The Vale mansion was too quiet.
Not the peaceful kind of quiet.
The heavy kind.
The kind that made every footstep sound like a mistake.
White marble stretched across the entrance hall, polished so clean it reflected the chandeliers above. Portraits of past Vale leaders lined the walls—stern men and women in sharp suits, all wearing the same cold expressions.
Power.
Pride.
Perfection.
There wasn't a single smile among them.
Alaric always avoided looking at those portraits.
They made him feel like he didn't belong here.
Like he was a stain in a frame meant for gold.
He stood near the long dining table, fingers curled nervously around the hem of his cardigan.
Dinner at the Vale house wasn't dinner.
It was an inspection.
A meeting.
A silent evaluation of whether you were useful.
Tonight, several relatives and board members sat around the table. Expensive watches. Designer suits. Cold eyes.
They barely glanced at Alaric.
Which was almost worse than staring.
"…the pharmaceutical branch increased profits by twelve percent," one man said.
"Good."
"The Omega support center still drains funds unnecessarily—"
"It's for public image," another woman cut in. "Keep it minimal."
Alaric quietly served tea.
No one thanked him.
He wasn't a guest here.
He wasn't even family, sometimes.
He felt more like staff.
"Alaric," a woman's voice suddenly called.
He froze slightly. "…Yes, Aunt?"
She examined him like a product.
"What major did you choose again?"
"…Art restoration."
Silence.
Then—
A soft scoff.
"Art?"
Another man chuckled. "How very… Omega."
The word wasn't kind.
It was small.
Belittling.
"You should consider something useful," the woman continued. "Public relations. Charity coordination. Something appropriate."
"Art restoration is important," Alaric said quietly.
"For hobbies, maybe," someone muttered. "Not for a Vale."
Another voice added, "Honestly, it's embarrassing. The only Omega in the direct family line and this is what we get."
The words hit harder than he expected.
Even though he'd heard things like this his entire life.
Even though he told himself he was used to it.
You never really got used to it.
His throat tightened.
"I—"
"Enough."
The single word sliced through the room.
Low.
Cold.
Absolute.
Everyone stiffened instantly.
At the head of the table, Kaizen hadn't even raised his voice.
He hadn't even looked up from his glass of water.
But the atmosphere changed completely.
Like the temperature dropped ten degrees.
"My brother," Kaizen said calmly, "will study whatever he wants."
No one spoke.
No one dared interrupt.
"If anyone has an issue with that," he continued, "they're free to leave my house."
The message was clear.
Not a suggestion.
A command.
Chairs went silent.
Eyes lowered.
Conversation moved on immediately.
Like nothing had happened.
But Alaric's chest hurt.
Because this was how it always was.
They only stopped when Kaizen spoke.
Not because they respected Alaric.
But because they feared Kaizen.
Later that night, the mansion corridors felt colder than usual.
Alaric sat on the small balcony outside his room, sketchbook resting on his knees.
He drew when he felt overwhelmed.
Tonight, he drew the city lights.
Tiny dots glowing in the distance.
Free.
Warm.
Nothing like this house.
The balcony door slid open.
"You didn't eat much."
Kaizen's voice.
Alaric didn't need to look to know it was him.
"…I wasn't hungry."
A quiet lie.
Kaizen stepped beside him, placing a small plate down.
Sandwiches.
Cut neatly.
Just the way Alaric liked.
"You always say that," Kaizen said.
"…You noticed?"
"I notice everything about you."
There was no hesitation in his voice.
No embarrassment.
Just fact.
Like saying the sky was blue.
Alaric laughed softly. "You sound scary when you say things like that."
"Good. They should be scared."
"You can't protect me forever, you know."
Kaizen didn't answer immediately.
He looked out over Kelvora's skyline.
"…As long as I'm alive," he said quietly, "no one gets to hurt you."
Simple.
Direct.
Unshakeable.
Alaric smiled.
Because for all the coldness Kaizen showed the world—
he had always been warm with him.
Ever since they were kids.
Ever since Alaric cried the first time someone called him "useless."
Kaizen had stood in front of him then, too.
Like a wall.
Like a shield.
Like home.