Prologue: Arlo

Arlo straightened his tie, hoping that the next formal family event would be his last one. His family expected him to turn up and put on a good showing. The Sixclaw family had prestige. Power. His particular branch of the family, however, budded into fruit – fruit that threatened to drop off from the branch itself and seed into a new family. A new clan.

His mother didn't want that. She wanted their family to stay together, to be attached to the powerful Sixclaw name. His father, however, wanted to embrace the necromantic magic that ran through their branch of the family. Only their side of the Sixclaws had the strain – and the magic itself was enough to fund lucrative careers, to fund their own new clan.

He paused by the door, hearing another heated argument between his parents.

"Don't try any of your foul dark shenanigans," his mother spat at his father. "I have a hard enough time trying to keep everything respectable and to the standards that are expected of us. You've put too much fancy into our son's head. Both our sons. Now he wants to run off to Dreadmor Academy as well instead of picking the option that's best for all of us."

"Dreadmor will foster his talents better than Archon," his father argued back heatedly, his voice rasping. "Not everything is about these parties, about prestige. Sometimes, we have to do things ourselves. We can break off. We have enough clout to do it."

"No, we can't – we can't break up the family. I love you. You know I love you. But this – we can't do this. You shouldn't have encouraged that magic. It's obscene. People distrust such… practices!"

He peered through the door crack to see his mother's hands balled up into fists against her husband's chest. Then her head rested against him, and he cradled her.

"We'll find a way to make this work. We will."

She stayed in the embrace before tearing away with a dramatic sob. "We…" She swallowed. "Let's get ready."

A cold, numb feeling spread through Arlo's body and brain, frosting over his heart.

His parents argued more and more. And now, with his choice to go to Dreadmor – it might just be the final wedge in their floundering relationship.

Selfish, he thought of himself. So selfish. He should just tear up the admission letter. Beg for Archon to let him in. Fix the family. But his magic… he wanted to learn.

With guilt, he closed the door, searching for a jacket to present himself to the last party before his term started. I'm sorry.