Chapter 166: The Things Left Unsaid
Chapter 166: The Things Left Unsaid
The door closed with a soft click.
Seris stood in the center of Room Three, eyes fixed on her brother as though she had already rehearsed every word she intended to speak. The free day had emptied most of the residential corridors, leaving only the distant sound of students leaving through the outer gates. Inside the room the silence felt heavier than usual.
Andras remained near the door, unhurried. He studied her the same way he studied everything else—without urgency, without warmth, simply collecting information.
"I wanted to talk to you," she said.
"I expected that."
Seris’s brows drew together. "How did you know?"
"I saw you at the theater."
The words landed exactly as he had calculated. Color rose faintly across her cheeks. She looked away for half a second before forcing her gaze back to him, as though refusing to show the embarrassment that had already betrayed her.
"So you were there," she said. "You watched the entire thing. You heard me."
Andras nodded once. "I did."
"And you just... left."
"Yes."
She exhaled through her nose, a short, sharp sound that carried both irritation and something closer to resignation. "Of course you did."
Andras stepped further into the room and gestured toward the chairs near the window. Seris did not sit. She remained standing, arms folded, as though the act of sitting would somehow concede ground she was not yet ready to give.
"You wrote an entire moving picture," she said at last. Her voice was controlled, but the edge beneath it was unmistakable. "You put your name on the credits for the entire capital to see. And you never once mentioned it to me."
"I didn’t see a reason to," Andras replied.
Seris’s eyes narrowed. "That’s your answer? You didn’t see a reason?"
"Yes."
She took a step closer. "Do you have any idea how it felt sitting in that theater and watching your name appear while everyone around me started whispering? I looked like a complete idiot. My own brother creates something that popular and I find out with the rest of the audience."
Andras remained silent for a moment, studying her. There was genuine frustration in her expression, mixed with something closer to hurt. He recognized the emotion. He simply did not share it.
"I wrote the story," he said evenly. "That was the extent of my involvement. The production, the actors, the final editing—none of that required my constant attention. There was nothing worth reporting at every stage."
"That isn’t the point." Seris’s voice rose slightly. "You could have told me you were involved at all. One sentence. That would have been enough."
"Would it have changed anything?"
She stared at him. "What?"
"Would knowing earlier have made the moving picture better or worse? Would it have altered the final product?" Andras’s tone stayed level. "If the answer is no, then the information wasn’t necessary."
Seris looked as though she wanted to argue further, but the logic left her without an immediate counter. She turned away and walked toward the window, resting one hand against the frame. Outside, students moved across the courtyard in small groups, taking advantage of the free day. The sky remained pale and clear.
"You’re impossible sometimes," she muttered.
"I’ve been told."
A short silence settled between them. Seris kept her back to him, but the tension in her shoulders gradually eased. When she spoke again, her voice was quieter.
"Mother knew, didn’t she?"
"Yes."
Seris let out a short, humorless breath. "Of course she did." She turned around. "And Lyra?"
"She was present when I watched it the first time."
"Naturally." Seris shook her head. "Everyone except me."
Andras did not offer comfort. He simply watched her. After a few seconds he asked, "Is that the only reason you came?"
Seris’s fingers tightened against the window frame. For a moment she seemed to consider denying it. Then she let the pretense fall.
"No," she said. "I heard you went back to Darkmoor for a while."
"Mother wanted to see the moving picture with me. I went."
Seris’s expression shifted. The earlier irritation remained, but something deeper and more personal moved beneath it. "So she wanted to see it with her son... but not with her daughter."
Andras said nothing.
"She never even mentioned it to me," Seris continued. "Just like you. Not a word. Not a single invitation. I only found out because two of my friends dragged me to the theater." Her voice tightened. "Why? Why am I never part of these things? Am I not your sister? Am I not her daughter? Why does she treat you better and not me?"
Seris waited for an answer. Andras gave her none.
Andras regarded her without shifting his posture.
Seris turned fully to face him. The careful control she had maintained until now began to crack.
"It’s not just this," she said. "It’s always been like this. Since we were children. Mother has always treated you better. Always."
Andras remained silent, letting her continue.
"Even when my talent was higher than yours," Seris went on, her voice growing sharper. "Even when the instructors said I was the stronger one—she still spent more time with you. She still praised you more. She still looked at you like you were the one who mattered most."
She took another step forward.
"And when you abused the servants? When you hit them over the smallest mistakes, when you made Lyra cry for no reason at all—what did Mother do? Nothing. She never said a word to you. She never punished you. She never even scolded you properly. She just cleaned up the mess afterward and acted as if nothing had happened."
Seris’s eyes burned with the weight of years she had never spoken aloud until now.
"But if I raised my voice even once, or if I was too strict with a servant, she would immediately correct me. She would tell me a Darkmoor must show restraint. She would look at me with that quiet disappointment. Yet you could do whatever you wanted and she would still protect you."
She laughed once, short and bitter.
"So tell me, Andras. Why? Why has it always been you?"
Andras met her gaze without flinching. He did not look away. He did not soften his expression.
"You are part of the Darkmoor family. You are my sister. You are her daughter. None of that changes simply because she treats me differently."
Seris’s eyes flashed. "Then why—"
"I know she treats me differently." Andras’s voice remained even. "That much is obvious."
He paused for a brief moment, not out of hesitation, but because the next words required precision.
"Jealousy isn’t useful. That doesn’t mean it’s baseless."
Seris’s lips parted slightly. The answer was still cold, still distant—but it was no longer purely dismissive. It acknowledged the reality of what she had lived through without offering sympathy or apology.
"I’m not her," Andras continued. "I don’t know what she thinks, and I won’t invent reasons for her. If you want answers, ask her directly."
Seris stared at him for several long seconds. The anger that had carried her into the room did not vanish, but it lost its sharpest edge. In its place something quieter and more exhausted settled across her features.
She looked away again, toward the courtyard below. Students continued to leave in small groups. Somewhere beyond the academy walls the capital continued its ordinary day. None of it concerned the conversation happening inside Room Three.
"...Okay," she said at last, the word almost reluctant. "I’m sorry about that. I will ask Mother myself."
Andras nodded once.
Seris pushed away from the window and walked toward the door. When she reached the threshold she paused, one hand on the latch, still not turning fully toward him.
"Next time something like this happens," she said, "tell me. Even if you think it isn’t necessary. Just... tell me."
Andras considered the request. It cost him nothing to agree, and refusal would only prolong an already inefficient conversation.
"I’ll consider it."
Seris gave a short nod, as though she had expected nothing more. She opened the door and stepped into the corridor. The soft sound of her footsteps faded toward the eastern wing.
Andras closed the door again and returned to the center of the room.
Seris had carried this longer than he expected.
He sat on the edge of the bed and closed his eyes, allowing the residual tension of the exchange to settle. Outside, the free day continued. Students left the academy in search of entertainment or rest. Professors used the quiet to catch up on their own work. Everything appeared ordinary.
He opened his eyes, stood, and prepared to spend the rest of the free day testing the limits of his newly acquired talents and the spells he had learned—exactly as he had planned before Seris knocked on his door.
The day was still young.
And Andras intended to use every hour of it.