The Prime.

The greatest genius across the entire South for a generation. The one determined to possess potential greater than all others, whose growth was expected to dwarf everyone else in their generation.

Such a title, across the South, was worshipped. The person automatically became a celebrity. Someone of importance, politically, socially, or otherwise.

Which was why, once the winner was announced, the South erupted into defeaning cheers.

On her throne, Ingrid scoffed.

’Of course.’

There had been no doubt in her mind that Zephyrion would carry the title, but the sheer excitement roaring from the crowds was unlike anything she had witnessed in a long time, even during her own Proving.

Ingrid sighed.

Now that the South knew of Zephyrion’s talent, a lot of things were about to change. Her race for the throne was about to become ten times harder.

Ingrid curled her fingers against the armrest, but a moment later, loosened them. She wanted to feel angry, but staring at Zephyrion in the middle of the arena, arm raised toward the crowd, she found all her frustrations melting away.

’Hmph, at least he’s not as thin as he was when he first arrived.’

Exhaling deeply, Ingrid stood from her seat. As High Judicar, she held the highly desired duty of presenting the Prime insignia to the winner.

"Bring it. I’ll handle it."

Ingrid froze.

The Head of House Calderalth had suddenly appeared before her. She, the High Forge Master, and the Grand Marshal hastily bowed.

"...Head of House."

Kastor gave a curt nod, his eyes never leaving Ingrid.

"The insignia." He said. "I’ll fix it myself."

Ingrid lifted her head in shock.

By tradition, the Head of House should be the one to present the insignia. However, given Kastor’s nature, since rising as Head of House, he had never once done it. The entire South had naturally grown used to the High Judicar presenting the insignia.

To think Kastor would suddenly change his mind...

’Because of him...’

Ingrid gritted her teeth. The frustration that had melted away returned manifold.

"...yes..." she slowly said a moment later, stretching out the insignia. "...Lord Calderalth."

The Head of House Calderalth didn’t reach for it immediately. Instead, he silently stared at Ingrid for several seconds.

A faint crease formed between Ingrid’s brows. Wondering what was wrong, she slowly lifted her head.

Kastor’s face remained expressionless, making it impossible to tell what was going through his mind. A moment later, Kastor blinked, then slowly said;

"...you got taller."

Ingrid’s eyes widened.

Kastor stared at her a moment longer before giving a small nod.

"It suits you."

Ingrid froze completely.

Without another word, Kastor retrieved the insignia, nodded faintly to himself as though pleased with his observation, then turned and walked away.

Even several moments later, Ingrid still stood there motionless. Her chest suddenly felt heavy, her heartbeat pounding wildly without restraint.

That was the first compliment he had given her in decades...

Her eyes gradually grew moist. Curling her fingers tightly, she lowered herself back into her seat, trying to steady her emotions.

For the first time in her life, Ingrid prayed for rain.

...

The deafening cheers subsided the moment Kastor stepped into the arena.

The Head of House Calderalth was barely six foot four, yet he might as well have been a giant. Every step he took felt as though the world dipped with him. A crushing heaviness seeped into the bones of everyone present, settling across the coliseum.

Zephyrion froze. Not because he wanted to. Rather, Kastor’s overwhelming presence locked him entirely in place.

’This power...’

It was the first time he had stood this close to his father since returning. Their conversations in the throne room had always been separated by a grand flight of stairs.

Now, he felt the full weight of his father’s presence.

"...chest."

Zephyrion snapped from his thoughts to find Kastor staring at him with an impassive gaze.

Zephyrion nodded and straightened his posture slightly, pushing out his chest.

The coliseum fell silent.

This was the moment where the one presenting the insignia would give a congratulatory speech, addressing the entire South. The people had rarely ever heard their ruler speak, making the anticipation across the arena immense.

A moment passed. Then the Head of House Calderalth gave a small nod and said;

"Good."

Everyone waited for the rest... but it never came.

It was only when Kastor calmly fixed the insignia onto Zephyrion’s chest that they realized that was all he intended to say. The people were speechless.

Father and son locked eyes. Impassive stare against impassive stare. To everyone watching, it looked like two blocks of ice engaged in a silent contest.

An awkward silence settled across the coliseum, broken only by the sharp click of Garrick’s tongue.

"See?" he scoffed, ignoring Garaxe’s desperate attempt to stop him. "The both of you standing there looking like someone copied and pasted the same damn person. Would it kill either of you to loosen your faces a little, you icy freaks?"

Kastor and Zephyrion slowly turned toward him, throwing him identical deadpan stares.

"I’m serious." Garrick burst into laughter. "It’s like staring at the same person."

They both frowned.

Then, as they turned back toward each other and noticed the identical expressions on their faces, the frowns slowly vanished.

The two silently stared at each other for several moments before Kastor eventually gave a small nod and turned away.

Zephyrion furrowed his brows. Part of it was due to the bizarre interaction he had just experienced, and the other part was because the ancestor was laughing wildly in his mind.

"..."

Even as he left the arena toward the bouncing Lumi in the stands, Zephyrion still didn’t understand what was funny.

...

Garrick hefted a total of seven massive sacks.

Two were crushed against his body beneath each arm, one rested over each shoulder, while the last hung awkwardly between his legs.

His pace was painfully slow as he struggled to take each step, but Garrick’s grin stretched so wide the whites of his teeth practically gleamed beneath the sun.

A hundred and forty thousand golds! One hundred and forty fucking thousand golds!

Garrick still felt like he was trapped inside some absurdly realistic dream and might wake up at any moment. If that happened, he was definitely killing the bastard who dared wake him up.

Oh, the things he could do with this money...

A trail of drool slipped from the corner of Garrick’s mouth as he trudged ahead.

"Where are you going?"

Garrick frowned. Ahead, Kastor had suddenly appeared.