Head of Family Room

  The sepia glow of the chandelier stretched long shadows across the polished desk, draping the room in an air of quiet authority. Stacks of documents lay in neat but imposing piles, the weight of ink and paper mirroring the burdens they carried. The only sound was the rustling of sheets as Russle Vasseur methodically turned page after page, his sharp gaze scanning the rows of figures and sentences with a meticulous intensity, as if searching for something hidden between the lines.

  Then his hand stilled.

  Among the routine financial reports and strategic planning documents, a single sheet stood out:

  “Letter of Request for the Implementation of the 26th Head of Family Election”

  Russle exhaled softly, a sound barely louder than the paper shifting in his grasp. He had anticipated this, just not so soon. He was still thirty-eight years away from reaching the retirement threshold as Head of the Family. But the Vasseur lineage had never been sentimental. They had made their decision. They wanted him to focus solely on the presidential election.

  Logical. Efficient. Ruthless.

  The reasoning was undeniable...handling both responsibilities would be an impossible burden. Yet, an unexpected bitterness lodged itself in his chest. Those who once stood behind him, who had raised their glasses in his name, were now gently, but unmistakably, pushing him aside.

  But more than that, he was disappointed in himself.

  The past week had unraveled too much, too fast. And time, damn it, had never known the courtesy of waiting for wounds to heal.

  His gaze drifted away from the document, rising to the vast glass wall behind his desk. Beyond it, the city stretched endlessly, a constellation of artificial lights piercing the perpetual dusk. They flickered, distant and unreachable...like stars swallowed by the shadow of their own planet.

  And just like that, the past pulled him under.

  A Memory

  "Russle, I hear you’re getting close to a Stellar?"

  The deep voice cut through the air like the snap of a gavel, roughened by age but carrying the weight of unwavering authority. Across the long, ebony-topped table, young Russle straightened his posture, but the set of his jaw tightened ever so slightly.

  "She’s just a friend, Grandpa. We happen to be in the same class this semester."

  He kept his tone even, casual, but even to his own ears, it lacked conviction.

  Herman Vasseur, seated at the head of the table, lifted his thin brows. His gray eyes...cold, penetrating, unreadable...studied Russle in silence. It wasn’t mere doubt that darkened his gaze. It was judgment.

  "You know I don’t like dishonest bloodlines, right?"

  Russle swallowed hard.

  "S-seriously, she’s just a friend. There’s nothing between us."

  Herman didn’t speak immediately. Instead, he reached for the sleek tablet resting beside him. With a swipe of his fingers, he slid it across the table.

  The screen flickered to life.

  Three images.

  The first: Russle and a Stellar woman laughing in front of an arcade machine, their reflections captured in the neon glow of the game center.

  The second: the two of them on a park bench, side by side, lost in quiet conversation as the golden afternoon draped around them.

  The third: a dimly lit café, their faces inches apart, voices low, a connection too deep to be mere friendship.

  Russle’s blood turned to ice. A prickle of cold sweat traced down the back of his neck.

  Herman leaned forward slightly, his voice quiet, yet carrying the kind of menace that needed no volume.

  "You have everything in this house to maintain your genetic purity." He paused, letting the words settle. Letting them stain. "Yet you choose to contaminate it?"

  Russle’s fingers curled into fists beneath the table. His gaze dropped to the polished floor beneath him.

  Silence.

  Then, Herman spoke again, his tone as smooth as steel.

  "I will give you some leeway."

  Russle’s head snapped up slightly, a flicker of hope breaking through the unease in his chest.

  "But..."

  The single word shattered it.

  "If your bloodline is not a Vasseur," Herman said, enunciating each syllable with surgical precision, "then you must dispose of them both."

  The breath left Russle’s lungs in a sharp, involuntary exhale.

  "Wh-why?" His voice cracked, barely above a whisper. "Since when do we… dispose of people so easily? Hasn’t this happened before? Why now? Why me?"

  Herman’s eyes remained impassive.

  "Because great expectations rest on your shoulders."

  Russle’s nails dug into his palms, anger seething beneath his skin.

  "So you’re telling me to abandon the person I love..." his voice was low, taut with defiance, "...for someone you chose for me? Someone who even shares my blood?"

  A long pause.

  Then, in a voice devoid of warmth, Herman simply said, "You should be grateful."

  Russle blinked, confused.

  "At least," the old man continued, "I gave you a choice."

  Russle’s chest constricted.

  "If you still want humanity to have a future," Herman’s voice dipped lower, quieter, but no less commanding, "then the generation you bring into this world is the key."

  Russle didn’t answer. He didn’t trust himself to.

  Herman leaned back in his chair, fingers folding neatly together. "This is for the greater good."

  The words rang through Russle’s skull like a funeral bell.

  Beep.

  The sliding door behind him whispered open, pulling Russle back from the depths of memory. His gaze flicked toward the entrance.

  A young man stepped inside without waiting for permission. Blond hair, precisely combed. Emerald eyes that gleamed with the sharp intelligence of the Vasseur lineage. But where Russle carried an air of silent gravity, this one moved with ease...relaxed, yet calculating. Without hesitation, he settled into the chair across the desk, his posture a careful blend of casual confidence and quiet assertion.

  “Uncle Russle.”

  Russle exhaled, forcing the lingering ghosts of the past to retreat. “Fredric… what do you need so early in the morning?”

  Fredric auf Vasseur leaned back slightly, crossing one leg over the other. “I sent an email requesting this meeting, you know. Didn’t you read it?”

  Russle pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t have time to check emails first thing in the morning, Fredric.”

  A small smile played at the corner of Fredric’s lips. Not mocking, but amused. He didn’t push the point. Instead, he pressed forward, cutting through pleasantries with the efficiency of someone who had spent years studying power.

  “That’s why I came in person. You have too much on your mind, Uncle. Especially with your current position in government.”

  Russle said nothing. His chest felt tight. He already knew where this conversation was heading.

  Fredric adjusted his posture, his emerald eyes fixed on Russle...not quite challenging, but probing, assessing. A hunter gauging his prey’s reaction before making the decisive move.

  “I want to discuss the letter of request I submitted yesterday.”

  A pause. Russle sighed, reclining slightly in his chair. His expression was unreadable, carved from the same controlled discipline that had kept him standing through countless political storms.

  “I believe I have another thirty-eight years before that becomes a problem,” he said at last, his tone measured.

  Fredric’s smile deepened, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Technically, yes. But we both know the burden you’re carrying is too heavy. Too much for one person.”

  Russle studied him in silence. The weight behind those words wasn’t concern...it was a push. A calculated maneuver.

  “So you want me to step down?”

  “I’m only offering you two choices, Uncle.” Fredric lifted a single finger. “One...withdraw from the presidential race and let another family member take the position.” A second finger followed, forming a ‘V’ sign. “Two...stay in the race and step down as Head of the Family.”

  The air in the room felt heavier, though neither man’s expression shifted.

  Russle closed his eyes briefly, drawing in a slow breath. He had anticipated this, of course. The request hadn’t come as a surprise. But hearing it stated so plainly, so neatly packaged as a decision already made for him...it still left an unpleasant taste in his mouth.

  “Should we rush this?” he asked finally, reopening his eyes. “The runoff hasn’t even started yet. There’s no guarantee I’ll win.”

  Fredric tilted his head slightly in acknowledgment. “True. But we both know… there are those who’ve been waiting for this opportunity for a long time.”

  Russle’s gaze darkened, though his expression remained impassive. He knew exactly who Fredric meant. The ones who had circled like vultures for years, waiting for a moment of weakness. Waiting for the chance to claim what they had always coveted.

  But he didn’t react. Didn’t let the weight of that knowledge show on his face.

  Instead, he leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers together atop the desk. Silent. Calculating.

  "So," Russle said at last, his voice quiet, measured. "Do you want me to make a decision now?"

  Fredric’s lips curved slightly, his fingers tapping an unhurried rhythm against the armrest. "Of course not," he said, as if savoring the conversation. "I just wanted to make sure you realize that time is ticking... and opportunity waits for no one."

  The faint cadence of his drumming fingers lingered between them, the only sound in the dimly lit office.

  Russle studied him, the weight in his chest growing heavier.

  "Even if you don’t get elected president," Fredric continued smoothly, "there’s still other business waiting."

  Russle’s eyes narrowed. "Other business?"

  Fredric gave a slow, deliberate nod. "IFC." He let the acronym settle in the air before continuing. "The elders feel that if you aren’t going to be president, a position in the IFC would be the best option. From there, you could oversee Roman Ohlson and the ADA’s policies." A pause...just long enough to be intentional. "And ensure they don’t push their personal agendas into the government."

  Russle pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth. IFC. He had never even considered that possibility. In his mind, if he lost, he would retreat from the chaos of national politics and focus on his family. But if the elders had already discussed this, it meant they had been thinking about this scenario long before he had.

  His fingers tightened slightly against the desk.

  "And when did the elders decide this?" His voice remained controlled, but there was an edge beneath it.

  Fredric held his gaze, unfazed. He took a breath, as if choosing his words carefully. "When you went to see Uncle Nico at PHI’s headquarters."

  Russle’s eyebrow lifted a fraction. "So they discussed it without my knowledge… or Nico’s?"

  A slow nod. "They didn’t want to bother you two. You and Uncle Nico, after all, are on the front lines, preventing the anti-artificial human movement from gaining influence in the government."

  Russle remained silent.

  He could accept the reasoning. But something settled uncomfortably in his chest.

  The election of the family head was a sacred tradition among the Vasseurs, and the elders had made a decision of this magnitude without informing him. They had calculated their move long before today.

  And if he lost, his path had already been set.

  The IFC. The last bastion against the ADA and Ohlson.

  Russle took a slow breath, letting the silence stretch.

  Fredric was the first to break it. His voice was light, almost casual. "So, Uncle… will you consider the offer?"

  Russle didn’t answer. He rose from his chair and turned toward the window behind him. The artificial skyline stretched endlessly, glowing under the faint shadow of the planet above.

  He didn’t want to discuss this further.

  Not because he didn’t know what to say.

  If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.

  But because any answer now would give Fredric a small victory...and he had no intention of giving him one.

  The city lights flickered, cold and distant. They didn’t truly touch the ground, merely hovering like ghosts.

  At last, he spoke.

  "I will gather all the representatives of the branch families," he said, his tone flat but resolute. "We will hold an Extraordinary Deliberation. There, I will decide whether this application will be approved or not."

  A flicker of surprise passed through Fredric’s expression, too quick to be called hesitation. "Uncle can’t decide now?"

  Russle turned his head slightly, his unreadable gaze meeting Fredric’s.

  Fredric sighed, a subtle sign of frustration. He had expected this answer...but still, there had been a sliver of hope that maybe, just maybe, his uncle would concede without the need for a prolonged family council.

  But, of course, this was Russle Vasseur.

  He gave a small nod, accepting the decision, though not without dissatisfaction. He was still too young to challenge Russle outright.

  Yet before fully conceding, he tried one last time.

  "Why?"

  This time, Russle turned fully, watching him with that same measured gaze.

  "You could refuse now if you wanted to," Fredric continued. "You have the power to do so." He leaned back, hands clasped in his lap. "But you chose to postpone the decision. Why?"

  Russle let the silence stretch between them again. Not out of hesitation...but to let the weight of the question settle.

  Then, in a voice just above a whisper, he said:

  "For the greater good."

  Fredric didn’t respond. He simply studied his uncle, searching for meaning in those words.

  But Russle had already turned back to the window, his thoughts drifting somewhere beyond Fredric’s reach.

  This conversation was over

  Synthetic Biology & Genetics Division – Genetics & Epigenetics Lab

  The soft hum of the lab's ventilation system filled the sterile air, accompanied by the occasional beep of monitors displaying an endless stream of genetic data. Silvia auf Vasseur finally lifted her head from the microscope, blinking against the bright overhead lights as she tried to refocus her vision. A dull ache pulsed at the back of her neck...a reminder of how long she'd been hunched over her work. She rolled her shoulders, pressing a hand to the stiffness creeping along her nape.

  Across the lab, a soft clink broke the silence as Venuela lei Vasseur set her half-empty coffee cup on the table. She leaned lazily against the workstation, her gaze fixed on the scrolling data on the screen.

  "I saw Fredric enter Mr. Russle’s office earlier," she mused, her tone casual, but edged with curiosity. "Any idea what that’s about, Silvi?"

  Silvia exhaled, shaking her head slightly. "Not really. He’s been coming home late a lot lately, though."

  Venuela arched a brow, a knowing glint in her eye. "Well, word around is that the Council of Elders wants Mr. Russle to shift his focus toward Unoseis and Federation politics."

  Silvia frowned. "And? What does that have to do with my brother meeting him?"

  "You know how Fredric is," Venuela said, finally turning her full attention to Silvia. "He practically lives in political circles. He’s been cozying up to the Von side for a while now...I've even heard he's getting pretty close to Elder Hugh."

  Silvia’s gaze sharpened. "You sure know a lot about my brother, Ven." Her voice carried a slight edge. "I never paid much attention to that stuff."

  Venuela chuckled, completely unbothered. "Of course I do. He’s been a hot topic lately. It’s not every day a branch family member ditches tradition and dives headfirst into politics."

  Silvia scoffed, crossing her arms. "Papa and Mama never had a problem with it, so why should I care?"

  "Exactly my point." Venuela smirked, shaking her head in mock disbelief. "You’re so out of touch, Silvi. If it’s not discussed at the dinner table, it doesn’t exist in your world, huh? You really ought to mingle more. Your popularity’s going to tank if you keep this up."

  Silvia’s lips parted slightly, an indignant huff escaping her. "B-Besides, I wouldn’t even know what to talk about with them! They already have their own circles."

  "Just join in first," Venuela said, amused. She reached out, tapping Silvia’s shoulder lightly. "Once you’re there, the conversation will pull you in on its own."

  Silvia snorted. "Family gatherings are rare, anyway. It’s not like we see each other every day."

  "Official ones, sure," Venuela conceded, taking another sip of her now-cold coffee. "But what about the cafeteria? People gossip and debate there all the time. Try stopping by sometime...unless you really want to spend the rest of your life as a lab ghost."

  She swirled the last dregs of her coffee thoughtfully, then added, "Speaking of rare… what Fredric’s doing is interesting. The last person in this family to ignore their designated role and carve their own path was..." she paused, casting a glance at the workspace across from them, "...Alexsir."

  A quiet tension settled between them.

  For a moment, neither of them spoke. The name carried too much weight.

  Silvia’s gaze drifted to the vacant table, its surface spotless, as if the past had been wiped clean. And yet, she could still see him there...head bent over his research, murmuring theories that most people couldn’t begin to grasp.

  "Yeah… Alexsir," she murmured, her voice laced with something between nostalgia and sorrow. "A Von by blood, but somehow, he outclassed all of us in this lab."

  Venuela’s expression softened. She followed Silvia’s gaze to the Microfluidic Chambers Equipment Set...once Alexsir’s domain. Now, it belonged to someone else. Kesseur lei Vasseur, their cousin, was seated there, focused intently on his microscope, oblivious to their conversation.

  "I wonder how he is now," Venuela said, voice quieter this time.

  Silvia bit her lip. "When I heard about the crash…" She hesitated, her fingers curling slightly. "I didn’t know what to feel. After two years of complete silence, he finally surfaces...like that."

  Her eyes lingered on the empty space, as if expecting Alexsir to reappear, brow furrowed in concentration, oblivious to the outside world. But of course, that image only existed in her mind.

  "I heard Cassandra was sent to find him," Venuela said, snapping Silvia from her thoughts.

  Silvia’s head jerked toward her. "Cassandra?" The name left a bitter taste in her mouth. "That cold woman?" There was no mistaking the tension in her voice. "Why in the world would they send her?"

  Venuela shrugged, unfazed. "It wasn’t the Grand Council’s decision. Mr. Nico authorized it through PHI." She took another sip of her coffee, then smirked. "I’d bet anything Cassandra took advantage of Mr. Russle’s meeting with Nico to get direct orders...bypassing the Council entirely."

  Silvia clicked her tongue, her hands balling into fists against the fabric of her lab coat. "That woman is insufferable. Always forcing her will on others...especially when it comes to Alexsir!"

  Venuela grinned. "Oh? Jealous, are we?"

  Silvia’s breath hitched. "W-Wh-what?! That’s not...!" Her voice climbed an octave as pink bloomed across her cheeks. "I-I’m not jealous! I just hate how she acts like Alexsir belongs to her!"

  Venuela chuckled, clearly enjoying the reaction. She leaned back against the workstation, stretching her arms lazily. "Still, Silvi…" she drawled. "If Alexsir is your goal, you’d better work on your popularity. You’ve got a lot of competition. The branch heads are practically at war trying to claim him for their families."

  She tilted her head playfully. "And Cassandra? Don’t even get me started."

  Silvia opened her mouth, ready to fire back, but a voice interrupted before she could.

  Kesseur, who had been silent until now, finally lifted his head from the microscope, his sharp gaze shifting toward them.

  "Damn you, Alexsir!"

  Kesseur's outburst shattered the laboratory’s usual quiet, his voice reverberating off the sleek, sterile walls. Rows of illuminated screens flickered in response, momentarily casting restless shadows across the research equipment. Silvia and Venuela exchanged startled glances, their hands pausing mid-motion as the echoes faded into the hum of analytical instruments.

  "How the hell did you crack this RNA sequence and complete the AGE formula?" Kesseur growled, frustration thick in his voice. His fists clenched at his sides, knuckles white against his lab coat.

  Venuela winced, rubbing her ears dramatically. "Kessy, if you’re planning to scream like that, at least give me a damn warning first!" she huffed, shooting him a glare.

  Kesseur exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders back as if physically forcing himself to relax. "Ah...sorry. I’ve just completely run out of patience. I’m stuck trying to replicate the AGE formula."

  Silvia, who had been observing him with arms crossed, arched an eyebrow. "Stuck how?"

  Kesseur ran a hand through his hair in agitation, his fingers gripping the strands at his temples. "I keep asking myself...why the hell didn’t Alexsir leave any research notes on AGE here?" His voice was lower now, but the irritation lingered. "If we had even the smallest fragment of his original work, this would be so much easier."

  Silence settled between them. They all knew Alexsir had never been one to leave loose ends. His mind worked in layers, always moving several steps ahead of everyone else. That was both the brilliance and the curse of following in his footsteps.

  "But what pisses me off even more…" Kesseur exhaled sharply, his fingers tapping against the table’s metal surface. "Stellar...Brighton’s daughter...somehow managed to perfect AGE before us!"

  Venuela’s brows furrowed. "Stellar? You mean that TU celebrity? Starlight Stellar?"

  Kesseur’s eyes flashed with sudden realization, like a lock clicking into place. "Ah...TU!" He smacked his forehead, muttering a curse under his breath. "Of course! That’s it! Alexsir must have left his research notes there. That’s how Stellar was able to finalize AGE!"

  Before either of them could respond, he was already moving. Kesseur grabbed a data tablet from the table, nearly knocking over a nearby beaker in his rush. "Venny, you just saved me a ridiculous amount of time!" he called over his shoulder, already heading for the door.

  Venuela barely had time to react before the laboratory door slid shut behind him with a quiet hiss.

  She stared at the now-empty space he had occupied moments ago, then clicked her tongue in annoyance. "That brat! Could he at least acknowledge that other people exist before running off like that?"

  Silvia shook her head, watching the door with a contemplative expression. "Kesseur is really serious about that AGE replica, huh…"

  Silvia exhaled, her gaze fixed on the laboratory door that Kesseur had just stormed through. The quiet hum of the research facility filled the space he’d left behind, but his urgency still lingered in the air. She shook her head before turning to Venuela.

  "Speaking of Brighton’s daughter," Silvia said, her voice thoughtful. "What did you mean by Starlight? You’re not mistaken, Ven?"

  Venuela blinked, caught off guard by the question. "Huh? You don’t know Starlight Stellar? She’s practically everywhere right now. She perfected AGE...she’s a celebrity!"

  Silvia frowned, her brows drawing together. "Eh? All this time, I thought when people said ‘Brighton Stellar’s daughter,’ they were talking about Nastana Stellar. I didn’t know Nastana had a sister…"

  A heavy silence fell between them.

  Venuela’s expression stiffened. Her breath hitched. Something was wrong.

  Her gaze darted to the floor, then back up to Silvia, as if her brain was racing through every fact, every news report, every interview she had ever seen.

  Cold sweat formed along her temple.

  "Brighton only has one daughter."

  Her voice dropped to a near whisper, barely steady.

  Silvia felt her stomach tighten.

  Venuela swallowed, her fingers curling slightly at her sides. "Even in yesterday’s interview, Starlight herself said she has no siblings. And Nastana… was diagnosed with stage three cancer six years ago."

  Silvia froze.

  The air between them thickened, the weight of realization pressing down like an invisible force.

  "Eh…?"

  Silvia’s mind scrambled for something to grasp onto. "S-so where is Starlight now? Maybe we can ask her?"

  But Venuela wasn’t listening. She was staring at nothing in particular, her mind assembling scattered pieces of information, forcing them into a pattern that made sense.

  Then...her breath caught.

  Her head snapped up, eyes sharp, fierce.

  She grabbed Silvia’s shoulders.

  "Starlight is in Rosianna."

  The words were deliberate, heavy with meaning.

  "She went there for a ‘vacation’ after completing AGE." Venuela’s voice was eerily steady. "That’s what the celebrity news says."

  Silvia blinked. "Ahh… hmm?"

  Venuela inhaled deeply, trying to suppress the rush of adrenaline.

  "Don’t you get it, Silvi?"

  Silvia hesitated.

  Venuela’s grip on her shoulders tightened.

  "Starlight is Brighton’s only daughter now. But where is Nastana?" Her eyes bore into Silvia’s. "And Starlight left for Rosianna the day after the news of Alexsir’s plane crash broke. Plus, Alexsir left a special message for her...through the hangar manager, the same source that leaked the news."

  A chill ran down Silvia’s spine.

  "She’s not just on vacation," Venuela said, her tone final. "She’s going to Rosianna for a reason."

  Silvia’s eyes widened. The pieces snapped together.

  "Eh! Then that means… she’s looking for Alexsir?!"

  Panic flickered in her voice now.

  "But why? If she’s not Nastana, why would she go after Alexsir? And… what does she want from him?"

  "I don’t know!"

  Venuela’s voice rose, frustration slipping through.

  "But one thing’s certain...before we can figure out her intentions, we need to find out who Starlight really is."

  Silvia gave a sharp nod, still shaken. There was nothing left to argue...Venuela was right.

  "We’ll keep this between us."

  Venuela’s eyes darkened as she leaned in slightly.

  "I don’t want this reaching the higher-ups." Her grip on Silvia’s shoulders was firm. "Especially Mr. Russle."

  Silvia swallowed hard.

  She didn’t question it.

  Amidst the barons’ desperate search for their crowns, these two baronesses had set their sights on a different one.

  The investigation into Starlight Stellar had begun.

  Elders’ Pavilion

  Fredric walked at an unhurried pace along the brick path that cut through the vast, manicured lawn like a seam in a green velvet carpet. The night air was cool, carrying the scent of damp earth and freshly cut grass. A few meters to his left, a still body of water stretched out in the dim glow of estate lamps...an artificial lake nestled in the secluded corner of the Vasseur Family Grand Estate. The rhythmic trickle of a fountain at its edge blended with the whispers of the evening breeze and the steady hum of nocturnal insects.

  Beyond the lake, a circular pavilion loomed, its open-air design making it seem almost weightless, as if floating above the water. The pavilion’s polished pillars reflected the gentle glow of the garden lights, casting long, soft shadows across the tiled floor. Inside, benches were neatly arranged around a central buffet table, its surface laden with delicate pastries, fruit platters, and an assortment of drinks.

  Clusters of elders sat together, their laughter rising and falling in relaxed waves. Faces lined with age, hair streaked with gray or drained entirely of color, they still carried the echoes of the power they once wielded. Though officially retired from public affairs, the conversation weaving between them made it clear...they remained deeply entangled in the political machinations of the world outside.

  Fredric greeted them one by one before settling into a smaller, more reserved gathering near the far end of the pavilion. These figures...stoic, sharp-eyed despite their years...formed the Council of Elders, former members of the Grand Council and once-influential family officials. Though their official duties had long since passed into younger hands, their presence still dictated the delicate balance of power within the Vasseur lineage.

  Tonight, one issue weighed heavier than all others.

  “Russle is stretching himself too thin,” Abid zou Vasseur grumbled, exhaling as though the mere thought of it drained him. “Head of the family, a presidential candidate, and still trying to hold onto influence in the Interplanetary Federation Council? It’s madness.”

  He leaned forward, voice firm, each word carrying the weight of deep-rooted conviction.

  “He has to choose. If he remains the head of the family, he should abandon his political ambitions. If he’s determined to pursue the presidency, he must pass leadership of the family to someone else.”

  A murmur of agreement rippled through the group, though some of the elders exchanged more measured glances. Their attention shifted to Fredric, the youngest among them, yet one who had already begun carving his place in the political arena. He had been the one entrusted with the task of reasoning with Russle...of persuading him to reconsider before burdening himself beyond reason.

  Abid turned his gaze toward him. “What does Russle say?”

  Fredric took a slow sip from his glass, rolling the words over in his mind before answering.

  “He’s planning to hold an Extraordinary Assembly.”

  A pause settled over the group like a thickening mist.

  Tolkien bin Vasseur raised a skeptical brow. “An Extraordinary Assembly? Why escalate it to that level?”

  Fredric simply shrugged. “He said, ‘for the greater good.’”

  Kenneth est Vasseur let out a dry chuckle, the corner of his lips twitching in amusement. “Herman’s words.”

  “Like grandfather, like grandson,” Gerrald tis Vasseur muttered with a knowing nod.

  Tania von Vasseur leaned back, folding her arms as she studied the men around her. Her tone was even, but beneath it lay an unspoken resignation.

  “In the end, we have no real authority as long as Russle still holds his seat.”

  No one disagreed. The fountain continued its endless cycle, the ripples in the lake barely noticeable. The night, like the future, remained uncertain.

  George por Vasseur studied Fredric with a glint of curiosity. He swirled the amber liquid in his glass before speaking.

  "You truly are extraordinary," he mused. "An auf Vasseur with a political spirit...now, that’s rare. Usually, it’s the von Vasseur branch that fills our family’s political seats."

  Bina del Vasseur chuckled, her gaze shifting between the young man and the other elders. "This Fredric is one of the special ones. Just like Cassandra fur Vasseur… and Alexsir Vasseur."

  Fredric’s expression darkened instantly, his jaw tightening.

  "Don’t compare me to that traitor," he said coldly.

  A hush fell over the group, tension creeping in like an unwelcome guest. Several elders exchanged looks, their disapproval evident. Kenneth, Tania, Bina, and Gerrald were the first to react.

  "Watch your words, Fredric," Kenneth’s voice was sharp, cutting through the night air. "No matter what has happened, Alexsir remains one of the most valuable members of this family. A person like him doesn’t come along every thousand years."

  Though whispers of betrayal surrounded Alexsir’s name, it was clear...there were still those within the Council of Elders who wished to forgive him, who longed to see him return.

  George gave Fredric’s shoulder a firm yet measured pat. "Never underestimate Alexsir," he said. "He is, after all, a perfect human being."

  Abid scoffed, crossing his arms. "Herman was obsessed with his so-called ‘perfect human’ project. Absolutely mad."

  The conversation drifted, shifting toward the looming possibility of the 26th Vasseur Family Head Election...an event that could take place sooner than expected. And if Alexsir returned… the balance of power within the family would be irrevocably altered.

  No one in the room doubted the outcome.

  "If he enters the election, we all know how it ends," Abid said, his voice weighty with the inevitability of it. "Herman didn’t raise Alexsir to be ordinary."

  Tolkien ben Vasseur exhaled, shaking his head. "I still can’t believe it. No matter how talented he is… after everything he’s done, can we really accept him back?"

  "You talk as if Alexsir is the only worthy candidate," Gerrald tis Vasseur countered. "We have Fredric here. And Russle...at least, until he makes up his mind about his role."

  But Alexsir wasn’t the only shadow cast over the family. Another name lingered between them.

  Nico von Vasseur.

  Head of PHI.

  An heir who had chosen a different path, one that led away from the Vasseur House Grand Council. Cassandra fur Vasseur had been sent to Rosianna to find Alexsir, but some among them remained uneasy...not just about her mission, but about Nico himself.

  "Does he really believe his position in the PHI is more important than this family?" Kenneth est Vasseur muttered, crossing his arms over his chest.

  Tania von Vasseur’s lips curled into something between a smirk and a sneer. "He has his own way of doing things. We shouldn’t be surprised."

  "Or maybe," George por Vasseur interjected, setting down his glass with a soft clink, "we’re just angry. Because Cassandra used Nico as a shield...an excuse to slip away without facing us first."

  A thick silence settled over the room. Some glanced at one another, their expressions unreadable. Others inhaled deeply, as if drawing in the weight of unspoken words.

  Then, at last, Abid spoke again.

  His voice was low, measured, yet unmistakably firm.

  "Then we must prepare for the worst."

  The night stretched on, long and heavy.

  And the questions piled up, one upon another...digging, searching, tracing...who knew where the barons' crown were hidden?

  And more importantly… who had hidden them?