SSS-Ranked Summoner: Only I Summon All Heroes And Heroines Of Legend-Chapter 55: Discord

The family gathered in the formal sitting room just before dawn.

Altair arrived to find his mother already there, seated in one of the high-backed chairs near the fireplace. She’d changed from her bedside vigil clothes into a formal black dress, her hair pulled back severely. Her eyes were red but dry. She’d cried herself out hours ago.

Zara sat beside her, looking smaller than Altair remembered. She was fourteen now—nearly fifteen—but in that moment, she looked like a child. Her face was pale, her hands folded tightly in her lap. When she saw Altair enter, pure relief flickered in her expression.

"Altair," she said softly.

He crossed the room and pulled her into a brief embrace. She held onto him tightly for a moment before letting go.

"I’m glad you’re home," she whispered.

"Me too."

Michael stood by the window, his back turned to the room. He was dressed impeccably as always, dark suit, perfectly pressed, every detail precise. His posture was rigid. He didn’t turn when Altair entered.

The tension in the room was thick enough to cut, there was a lot to say, but who would break the ice?.

Altair took a seat across from his mother. "Where is he now?"

"The healers are preparing him," Helena said quietly. "The funeral will be in three days. We need to inform the other members of the family, and make the proper arrangements..."

Her voice trailed off, the weight of everything that needed to be done settling over her like a shroud.

"I’ll handle the notifications," Michael said, still facing the window. His voice was calm, and calculative as if devoid of emotional influence. "The family needs to present a united front. We can’t appear weak. Not now."

"Michael," Helena said tiredly. "Can we please—"

"No." Michael turned finally, and Altair saw his face properly for the first time in a year.

His younger brother had changed. He was a year older now, but he looked three years older. His features had sharpened, his jaw more defined. But it was his eyes that struck Altair the most. They were hard. Cold. The eyes of someone who’d already made calculations and come to conclusions.

"We need to discuss this now," Michael continued. "Before word spreads. And the vultures start circling."

"Our father just died," Zara said, her voice trembling. "Can’t we at least—"

"Our father is dead," Michael interrupted, his tone brooking no argument. "And that changes everything. The Elfender family is in a precarious position. Father’s illness was kept quiet, but his death won’t be. The other houses will see this as weakness. As an opportunity."

He looked directly at Altair for the first time.

"Especially now that the prodigal son has returned."

Altair met his gaze evenly. "I’m not here to cause problems, Michael."

"Aren’t you?" Michael’s smiled in a thin and sharp manner. "You disappeared for a year. Left the family to deal with Father’s decline while you played at being a summoner. And now you waltz back in at the exact moment he dies. What a convenient timing for you isn’t it?."

"That’s not—" Altair started, but Michael cut him off.

"I don’t care what your intentions were. I care about optics. And right now, your presence complicates things."

Helena stood abruptly. "Michael, enough."

"Mother, you know I’m right." Michael’s voice softened slightly when he addressed her, but the steel underneath remained. "We need clarity. We need structure. The family can’t function in chaos."

He turned back to Altair. "You’re the eldest son. By tradition, that means you’re supposed to be the heir. But you’ve been absent. Uninvolved. You don’t know the current state of our holdings, our alliances, our obligations."

"Then tell me," Altair said calmly.

Michael laughed—a short, humorless sound. "It’s not that simple. This isn’t something you can learn in a week. I’ve been managing Father’s affairs for months. I know every contract, every negotiation, every piece of leverage we have. I’ve kept this family afloat while he withered away in that bed."

"And I’m grateful for that," Altair said. "Truly. You did what needed to be done."

"But?" Michael’s eyes narrowed.

"But the heir lies with the first. That hasn’t changed."

The room went silent.

Michael’s jaw clenched. "You can’t be serious."

"I’m completely serious."

"You have no experience—"

"Oh, you have no idea Michael."

"You have no relationships with the other houses—"

"Houses loyal to the Elfender are loyal to the name, and not to you, they will answer to it."

"You’ve been gone for a year!" Michael’s tone has changed, his calm and calculative demeanor failing. Anger was begining to sip through

"And now I’m back."

Michael took a step forward, his composure cracking slightly. "This isn’t a game, Altair. This is the survival of our family. The Summoner’s War is coming. Alliances are being formed. Treaties are being negotiated. One wrong move and we could lose everything."

"I understand that, and I know what’s at play, even more than you do Mike."

"Do you?" Michael’s voice rose slightly. "Do you really? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re trying to claim something you didn’t earn just because you happened to be born first."

"Michael!" Helena’s voice cracked like a whip. "That is enough."

Michael stopped, breathing hard. For a moment, he just stared at Altair, something dark and bitter churning in his expression.

Then he turned away. "Fine. We’ll discuss this later. When we’re all less... emotional."

He walked toward the door.

"Michael," Helena called after him. "Where are you going?"

"To make the arrangements," he said without turning back. "Someone needs to handle things."

The door closed behind him with a quiet click that somehow felt louder than a slam.

Silence settled over the room.

Zara spoke first, her voice small. "He’s been like this for months. Ever since Father got worse."

Helena sank back into her chair, suddenly looking exhausted. "He’s scared. We all are."

"He doesn’t look scared," Altair said quietly. "He looks angry."

"He is," Lady Helena said. ". At the situation. At..." She hesitated. "At you."

"He was glad you left." Helena’s voice was gentle but honest. "You received my letter six weeks ago, and you chose to stay at the Academy. Michael saw that as the last nail on the coffin. As proof that you weren’t a part of the family."

The words hit harder than Altair expected. Because they weren’t entirely wrong.

"I chose to finish what I started," Altair said carefully. "Because there are things at play, things bigger than us."

Helena reached out and took his hand. " But Michael doesn’t see it that way, nothing is bigger than him. He just sees you as someone who put personal glory first because of the right to be heir."

Altair said nothing. What could he say? That Michael was wrong? That his choice had been justified?

He wasn’t sure anymore.

"What do I do?" he asked finally.

Helena squeezed his hand. "You be patient. You show him—show all of us—that you’re serious about this. That you’re not just here to claim a title and leave again."

She paused.

"And you decide what you actually want, Altair. Because if you’re going to lead this family, it has to be a choice you make with full commitment. Not out of obligation, or out of pride. But because you truly believe it’s what you’re meant to do."

Altair looked at his mother—at the exhaustion in her eyes, the grief she was holding at bay through sheer force of will.

Then he looked at Zara, who was watching him with something like hope in her expression.

His family.

Broken. Grieving. Fracturing along fault lines that had been forming for months.

And he was supposed to hold it together.

"I’ll try," he said quietly.

Helena smiled faintly. "That’s all I ask."

---

The sun was rising when Altair finally left the sitting room.

He walked through the manor slowly, his footsteps echoing in the empty halls. Servants moved quietly in the background, preparing for the day’s mourning rituals. Black cloth would be hung. Mirrors would be covered. The proper forms would be observed.

Lord Godric Elfender was dead, and the world needed to know.

Altair found himself in the library—a massive room lined floor to ceiling with books, maps, and family records. It had been one of his favorite places as a child. Quiet. Isolated. A place where he could disappear.

He pulled out a book at random and sat down in one of the leather chairs near the window.

But he didn’t read.

He just sat there, watching the sun rise over the Elfender estate, and thought about everything that had changed in the span of a single night.

His father was dead.

Michael was hostile.

His mother was afraid.

And he—Altair Elfender, was supposed to somehow keep it all from falling apart.

He closed his eyes and let out a slow breath.

One step at a time.

That’s all he could do.

One step at a time.

---