Ceris stepped into the grand dining hall of Duskmere Manor, the polished floors echoing beneath her boots. The long table, adorned with simple yet elegant silverware, was quiet this morning. Only a few maids moved briskly about, placing the final dishes down for breakfast.
Her sharp eyes scanned the room before settling on a familiar figure. "Lillia, where are Grandfather and Grandmother?" she asked, her voice composed but carrying the weight of expectation.
Before Lillia could respond, another maid, a younger one with timid eyes answered with a polite bow. "Lady Ceris, the Lord, is preoccupied with estate paperwork this morning. The Lady is tending to the gardens. She noticed the flowerbeds were overgrown and the pathways covered in debris, so she took it upon herself to clean them."
Ceris blinked, her lips tightening. Of course. Even in her twilight years, her grandmother found work to do before most nobles even opened their eyes.
She shifted her attention back to Lillia. "And the Kingmaker?" Her voice dipped slightly curious, but also already bracing herself for the answer.
Lillia glanced toward the upper hall and sighed. "Sir Ethan is still in his room. We knocked twice, but he did not respond. He hasn't come down for breakfast."
Ceris' brow twitched. "Typical," she muttered under her breath. A scowl tugged at her lips. "So he is just a lazy bum after all. Summoned to help me and yet spends the morning snoozing while the rest of us carry on with our lives."
She sat at the table with a quiet huff, her mind already spinning wondering if this so-called Kingmaker was going to be anything more than dead weight.
But even as she poured herself tea, part of her couldn't help but wonder why someone like him had been summoned in the first place.
Not strong. Not noble. Not even disciplined enough to rise with the sun.
She ate in silence, pushing bits of fruit and bread around her plate. Her thoughts turned inward, heavy and sharp. Can I really ascend to the throne? she wondered. Can I elevate our family name from disgrace to honor?
The weight of her lineage pressed down on her chest, like invisible armor made of shame. Her grandfather's surrender during a past Candidacy echoed in the corridors of noble gossip. Her every move felt watched, judged.
She straightened her back, forcing herself to take another bite. I don't need a lazy and useless Kingmaker. I'll do it myself if I have to.
A few minutes passed before another maid entered the dining room, approaching Lillia with hushed urgency. "Miss Lillia, forgive the interruption but Sir Ethan still does not respond. We've knocked several times. I... I'm starting to worry something may have happened."
Ceris overheard. Her hand froze on the teacup.
Without a word, she rose abruptly, chair scraping against the floor. Her sudden movement startled the maids.
"Lady Ceris?" Lillia asked, confused, rushing to follow her as she stormed out of the room.
Ceris' strides were swift, each step fueled by a mixture of irritation and anxiety she didn't care to name. She reached Ethan's door and pounded on it with her fist loud, angry, and unrelenting.
"Oi, Kingmaker! Are you just going to sleep all day and be more useless than you already are?!"
Silence.
Her teeth clenched. Her fist hit the door again.
"Fine! Stay that way! Rot inside that room for all I care!"
She spun on her heel, fists tight at her sides, storming back down the hall with fire in her eyes and a knot of something unfamiliar twisting in her chest.
When she reached the lower hall again, she turned to Lillia, who was still trailing behind her with a bewildered expression.
"Lillia, draw my bath," Ceris commanded, her voice regaining its calm, steely edge. "I'll be speaking with Grandfather before noon."
"Right away, my lady," Lillia replied with a nod, hurrying off toward the bathing chambers.
Ceris exhaled quietly and adjusted her posture. Her day was only beginning, and she had no intention of wasting it Kingmaker or not.
After a quick rinse and change into a clean, modest dress, Ceris made her way down the west corridor of the manor toward her grandfather's office. She didn't bother knocking.
The door creaked open, and she stepped inside without hesitation.
Arthur Duskmere looked up from behind a mountain of parchment, reading glasses perched low on his nose. His pen paused mid-sentence, brows lifting in mild surprise. "Ceris?"
"Grandfather, we need to talk," she said firmly.
Arthur removed his glasses and set down the pen, folding his hands with a quiet sigh. "Of course. Take a seat."
He gestured toward the small balcony that adjoined the office a cozy space with a round, ornate metal table and a pair of cushioned chairs. A place for calm discussions, or quiet reflection.
As Ceris moved to sit, Arthur rang the bell by his desk. A moment later, a maid entered, and he gave her a simple instruction. "Tea and something sweet, if you please."
"Right away, Lord Duskmere."
The two sat beneath the gentle morning breeze, the sun casting a warm glow over the Duskmere estate. Soon, the maid returned with a silver tray bearing a steaming teapot, delicate porcelain cups, and a lovely arrangement of cookies, cakes, and soft fruit pastries.
Arthur poured the tea himself before handing Ceris a cup. "Now then," he said with a calm smile. "What weighs so heavily on you this morning, my dear?"
Ceris stared at the steam rising from her cup, gathering her thoughts before she spoke. "I... I feel somewhat betrayed," she said quietly at first, then more firmly. "All my life, you told me that Candidates are given powerful Kingmakers. Warriors. Champions. Figures who would help guide us to the throne."
Arthur's expression grew thoughtful, but he remained silent, letting her speak.
"When I was chosen," she continued, "I was happy no, I was proud. I've trained for this since I was young. For once, I thought... Maybe our name could rise again. Maybe I could finally prove myself."
She placed the teacup down and looked her grandfather in the eye. "But then I got him. A boy. A civilian. Not even a soldier. And his so-called Ego Weapon? It couldn't cut paper. What am I supposed to do with a Kingmaker like that?"
Arthur exhaled slowly and lifted his cup, taking a small sip before setting it down again. "My dear Ceris," he said gently, "have you ever thought about why Kingmakers are always summoned from another universe?"
Ceris blinked, surprised by the question. She had expected comfort or agreement, not riddles.
"What do you mean?" she asked cautiously. "Why not choose someone already in this world? Wouldn't that make more sense?"
Arthur smiled faintly. "That's precisely the kind of thinking most Candidates start with. But the answer is rarely that simple."
He leaned back slightly in his chair, letting the breeze rustle the papers on his desk inside. "Kingmakers are not tools, Ceris. And neither are Ego Weapons. They are sentient. Living. They possess thoughts, personalities, ambitions... and purposes of their own. You cannot expect them to act like obedient servants just because they were summoned."
Ceris frowned, her fingers curling slightly around the handle of her teacup.
"It is the king's duty," Arthur continued, "to capture the heart of the one who serves them. That, above all, is your responsibility."
Ceris stared at him, clearly confused. "Capture their heart? I... I don't understand, Grandfather."
Arthur simply smiled, patient and unshaken. "You will. In time."
Ceris let out a quiet groan, leaning back slightly in her chair. "Well, my Kingmaker might as well be dead. Since morning, he hasn't left his room nor eaten anything."
As if on cue, a soft knock echoed from the office door. Arthur called for them to enter, and Lillia stepped in with her usual calm expression.
"Apologies for interrupting, Lord Duskmere. Lady Ceris, it's time for your etiquette lecture and the rest of today's learning schedule."
Ceris sighed dramatically, shoulders slumping. "Ugh. I'd rather be training with a sword than smashing my face into scrolls and books."
Arthur chuckled softly, setting his teacup down once more. "Ah, but remember, my dear knowledge can be a weapon sharper than any blade. And unlike steel, it rarely dulls. Today's lessons include political theory, military tactics, and negotiation strategy. Skills any future ruler must command."
Ceris groaned again but stood reluctantly. "Only because you said it so poetically, Grandfather."
Arthur smiled. "That's all I can ask for."
She followed Lillia from the room, her footsteps slower this time. Her mind, however, remained anything but still.
Once they had gone, Arthur returned to his desk and sat down, his expression shifting from warmth to quiet concern.
He leaned back in his chair and stared for a moment at the parchment he had been working on earlier, though his mind was clearly elsewhere. Ceris' words echoed in his thoughts her frustration, her disappointment, her assumptions about Ethan.
"A Kingmaker who won't leave his room..." he muttered to himself. "Perhaps it isn't laziness at all."
He rang the bell again, and another maid entered an older, experienced woman who'd long served the household.
"You called, my lord?"
"Yes," Arthur said, standing slowly. "Go to Sir Ethan's room. Clean it thoroughly. Sweep, tidy, change the linens. But more importantly, make sure he leaves that room and eats."
The maid hesitated. "And if he refuses, sir?"
"Then insist. Kindly, but firmly. And observe him while you do. Let me know if he seems... troubled."
The maid nodded with understanding. "As you wish, Lord Duskmere."
Arthur watched the door close behind her, then looked out the window once more. "Even the strongest flames can flicker in strange winds," he murmured. "And sometimes, the smallest ones need shelter before they're ready to burn."
Ethan stirred beneath the thick duvet, blinking against the midday light filtering through the windows. His body ached with exhaustion, his mind foggy with remnants of dreams that didn't make sense. When he finally rolled upright, the clock on the nearby wall told him it was already noon.
A knock came from the door.
"Sir Ethan," came a polite but firm voice. "We're here to clean your room."
Ethan rubbed his eyes, groggy and disoriented. "It's fine. I can clean it myself," he muttered, voice hoarse from disuse.
The door opened anyway, and an older maid stepped inside, already setting to work with a soft smile. "This may take a while, sir. Best to give us room. Perhaps you could head downstairs and have something to eat?"
Ethan blinked at her, then at the disarray around his bed scattered clothes, the faint smell of sleep, and his tangled hair in the mirror. Embarrassed, he nodded, muttering, "Yeah, alright... I'll get out of your way."
He stumbled to the bathroom, splashed cold water on his face, and ran wet fingers through his hair to tame the mess. The weight in his chest hadn't quite lifted. Everything still felt surreal.
But the mirror didn't lie.
This wasn't his room. This wasn't his world. And he wasn't going home anytime soon.
Pulling on a simple tunic and brushing himself off, Ethan stepped into the hallway. The polished wood felt strange beneath his feet, the tapestries unfamiliar. With every step toward the stairs, the truth solidified.
He really was in another world.
Waiting for him near the staircase was a tall man with neat black hair and a formal stance. The man bowed respectfully.
"Good afternoon, Sir Ethan. My name is Carter. I have been assigned as your personal butler."
Ethan blinked at him. "A butler? I'm... not nobility. I don't need a butler."
Carter smiled politely. "All esteemed Kingmakers are treated as nobility while in the service of a Candidate. Lady Ceris is one of the chosen, and that makes you quite important, whether you believe it or not."
Still processing the formality of it all, Ethan allowed Carter to escort him downstairs. When they entered the dining hall, Ethan stopped short.
Arthur Duskmere was already seated at the far end of the long table, sipping tea and reviewing a document. He looked up and smiled.
"Oh my, what a coincidence, Ethan. Seems we've both chosen the same time to dine."
Ethan narrowed his eyes slightly. Way too suspicious.
"I'll just bring my food up to my room," Ethan said cautiously.
Arthur looked up and replied, calm but firm. "Oh, the maids might take a while to finish cleaning. Better to eat here, wouldn't you say?"
Ethan hesitated. How did he know the maids were cleaning?
He gave in and sat down, reluctantly.
As he ate, the silence between them stretched. Only Arthur flipping parchment or sipping tea broke the tension. No Carter in sight he seemed to have disappeared like a ghost.
Ethan glanced around awkwardly. Just the two of them. In this massive room. One noble. One utterly confused civilian.
And then there were glances subtle, quick. Arthur was watching him, though never directly.
Finally, Ethan put down his fork. "Alright. What are you really planning?"
Arthur looked over the rim of his teacup, smiling innocently. "I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about."
His tone was light, even playful but there was a knowing gleam in his eyes Ethan didn't trust for a second.
Ethan let out a long sigh, setting down his utensils. His voice was quiet, but heavy with truth.
"Look, I just want to go home. I have a family waiting for me… little siblings I helped raise. I can't stand the thought of them growing up with me just being a fraction of their lives. I'm supposed to be there watching them grow, helping them through life. Not stuck in some world I don't belong to."
For a brief moment, Arthur tried to imagine himself in the boy's place torn from his world, from everything he knew, and thrust into a foreign land with strangers expecting greatness. A deep ache settled in his chest as a thought came unbidden: What if it had been me? What if he had been taken from this world, never to watch Ceris grow, never to hear her voice again, or guide her through her burdens? To return, only to find that the little girl he helped raise had grown into a woman he no longer recognized? That he had missed it all. That he had become a mere shadow in her memory.
Arthur bowed his head, his features heavy with newfound understanding.
No wonder the boy resists, he thought quietly. Even the strongest heart would falter if pulled from its roots.