are we going?"
"Duel."
"Huh?! What did— ughkk-kh…"
Lythian groaned in pain, as Seven activated the seal once again just to shut him up that it became his habit.
Step.
Seven continued walking, passing through the mansion's grand entrance and making his way toward the roofed training grounds.
But as he walked, he found himself revisiting the earlier conversation with Atreus.
'Did I ask for too much?'
He usually did not dwell on things, but the thought lingered as compensation just for extending the conversation was a bold ask even by his standards.
'No.'
He shook his head.
'...It's just right.'
If anything, he could have asked for more.
There was no use for wealth when the entire household was already on borrowed time. There was no reason to involve himself in a succession war either.
After all, the Archduke's death will happen within the month of Nocten. And when the heart of the household dies, the rest of the body does not stand for long.
Fighting over a crumbling throne was pointless.
Step.
They reached the roofed training ground. Along the far wall stood a weapon rack, holding training gear in perfect alignment.
Seven stepped inside, walked straight on the rack and reached for a wooden sword heavier than it looked.
His fingers curled around the hilt.
Without testing the blade, he stepped onto the center tile.
Behind him, Lythian stood still in a distance as he skimmed the rack filled with no other weapons but just swords.
His hands twitched slightly at his sides. Eventually, he reached under his clothes and pulled out a thin, curved dagger— looked more like a knife.
It was not meant for sparring, nor it was for killing.
It was the weapon used to torture him back in the basement prison. The handle, still faintly stained with his blood, fit into his palm.
"Fucker, I'll return the pain. I'll carve it into you…"
Lythian spun the blade once as if testing the weight.
"...Every damn second of it."
Seven stared blankly at the dagger made from damascus steel, then to a wooden sword in hand. There was no change in his expression, nor did he said words.
Step.
He took one step forward.
Lythian's grin faltered. Just for a second. He gripped the dagger tighter, suddenly aware of how quiet the air had gotten between them.
"Tch... Fuckin' statue."
Lythian rolled his shoulder as if brushing the moment off as a thin layer of zaen rippled faintly from his skin like heat from a flame.
Tap. Tap. Thud.
Lythian's boots shifted against the tile— left heel, right toe— then launched.
Dust kicked up beneath his push-off, a burst of pressure that flung his body low like a spring uncoiling. The dagger's tip traced a silent arc toward Seven's abdomen that was angled not for a fatal cut, but a deep stab.
Clang!
But Seven already raised his sword covered with zaen to block it.
The moment played out exactly as it did a second ago, flickering through the foresight of his left-eye. Thus he intercepted the dagger and deftly redirected its trajectory— given that, in any case, wood could never fully block damascus steel.
Clack—!
Lythian's momentum faltered and his feet scraped tile in a harsh backslide.
"Tch."
Lythian spat on the polished floor.
'That damn artifact…'
But as if mocking him, Seven ran a hand back through his hair as usual as he looked at him.
"Try it if you can."