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Sebastian

S ebastian adjusted his tie as he stepped out of MAGIIC HQ, the towering spire gleaming under the fading sunlight. The meeting had been…unexpected. He hadn’t anticipated walking into a room full of such strong personalities, let alone one particular firebrand who seemed determined to hate him on principle.

Dante Reed.

The name lingered in his thoughts as he crossed the paved plaza outside the building, weaving through clusters of people who looked more like bureaucrats than mages. His glare, sharp and unyielding, was hard to ignore—just like everything else about the man. The way he moved, all tension and energy barely held in check, spoke volumes. And those fiery amber eyes?

Sebastian shook his head, cutting the thought short.

There wasn’t time for distractions, not with the fires and the chaos they were trying to unravel. Still, a flicker of something—curiosity, maybe—nagged at him. ARC was a tight-knit team, and despite the tension in that room, they’d trusted him enough to involve him. That alone was interesting.

Sliding into his car, Sebastian loosened his tie further, tossing it onto the passenger seat beside his briefcase. The car purred to life, its smooth hum a comforting backdrop as he pulled into traffic. The city rolled past in gleaming streaks of steel and glass, the orderly chaos of Eryndia feeling almost distant as his mind circled back to Dante.

He doesn’t trust me. That much is clear.

The thought didn’t sting as much as it should have. In fact, Sebastian found himself almost amused by his hostility. It wasn’t often someone had the nerve—or the passion—to challenge him so openly. For all his polished charm and carefully measured composure, Sebastian couldn’t deny there was something refreshing about it.

The sharp trill of his phone broke his reverie. Glancing at the screen, his father’s name glared back at him. Sebastian debated letting it ring out—knowing full well how that would go—but sighed and tapped the screen to answer.

“Father.”

“Sebastian,” his father said with the same clipped authority he always had, a command dressed as a greeting. “You’re coming to dinner tonight.”

Sebastian’s jaw tightened as he turned onto a quieter road. “And you’re telling me this now?”

“You’re not busy,” his father replied, as if that settled the matter. “Your mother expects you. Seven o’clock. Don’t be late.”

The line disconnected before Sebastian could argue. He stared at the phone for a moment before tossing it onto the passenger seat.

Why do I even bother?

His fingers tapped against the steering wheel as he pulled onto the highway that led to his apartment. The city’s bustling skyline faded into the rearview mirror, replaced by more subdued streets with their curated charm. The neighborhood was quieter, reserved—an oasis for those who could afford to escape the noise of central Eryndia.

Sebastian slowed at a red light, his thoughts already shifting back to the family dinner. It would be like all the others: veiled barbs, shallow conversations and endless talk of Blackthorn legacy this and Blackthorn reputation that. His parents cared about appearances, nothing more. And yet, for all his resistance, he still showed up. Maybe it was duty. Maybe it was guilt. Maybe it was both.

The light turned green, and he sighed, driving the last few blocks to his building.

The parking garage was dimly lit, the hum of fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. Sebastian grabbed his tie and briefcase, taking the elevator up to his floor. The moment he stepped into his apartment, the stillness wrapped around him like a familiar coat. Sleek lines, minimalist furniture and shelves overflowing with books greeted him.

He poured himself a glass of water, leaning against the counter as his gaze drifted to the window. The city was distant now, a glittering expanse on the horizon. For a fleeting moment, he thought about skipping dinner entirely. His parents wouldn’t forgive him, but what else was new?

Still, the lingering curiosity about Dante crept back in. That fire, that sharp wit—it wasn’t something he encountered often in his usual circles. Most people played polite games, their words carefully chosen to avoid offense or reveal too much. Dante? He wore his emotions openly, unapologetically.

Sebastian drained his glass and set it down with a soft clink. He didn’t have time to sit here analyzing someone he barely knew, no matter how much they intrigued him. Dinner with his family awaited, whether he wanted it or not.

Shrugging on a clean jacket, Sebastian grabbed his keys and headed back to the car. He’d face his parents, endure their passive-aggressive remarks, and come out on the other side unscathed. Just like always.

As he pulled out of the garage, a smile tugged at his lips.

At least my suffocating life just got a little more interesting.

***

The wrought-iron gates of Blackthorn Manor loomed ahead, their intricate designs twisting like ivy over steel. Sebastian slowed his car as the automated locks disengaged with a soft click, the gates creaking open just enough for him to pass. The manor itself came into view as he turned onto the long cobblestone driveway: a sprawling estate of gothic spires and pristine lawns, every inch designed to impress—or intimidate.

He parked near the grand entrance, the soft crunch of gravel beneath his tires the only sound in the otherwise still evening. Lights glowed warmly from the towering windows, the facade casting long shadows across the carefully manicured gardens. To most, it would have looked inviting. To Sebastian, it was just a gilded cage.

Straightening his jacket, he stepped out of the car and climbed the stone steps to the double doors. They opened before he could knock, a Blackthorn housekeeper bowing as she ushered him inside. “Welcome home, Mr. Sebastian.”

“Thanks, Marta,” he said, polite but distant. Home wasn’t a word he’d use for this place but correcting her felt cruel.

The grand foyer stretched before him, all gleaming marble and sweeping staircases. Chandeliers cast a golden glow over the space, and a hum of music drifted from the dining room. His mother’s touch was evident in every detail—opulent but tasteful, the kind of luxury that whispered wealth instead of shouting it.

Voices echoed from the far end of the hall, and Sebastian’s stomach tightened. He followed the sound into the dining room, where his family was already gathered.

Sebastian stepped into the dining room, the murmurs quieting as his presence was noticed. The room was as opulent as ever, with its high ceilings, ornate chandeliers and heavy velvet drapes framing the windows. The long table gleamed under the warm light, its polished surface set with intricate China and silverware. Everything about Blackthorn Manor screamed wealth and status, right down to the scent of lavender that lingered in the air, likely diffused for maximum effect.

“Sebastian,” his mother, Lady Morgana, greeted him warmly, rising from her chair. Her emerald dress shimmered as she stepped forward to kiss his cheek. “I was beginning to think you’d forgotten us.”

“Not tonight,” he replied, offering her a smile. Morgana Blackthorn might have been spoiled by her privileged life, but she had always tried to maintain appearances. There was no malice in her demeanor, only the polish of someone who had spent decades perfecting her role as a high society hostess.

“Still punctual, I see,” Lord Alaric Blackthorn said from the head of the table, his whiskey glass resting loosely in his hand. His tone was neutral, though his piercing gaze lingered on Sebastian for a moment too long.

Sebastian took his seat, his gaze drifting to his eldest siblings. Cassandra, their sister, sat poised with her dark hair braided over one shoulder, exuding quiet detachment. Beside her was Edric, the second-oldest brother, hunched over a thick tome he’d brought as a shield against conversation. Though twins, they were nothing alike—Cassandra radiated aloof elegance, while Edric seemed more comfortable buried in his books than engaging with anyone around him.

Across the table, Rylan lounged with his characteristic ease, his smirk widening as he caught Sebastian’s eye. “The prodigal son returns,” he said, raising his wine glass in a mock toast. “I was starting to think you’d finally escaped.”

“Not quite,” Sebastian replied evenly, pouring himself a glass of water. “Someone has to keep you from burning the place down.”

“I’m not the one with a fire problem,” Rylan said, his grin sharp as he swirled his wine. The double entendre wasn’t lost on Sebastian, but he let it slide.

From the corner of his eye, Sebastian caught Silas’s steady, unreadable gaze. His uncle had always been an enigmatic figure, his rare words carrying a calculated precision that made people listen. Seated next to their father, Silas sipped his wine without a word, his presence quieter than usual but no less commanding. That gaze lingered on Sebastian a moment longer than necessary, and a flicker of unease crept beneath Sebastian’s skin.

Dinner began promptly, the first course appearing as if by magic. The servants moved with precision, replacing empty plates and refilling glasses before anyone needed to ask. Conversation ebbed and flowed, though it was more a performance than genuine connection. Morgana regaled them with stories of her latest charity events. Alaric chimed in occasionally.

Cassandra barely spoke, offering the occasional nod or murmured agreement. Edric, true to form, remained buried in his book, his fork moving mechanically between plate and mouth. Rylan, on the other hand, took every opportunity to needle Sebastian, his remarks veiled just enough to pass as jokes.

“So,” Morgana said as the second course was served, her gaze settling on Sebastian. “How is your work these days?”

Sebastian straightened, surprise flickering across his face. His mother rarely expressed interest in his work, even superficially. “It’s fulfilling,” he said. “I’ve been consulting on a series of magical fires in the city. It’s…challenging.”

Morgana’s brow furrowed. “Magical fires? That sounds dreadful.”

Sebastian nodded, taking a sip of his wine. “That’s part of the investigation.”

“Sounds very…noble. Tell me, Sebastian, do you ever tire of playing the hero?” Rylan drawled.

Sebastian met his brother’s gaze. “Do you ever tire of doing nothing?”

Rylan’s smirk didn’t waver. “Touché.”

“Rylan,” Morgana said sharply, her tone carrying a warning. “This is a family dinner, not a debate.”

“It’s fine, Mother,” Sebastian said, clipped but measured. He cast a sidelong glance at Rylan, who was clearly enjoying himself far too much. “This is how it always goes.”

Morgana frowned at Rylan, lifting her glass with a delicate hand. “Must you always provoke your brother? Can’t we have one dinner without you two bickering?”

Rylan raised his wine in mock surrender, his smirk unshaken. “No bickering here. Just a little brotherly encouragement.”

Sebastian scoffs under his breath, earning a pointed look from Morgana.

“Enough, both of you,” she said, though her tone softened as she turned back to Sebastian. “You mentioned something about fires earlier? That must be fascinating. Is it dangerous?”

Sebastian paused, choosing his words carefully. While his mother’s curiosity seemed genuine, he knew better than to let his guard down. “There’s a lot we don’t know yet.”

“Ah,” Morgana murmured, though her furrowed brow lingered. “And why’re you involved?”

Sebastian met her gaze. “I’m helping identify patterns and offering historical context where necessary.”

“And have those patterns led you anywhere yet?” Silas asked. He swirled his wine, his gaze resting on Sebastian with unnerving calm.

Sebastian kept his expression neutral, though the directness of the question set him on edge. “It’s still early days.”

Silas leaned back in his chair, a smile playing at his lips. “A delicate process, no doubt.”

“Always,” Sebastian replied, his tone cool. He could feel Silas’s scrutiny like a tangible weight, the older man’s casual demeanor doing little to mask the calculation behind his words.

“How often do you come across something like this in your work?” Silas remarked, taking a slow sip of his wine.

Sebastian hesitated, his mind working quickly to deflect without raising suspicion. “Magic can take on many forms.”

“True enough,” Silas said, inclined his head, as though satisfied with the response, and returned to his wine.

The rhythm of Silas’s fingers tapping against his glass was at odds with his otherwise calm demeanor. It wasn’t much—barely noticeable—but Sebastian didn’t miss it. If Silas knew something, he wasn’t about to reveal it. His words hung in the air, deliberately vague, but Sebastian couldn’t shake the feeling that they carried a deeper meaning.

“Anyway,” Morgana interjected, her smile bright but strained. “Enough about work. Let’s talk about the gala. Sebastian, you will be attending, won’t you?”

“Of course,” he said, though inwardly he cringed at the thought.

“Good,” she said, clearly pleased. “We need a strong presence from the family. Cassandra, you’ll be there too?”

Cassandra inclined her head. “If I must.”

Rylan chuckled, raising his glass again. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Sebastian listened with half an ear, his thoughts circling back to his uncle’s carefully chosen words. Silas rarely spoke without purpose, and this time was no different. If his uncle knew more than he was letting on, Sebastian intended to find out.