The moon stood high over the Drakrion estate — pale and solemn — casting its silver light upon the marble roofs and obsidian spires. The estate itself seemed to breathe with the night: quiet, immense, and heavy with history. Every corridor, every torch that flickered in the wind whispered of the Drakrion bloodline — a name older than empires, bound to both glory and tragedy.
Tonight, that legacy would be tested once again.
Hiroshi Von Drakrion stood before the ancestral altar, his gloved hands resting on the hilt of his sword. The blade — Ecliron — shimmered faintly under the moonlight, its edge etched with ancient runes that pulsed like veins of fire. Behind him, his retainers knelt in silence — seven figures in black cloaks, faces hidden beneath their hoods. Their loyalty was absolute; their lives already bound to his will.
The air smelled faintly of incense and iron.
Hiroshi's eyes — a sharp violet that seemed to hold a century of storms — lifted toward the statue at the altar's heart: a woman carved from white marble, her eyes blindfolded, holding a balance in one hand and a sword in the other.
The Goddess of Judgment. The matriarch of all oaths.
He took a breath.Then another.And then he spoke.
"Before the blood of our ancestors and the spirit of the Matriarch, I swear…"
His voice was steady — calm but heavy enough to silence the wind itself.
"…that House Drakrion shall stand with Princess Evelyn, the rightful heir to the Celestian throne, against all betrayal — whether born from shadow or from light."
He drew the blade and pressed it to his palm. A single cut. A line of crimson dripped to the marble floor. The scent of blood mingled with the cold air.
The seven retainers raised their heads.
One by one, they followed his motion — cutting their palms, letting their blood fall in unison, forming a small pool that glimmered like liquid ruby beneath the statue.
A faint tremor shivered through the room.
Then — the torches dimmed, the air grew cold, and the statue's eyes flared with a spectral glow. A voice — ancient and feminine — whispered through the chamber.
"Blood remembers blood.And oaths bind more than flesh."
The voice echoed deep into Hiroshi's soul. He felt the weight of a hundred generations watching him — his forefathers, warriors, and rulers whose choices had built the very bones of this estate. For a moment, he could almost see them — ghostly figures standing in the mist, their faces both proud and sorrowful.
Hiroshi lowered his head, whispering softly,
"I will not fail her."
As the ceremony ended, the retainers rose. The eldest among them — Lord Calen, Hiroshi's master-at-arms — stepped forward, his expression grim beneath the scar that crossed his jaw.
"Your resolve honors your ancestors, my lord," Calen said. "But an oath is only the beginning. The nobles move faster than rumors. Within a fortnight, the High Council will vote on Evelyn's succession."
"I know," Hiroshi replied, his voice quieter now. "And the votes will not favor her."
"Then what will you do?"
Hiroshi sheathed his sword and turned toward the open balcony. Beyond the gardens, the capital of Aurelia glittered in the distance — a sea of gold and smoke beneath the pale moon. Somewhere within that city, Evelyn slept under the protection of his spies, unaware of the blades sharpening against her crown.
"What I must," he murmured. "If the council won't protect her… then I will."
The Moonlit Balcony
The wind carried the scent of roses and rain. Hiroshi stepped out onto the balcony, the silver light catching the crest on his coat — a dragon encircling a sun. His gaze lingered on the horizon, where thunderclouds gathered above the mountains.
War was coming.
Not the kind fought with armies, but the kind fought with whispers — poison, politics, and betrayal.
He thought of Evelyn then — her quiet laughter, her stubborn hope. The way she believed in a world that no longer believed in her. She had once told him, "Hiroshi, even if the world forgets justice, promise me you won't."
He smiled faintly.A sad, fleeting thing.
"I promised," he said to the wind. "And I don't break promises."
The Ancestral Garden
Later that night, Hiroshi walked alone through the ancestral garden — the place where every Drakrion heir came to seek counsel from the dead. The garden was vast, filled with obsidian statues of past lords and warriors. Some stood proud with swords drawn; others knelt in eternal mourning.
As he passed each statue, he felt the weight of their gaze.
"Do you all approve of me?" he whispered quietly. "A stranger in your blood, a man from another world, pretending to carry your name?"
The wind stirred, rustling the black roses. No answer came. Only silence — but a silence that watched.
He knelt before the statue of his father, the late Duke Aldren Von Drakrion — a man who had ruled with both wisdom and fear. The statue's stone eyes seemed alive, burning with judgment even in death.
Hiroshi placed his hand on the cold marble and said softly,
"I don't know if I'm worthy of this blood. But I will protect her — even if it means burning the empire itself."
The wind changed. Somewhere distant, thunder rolled.
And then he felt it — faint but real — the warmth of a hand upon his shoulder.Invisible. Impossible. Yet comforting.
Perhaps, for one brief second, the dead had answered.
The Council of Shadows
Far from the estate, deep beneath the capital, the conspirators gathered.
A long obsidian table. Candles that burned with blue fire. And in the center, the royal sigil, carved into the stone — crossed out with a single stroke of blood.
Lord Maeron, head of House Solivar, spoke first."The Drakrion boy has sworn his oath. He will stand with Evelyn."
Lady Sira of House Veyra smirked. "Then he will fall with her. One loyal dog cannot change the council's will."
But in the corner, a hooded man whispered, "Be careful. That 'dog' is the last son of Drakrion. The blood of monsters and kings runs in him. His ancestors once burned gods."
The room fell silent. The candles flickered.
Lord Maeron narrowed his eyes. "Then let us see if he burns as brightly as they did."
Closing Scene – The Oath's Price
Back in his chambers, Hiroshi removed his gloves. The cut in his palm still bled faintly, glowing with a strange red light — the mark of the Goddess's seal. It pulsed in rhythm with his heartbeat, binding him to his vow.
He stared at it, then whispered to himself:
"So this is what loyalty costs."
The night stretched on, deep and endless.And somewhere beyond the horizon, the dawn of rebellion began to rise.
End of Chapter — "The Blood Oath of the Drakrion Estate."