The heavy wooden doors groaned open, their weighty presence commanding attention as a figure stepped into the dimly lit hall. The sharp click of boots against marble cut through the tense silence, steady and deliberate, each step measured with precision. The firelight flickered across his face—sharp, defined features sculpted into an expression of quiet control. His steel-gray eyes, colder and more calculating than their father's, swept across the room, assessing the atmosphere with a single glance.
"Alistair," their father acknowledged, his voice neutral but firm.
"Father," Alistair responded with a slight bow of his head, his tone carrying the respect expected of him, though without warmth.
Then, his gaze shifted.
"Sister," he said smoothly, turning toward her. "You have returned."
His voice carried none of the disappointment their father had made no effort to hide. No sharp words, no clipped commands—only a simple statement of fact, one devoid of surprise or sentiment.
She met his gaze with an impassive expression, refusing to betray the simmering frustration that still burned within her.
"Brother," she said coolly, straightening her posture. "I have."
Alistair studied her for a moment, his gaze flickering briefly to her empty hands before returning to her face. Unlike their father, he did not openly display his displeasure. He did not need to. The weight of his silence was just as cutting.
His lips curled slightly, but whether it was in amusement or disapproval, she could not tell. "Then I assume the rumors were true," he murmured. "Lucavion continues to elude you."
A muscle in her jaw tightened. "For now."
Alistair hummed lightly, as if considering something, then turned back to their father.
"I received word earlier," he said. "The accusations against us from Valoria are gaining traction. The Duke's men are pressing harder, and some of our supposed allies are beginning to distance themselves. They fear being seen as sympathizers."
Their father exhaled through his nose, his fingers curling slightly against the window frame. "As expected."
Alistair let out a quiet breath, adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves before speaking again.
"I just finished a meeting with several key figures," he said, his voice as composed as ever. "The usual complaints. Concerns over our influence wavering. Thinly veiled threats wrapped in political courtesy."
Their father turned slightly, his steel-gray eyes still fixed beyond the window, waiting.
Alistair exhaled through his nose, his expression darkening just a fraction. "And, Father… Prince Adrian has stated his disappointment."
At this, their father finally shifted, his gaze sharpening like a blade as he turned fully to face his son. The girl, too, stiffened slightly at the mention of the prince.
"He was not subtle about it," Alistair continued. "For some reason, I feel he is far too interested in Lucavion."
A grim chuckle left their father's lips—low and bitter. "Of course."
His fingers tapped idly against the wooden frame of the window, a rare sign of his own irritation. "Lucavion, that bastard, did not simply disgrace our family. He had to take it further. Had to ruin one of the most powerful men in the empire along with us."
Alistair's jaw tensed. "His affair with the prince's former fiancée."
A sharp silence fell over the room.
Even now, years later, the weight of that scandal still clung to the Thorne name like a stench that would not fade.
Prince Adrian—heir to the throne, the empire's golden prodigy—had once been betrothed to Elara Valoria, the jewel of the nobility. A woman as graceful as she was cunning, the very image of regal perfection.
And Lucavion had defiled her.
Whether it had been love or lust, coercion or mutual destruction—it did not matter. What mattered was that Lucavion's betrayal had shattered the engagement and dragged both the Valoria and Thorne names into disgrace.
Prince Adrian had been humiliated.
And the Thornes had paid the price for it ever since.
Alistair's grip on his sleeve tightened subtly, his cold exterior barely concealing the disgust roiling beneath it.
"Everything he touches turns to ruin," he said, voice clipped, precise. "He was given a chance—sent to the battlefield, given the opportunity to die with some semblance of dignity. And yet he refused even that."
His steel-gray gaze flicked toward his sister.
"And now," he continued, tone laced with quiet disdain, "instead of rotting in the dirt where he belongs, he has become a name?"
Alistair's cold gaze lingered on his sister for a moment before he finally turned away, adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves with a slow, deliberate motion.
"Enough," he said, his voice carrying quiet authority. "For now, you will remain in the territory."
Miranda's fingers twitched slightly, but she did not protest.
"You've spent an entire year chasing his shadow," Alistair continued, his expression unreadable. "And what do you have to show for it? Nothing. No corpse, no proof of his demise. Only whispers and fleeting footprints."
His steel-gray eyes met hers again, sharp and unyielding. "While finding Lucavion remains a priority, we cannot afford for you to waste any more time aimlessly chasing ghosts. There are matters here that demand your attention. You should not neglect your training."
Miranda's jaw tightened slightly at the implication, though she remained outwardly composed.
"I have not neglected my training," she said, her voice measured. "Even during my search, I maintained my discipline."
Alistair gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. "Perhaps. But you are not at your peak either." His gaze sharpened. "We have more enemies now; we need to be strong."
Miranda's fingers curled into her palms, but she said nothing.
He was not wrong. Even if she had kept up with her training during the past year, it had been different—not structured, not as refined as it could have been under proper instruction. She had spent months on the road, tracking, fighting, pursuing, always moving from one lead to the next. It had honed her instincts, sharpened her endurance, but it had not been the same as dedicated refinement within the halls of their family's training grounds.
She knew it. And so did Alistair.
Her father, who had been silently observing the exchange, finally turned back toward them. His gaze flickered between them before settling on Miranda.
"Alistair is right," he said simply. "There is no point in continuing a pursuit that yields no results. Your skills must remain at their sharpest if you are to face him again."
Miranda inhaled slowly, letting the words settle.
"...Understood," she finally said, inclining her head. "I will remain in the territory."
Alistair studied her for a moment longer before giving a short nod. "Good."
The matter was settled.
Though she would remain here, though she would focus on her training, the fire within her had not dimmed. If anything, it burned hotter than ever.
Lucavion was still out there.
And the next time they crossed paths—
She would make sure there would be no escape.
----------A/N------------
You may think that she should have found him by this point, but one must remember that Lucavion had been constantly travelling, and the time he spent on a place is never long.
And most importantly, he often fights with monsters while he is travelling to increase his [Flame of Equinox] hence he often rests in forests of places with monsters.
That is why, it is really hard to track him, since he is not your usual traveler either.
In any case, now that we had caught up with everyone, the academy arc shall start.