Chapter 3. Fortress

The skateboard wheels whispered over the polished alloy floor as Aurelius kicked them up and carried the board under one arm. Rain still clung to his jacket, dripping quietly on the black obsidian tiles of the entrance.

ELI’s voice hummed through the air, warm and toneless all at once.

ELI: Welcome back, Legacy.

The lights shifted subtly, recognizing his biometrics. The manor always seemed to breathe when he returned.

He padded into the common room, the soft glow of emotion-responsive lamps reflecting off glass walls. His mother was there, seated with the calm elegance that only she possessed, golden eyes luminous in the dim light.

Aurelius hesitated for only a second, then pulled the wrapped bouquet from behind his back. Sunflowers, bright even against the fortress’s cold lines.

“Mom,” he said simply, offering them to her.

Lucretia’s face softened, a rare warmth brightening her timeless features. She accepted the bouquet as though it were something sacred. “Beautiful,” she whispered, fingertips grazing his cheek briefly.

“Thank you, my son.”

At the dining table, Maximus sat with one elbow resting on polished steel, half a file left open beside him. He studied Aurelius in silence for a moment, grey eyes glinting faintly red in the low light. The corner of his mouth curved in the smallest of smirks.

Aurelius shifted. “Dad. You’re not mad?”

Maximus leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “You would be surprised,” he said quietly, “if I told you what I did when I was your age.”

Aurelius blinked, brows pulling together. “Huh?”

But Maximus only let the smirk linger, gaze steady. Then his tone hardened a fraction.

“Just… don’t make your mother worry.”

Aurelius dropped his eyes to the floor, the weight of the manor pressing in. He nodded.

“Okay.”

Aurelius sank onto the edge of the sofa, skateboard balanced across his knees. The storm’s rhythm against the glass was steady, like a thousand muted drums. He could feel both of their gazes—his mother’s warmth, his father’s steady iron—holding him in the strange gravity of the room.

ELI’s voice chimed softly again, as though sensing the tension.

> ELI: Would you like me to bring up the fire wall, Legacy? <

Aurelius exhaled, rubbing a hand over his damp hair. “Yeah. Sure.”

The glass shimmered faintly, darkening at the edges as polarized panels slid into place. The outside storm dulled to a muted haze, leaving the room cocooned in amber and steel.

Lucretia rose with the bouquet, gliding toward the small alcove where she kept her vases.

“Your father is not angry, Aurelius. But he has always hidden his concern in strange ways.

” Her golden eyes flicked toward Maximus knowingly.

Maximus’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing. Instead, he closed the file before him with deliberate calm and folded his hands. The subtle shift of his weight was more telling than words.

Aurelius tilted his head.

“So… you really did things worse than skating down the Bastovar bridge rails?”

That earned a laugh from Lucretia, quiet and unexpected. Maximus’s smirk returned, this time edged with something sharper—memory.

“Let’s just say,” he murmured, “the cliffside guards were not fond of Braun boys even then.”

Aurelius blinked, stunned.

“Enough,” Maximus interrupted smoothly, though the faint gleam in his eyes betrayed amusement. He leaned forward, steepling his fingers.

“You’re not me. You don’t need to be.”

For a heartbeat, the air between them was heavy—iron discipline clashing with restless youth. But then Lucretia set the sunflowers in their vase, the yellow petals blazing like small suns against the fortress’s cold walls.

Her presence softened everything, threading a bridge of gold between father and son.

“Come,” she said gently, brushing Aurelius’s hair from his forehead.

“The storm will pass. And tomorrow will ask for all of us again.”

Aurelius leaned into her touch before pulling away, his throat tight. He caught his father’s gaze one last time. The silence stretched, but Aurelius thought—just for a second—he saw something flicker there. Not smirk, not command. Something else.

And then the manor breathed again.

The storm still pounded against the glass walls, but inside Braun Manor the air was suspended — a fortress of silence, love, and secrets.

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