In the central square a marble platform rose, and eleven thrones were set, ornate with the sigils of House Fernandes.
I breathed in, watching everything. In my past life… I never saw all my siblings gathered like this.
“Why… are they all here?” I thought, my stomach twisting. “And why does it feel like… something bigger is forming?”
The Herald raised his voice, commanding absolute silence.
“The annual festival of the Capital Sorriso begins. Let all nations witness the strength of House Fernandes!”
“In honor of the patriarch Kyros José Fernandes II… I will present his heirs:”
One by one he announced them.
“Alex Fernandes, Firstborn, Heir of the Sun of Primogeniture!” The eldest climbed the steps with the dignity of a king. Tall, silver at the temples, a gaze heavy as lead — supreme leader of border campaigns and guardian of the eastern lands.
“Darian Fernandes, Lord of Blades!” The second rose in silence, draped in black and silver, expression cold as steel — master duelist and head of House Blades, renowned across the Empire for martial excellence.
“Helena Fernandes, Lady of Gold!” She walked with poise, a golden dress gleaming — a born diplomat, commander of House Gold, whose coffers sustain the armies.
“Marcos Fernandes, the Wandering Wolf!” Marcos came laughing, hands in pockets, steps lazy — a traveler, hunter, leader of House Wild, known for refusing to be tied to any place.
“Selene Fernandes, Lady of the Dark Eye!” The fifth ascended like a shadow, an emotionless, icy stare — the sharpest mind among the siblings, master of research and espionage.
“Valquíria Fernandes, the Trevo!” Valquíria came grinning arrogantly, her hammer on her shoulder — leader of the Trevo Squad, the Valquírias, a symbol of the family’s feminine strength.
“Luiz Fernandes, the Copas!” Luiz came laughing out loud, clapping as if this were all a game — master of the Copas, an outfit famed for brutal discipline and the highest win rates in close combat.
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“Lyncon and Maycon Fernandes, the Mirror Twins!” The two stepped up together, synchronized in every move — commanders of the Mirror Houses, their synergy already the stuff of legend.
“Lukas Fernandes, Tenth Son.” The Herald hesitated. For a moment silence swallowed the square. “No house… no squad… known only for his resemblance to the patriarch… and for a lack of notable deeds. Promised only the founding of the legionaries.”
Murmurs and laughter rolled through the crowd.
Whispers ran among the guests. Some laughed. Others simply looked away.
I inhaled and climbed each step. I am not the same anymore.
“And finally… Adriele Fernandes, the Crimson Rose.” My youngest sister stepped up with steady steps. Her white-and-green dress shimmered, and she smiled at me as she passed. Still without a permanent house but with a bright future, she has already shown incredible talent.
She paused at her throne and turned. Our eyes met. Pride, not pity, in hers.
The Herald raised his voice once more: “These are the children of Kyros Fernandes. Those who have none —” he glanced toward me — “nothing then. Gather allies, form houses, raise the name of your lineage!”
“…You’ll regret laughing,” I murmured, feeling César’s soft chuckle in my mind.
César (noble voice): “Lift that chin, boy. A legionary bows to no one.”
Morgana (malicious): “I’ll teach him to lift something else.”
“Hihihi… but if you want, I can teach you how to bow… only for me…”
“SHUT UP!” I barked, loud enough that several nobles raised their eyebrows.
César, indignant: “I’ve already told you — that woman will be your ruin!”
“Mercy…” I muttered, running a hand over my face. “I’m screwed…”
When I sat, I heard Valquíria’s low laugh and Luiz throwing out a line: “Look at little Lukinhas… freaking out by himself,” he said theatrically. “Bet he’s hearing voices…”
“…I swear I’ll kill you two one day.”
The festival began.
While the performances continued, teams disguised as artists, vendors and musicians stood at key points across the city. Every food stall, every dancing troupe, every band — all positioned strategically to open or close routes, guide civilians, and raise barriers, without anyone noticing they were defenses.
Spectators saw only a magnificent show. But to me, it was a living map:
- Guards disguised as drink distributors left subtle runes of warning at corners.
- Children ran with colored ribbons — each color marking a blockade point or escape lane.
- Musicians altered their rhythm with coded patterns, dictating the timing of tactical movements.
Everything looked like part of the celebration. And it was — but it was also the skeleton of an invisible fortress.
César, proud, murmured: “Boy… this is genius. You’re spreading joy and building defenses at the same time.”
Morgana, laughing: “Yes… but I still prefer when he spreads other things. When he’s at the limit and can’t hold back.”
“César, aghast: depraved fox, promiscuous.” — “Lukas!” the shield bellowed. “She will be your ruin one day… listen to what the shield says, young eques!”
I ignored him.
With every laugh in the crowd, with every applause, I knew we were better prepared — and nobody felt fear.
The world would witness the restart of the failed one… and they would also see that, beneath the music and the revelry, the city was ready to resist.
End of chapter 7