The God of Nothing.-Chapter 15: The Price of Defiance

Vaerin stood rooted in place, fingers trembling, flames sputtering weakly from his palms.

His breath came in short, uneven gasps as disbelief slowly settled over him, heavy and oppressive.

It wasn't supposed to happen like this.

His eyes darted toward the courtyard, to the guards—those worthless, unblessed rats—who erupted into cheers.

Their voices rose and crashed like waves, shouting a name he had grown to despise more with each passing day:

Caelith.

The sounds rang in his ears, drilling through his skull and straight into his pride.

Anger boiled up from the depths of his stomach, spreading like molten lead through his veins.

He clenched his fists so tightly his knuckles paled, tiny crescents of blood pooling where his nails bit into the skin.

His sister stood silent beside him.

Selphira's golden eyes, which usually sparkled with smug amusement, were now blank.

Her lips pressed into a thin, unreadable line, refusing even to glance in his direction.

That stung more than any wound Caelith could've inflicted.

Vaerin wanted to scream, to strike her, to force her to acknowledge him—anything to shatter the oppressive silence she imposed.

But he did nothing.

He simply sheathed his sword and turned sharply away, storming off the training ground as fast as his shaking legs would carry him.

The cheers followed him down the corridor like ghosts whispering their mockery, each step feeling heavier than the last.

The halls of House Stormont stretched endlessly ahead, once comforting with their luxury, now oppressive.

His heartbeat thundered painfully in his ears, footsteps echoing off polished marble and towering stone walls.

Servants glanced at him, startled and cautious, quickly averting their eyes from the humiliation painted across his face.

He walked faster.

His mind wandered as he approached his goal.

Vaerin always thought of himself as a very fair person.

He was fair in his treatment of everyone; just in his own twisted way.

Those of noble lineage deserved basic acknowledgment and respect; those of a higher status than him, would never even hear him express dissatisfaction with anything.

Commoners, however, rightfully deserved to be under his foot; that was fair.

What had just occurred, however, was truly unfair.

'That Caelith must have cheated! It's impossible otherwise!'

By the time he reached his mother's chambers, Vaerin's breaths came in sharp, uneven gasps.

He didn't knock, didn't announce himself. Instead, he threw the door open, startling Lady Elowen Stormont from her chair.

She looked up immediately, eyes narrowing at his disheveled appearance.

"Vaerin, what happened?"

She demanded sharply, her pale green eyes flashing with immediate suspicion.

Vaerin stood before her, chest heaving, fists shaking, unable to speak.

His tongue felt thick, useless, weighed down by humiliation.

Finally, he forced out the words bitter and sharp.

"I lost. Caelith...that worthless, mana-less bastard, he defeated me".

"He must have cheated!"

Elowen rose slowly, gripping the edge of her carved wooden desk.

Her knuckles turned bone-white, the subtle twitch at her jaw betraying deepening fury beneath a cold mask.

"And you came to tell me this?" Her voice was venomously calm, filled with restrained fury.

"You allowed a mana-less bastard to shame our family?"

"To humiliate my son?"

His mother's anger was not hot or wild like his own—it was sharp, precise, and terrifying.

Vaerin swallowed, the lump in his throat stubbornly resisting.

"I—he—" Vaerin started, desperation coloring his voice.

"He doesn't fight like us."

"He relies entirely on physicality, like some animal".

"My fire, my blessing...it meant nothing against him."

Elowen rose abruptly from her chair, silk robes rustling like whispers of steel.

She circled around her desk, stopping mere inches from Vaerin.

Her gaze pierced into him, burning with an intensity that made him flinch.

"Do you understand what you've done?"

She hissed quietly, each word dripping with venom.

"You've demonstrated weakness to the guards, to the servants—to the entire household."

"How do you expect to lead... to rule".

"If even the lowest scum can defeat you?"

Vaerin's nails bit deeper into his palms, the pain barely noticeable now.

His voice cracked as he replied.

"I'll make this right, Mother. I'll train—"

"You'll do nothing,"

Elowen interrupted

sharply, stepping back.

She moved toward her desk, eyes fixed on a distant, unseeable point.

"You will train, yes. You will redeem yourself eventually".

"But this insult from the bastard and his filthy mother—this, I will handle."

Vaerin glanced at his mother nervously.

"What do you mean?"

She didn't answer immediately.

Instead, she walked toward the window.

Staring out over the expanse of the Stormont gardens, her expression darkening.

"They've hidden away in the shadow of your father's mercy for far too long. I thought ignoring them was enough."

"Clearly, I was mistaken."

She turned slowly to face him again.

Her gaze, cold and calculating, held an edge of steel.

"I'll have my guards handle it,"

she declared finally, the calmness of her voice chilling him to the bone.

"A public defeat needs a public response. It's only right, isn't it?"

Her personal guards.

Not Stormont men—Elowen's own loyalists, recruited from her family's lands in the northern borders.

They had no camaraderie for Caelith nor his mother; they answered solely to Elowen.

Ruthless men, whose loyalty was bought by gold, whose silence and efficiency she trusted absolutely.

Vaerin felt a strange blend of relief and dread.

His mother's reputation was merciless, and her punishments were legendary.

Yet beneath the fear was a grim sense of satisfaction.

Caelith would pay, finally.

The smug bastard who humiliated him would finally understand the weight of crossing the Stormonts.

"And what exactly do you have planned?"

He asked cautiously, unable to keep the anticipation from his voice.

Elowen turned slowly, her eyes coldly calculating.

"I intend to remind everyone exactly why our family rules, why the Stormonts have remained unchallenged for generations."

"Perhaps exile, or even..."

She trailed off, eyes glittering darkly,

"Something more permanent."

Vaerin felt his heart quicken.

"Permanent?"

She turned back to face him, eyes cold and indifferent.

"It's about sending a message".

"That boy and his mother have lived far too long under this roof, benefiting from our generosity while spreading their disease".

"You've seen the way the servants look at him now—the whispers, the respect he's earned. If left unchecked, it'll fester."

Her voice was colder now, quiet and dangerous.

"Better to cut the rot out before it infects everything."

Vaerin hesitated.

A small voice, something buried deep and barely audible, protested softly.

Caelith was just a boy, his mother powerless—but the shame, the fury, quickly silenced that fleeting thought. It was their fault.

His mother's response was only fair; Caelith bit the hand that had fed him, and now he'll be cast away to live like a commoner should.

Caelith had chosen this, stepping beyond his station.

His mother had allowed it.

They'd brought this upon themselves.

Vaerin nodded slowly, resolve hardening within him.

"I understand."

"Good," Elowen said, voice softening ever so slightly.

She stepped forward, resting her hand gently yet firmly on his shoulder.

Her grip felt both comforting and threatening.

"You're my son, Vaerin. You are destined for greatness. Remember that."

He straightened, feeling warmth finally returning to his limbs, invigorated by his mother's unwavering conviction.

He was the heir, the blessed one — not Caelith.

He would reclaim his pride and restore his dignity, while his mother would ensure Caelith and Elysia finally faced the punishment they deserved.

"Go now," Elowen dismissed gently, turning back toward the window.

"Let me handle this."

Vaerin bowed and turned sharply, heading for the door.

The humiliation no longer crushed him; instead, determination surged through his chest, cold and comforting.

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As he walked back through the estate halls, he could almost hear the coming pleas, taste the vengeance on his tongue.

Soon, everyone would know the cost of mocking a Stormont...

In her chambers, Elowen stood silently, her eyes glittering like frost beneath the moonlight.

She reached toward a silver bell on her desk, ringing it softly.

A guard appeared head bowed respectfully.

"You summoned me, my lady?"

She smiled coldly, the faintest curve of her lips betraying anticipation.

"Gather the others,"

she ordered quietly.

"It's time we cleaned house."

The guard bowed deeper, withdrawing silently.

Left alone once more, Elowen turned back toward the window, a faint, sinister smile curling her lips.

Justice would be served.