Ten years passed like a long nightmare.
Raizel stood in front of the large obsidian mirror in his room, observing his reflection with cold red eyes. His small body was clad in black clothes with blood-red accents—the formal uniform for today's ceremony. His long black hair was neatly tied up, showing off the sharp lines of his young face.
"Ten years," he whispered to himself. "Ten years trapped in this nightmare."
His adult mind had come to terms with the fact that there was no going back. His old body, his old life, his old world—all of it was gone forever. All that remained was Raizel Valthorr, the ninth son of the most feared lord in the Eastern Lands.
His eight older half-brothers—all dead.
Five of them were killed by Lord Valthorr himself because they were deemed "too weak." The other two died in the fierce competition for the heir position. The last, Mordred, his most intelligent and talented half-brother, had died mysteriously three months ago.
Leaving only Raizel.
A knock on the door distracted him. "Come in," he said in a voice far too mature for a ten-year-old.
An elderly servant named Grim entered the room with cautious steps, his pale gray eyes ever watchful. "Prince Raizel, Lord Valthorr awaits you in the Hall of Skulls. The ceremony will begin shortly."
Raizel nodded. "I will be there shortly."
As the servant turned to leave, Raizel added in a flat tone, "Grim, did my father smile today?"
Grim paused, his back stiffening. "Yes, Prince. Lord Valthorr has been smiling all morning."
"Then today will be a very dangerous day," Raizel muttered. "Go."
Once alone, Raizel took a small dagger from his drawer—a gift from his father for his seventh birthday. The dagger was made of black metal engraved with ancient runes. He ran the tip of the dagger across his palm, letting blood drip to the floor.
The blood was dark red, almost black, and moved in an unnatural way—as if it had a will of its own.
"Valthorr's blood," he whispered, watching the liquid form strange patterns on the floor. "A curse or a blessing?"
It was his personal ritual before he had to face his father. A reminder that his little body bore the blood of a monster—a reminder that part of him was a monster, too.
The wound on his hand closed itself in seconds. An unnatural ability to regenerate, one of the many "gifts" of Valthorr's blood.
---
The Hall of Skulls was a large room with a high ceiling supported by black pillars. Its name was no mere metaphor—the actual skulls of Lord Valthorr's enemies were displayed in crystal cases along the walls. Some still had traces of flesh and skin preserved by dark magic.
In the center of the room, Lord Valthorr sat casually on a throne of bones, as if today were just another day and not the day of his son's coronation as the official heir.
"Raizel," his father's deep voice echoed through the room. "You're thirty seconds late."
Raizel bowed formally. "Forgive me, Father."
Lord Valthorr laughed—a sound that always sent shivers down Raizel's spine. "No matter. At least you're alive to be late. Unlike your brothers."
The room was filled with the nobles of the Eastern Realm, the dark council, and a few envoys from the neutral lands. All eyes were on Raizel—some with hidden hatred, some with curiosity, and some with fear.
"Come closer, my son," Lord Valthorr commanded.
Raizel strode to the center of the room with a firm stride. Though he was only as tall as his father's waist, he walked with a grace and confidence unbecoming of his age.
Lord Valthorr rose from his throne. His towering frame radiated an almost visible aura of darkness—the shadows around him seemed to dance and creep toward him. The scars on his face stood out even more in the purple torchlight.
"Today," Lord Valthorr began in a booming voice, "I, Valthorr, Lord of Darkness and Lord of the Eastern Region, declare that Raizel Valthorr is the rightful heir to all my dominions."
A murmur filled the room. Raizel knew what they were talking about—that he was too young, that this was only a temporary thing before he died like his brothers.
"To prove his worthiness," Lord Valthorr continued, "Raizel will undergo the First Blood Ritual today. Bring in our gift!"
The double doors opened, and four guards dragged in a middle-aged man in luxurious attire—a white robe with gold accents. The emblem of the Radiant Empire was pinned to his chest. A noble of the Solaris Empire.
"Meet Lord Varius Lumiere, distant cousin of the Emperor himself," Lord Valthorr announced proudly. "Caught trying to spy on our borders last week."
The prisoner was pushed to his knees before Raizel. His blue eyes were filled with hatred and fear. "Little monster," he hissed at Raizel. "Your entire family will pay for this. Darius will—"
"Darius?" Lord Valthorr interrupted with interest. "The young prince? Ah, interesting that he cares about his distant uncle."
Lord Valthorr took a ceremonial dagger from his robes and handed it to Raizel. "My son, prove your worth. Take this noble blood of light, and feel your power grow."
The room fell silent. All eyes were on Raizel.
In his head, the part of Raizel that still held onto his old values screamed in denial. *This is murder!* But another part—the part that had grown over ten years of Lord Valthorr's education—whispered that this was an opportunity. Proof of self. Survival.
Raizel stared at the prisoner with a blank expression, hiding the inner war within him.
"Come, my son," Lord Valthorr pressed. "Show them who you really are."
*Who am I really?* The question echoed in Raizel's mind. He was no longer a normal man from the modern world. But was he really Valthorr's son? Was he a murderer? A monster?
With slightly shaking hands, Raizel raised the dagger.
"Kill me, little monster," the prisoner challenged. "Prove that your father's filthy blood flows in your veins."
Raizel stared into those blue eyes, searching for wisdom, guidance, anything—but all he found was hatred and fear.
"I am Raizel Valthorr," he said quietly, but loud enough for the room to hear. "Lord Valthorr's heir and future Lord of Darkness."
With a swift movement, Raizel slashed his own palm with the dagger, letting his black blood drip to the floor.
"And I refuse to be tested by the ways of a coward."
A dead silence filled the room. Lord Valthorr's face hardened—an expression that usually preceded extreme anger.
But instead of anger, his father laughed. A loud laugh that echoed off the walls of the Hall of Skulls, causing several of the nobles behind him to take a step back in fear.
"Interesting," Lord Valthorr said finally. "You refuse to kill your enemy because you consider it beneath your dignity. Not out of compassion, but out of arrogance."
Lord Valthorr stepped down from his throne, walking toward Raizel. "You are different from your brothers, Raizel. They killed out of fear—fear of me. You refuse to kill out of pride." He touched Raizel's shoulder. "I like that."
Then, without warning, Lord Valthorr drew his greatsword from its sheath and in one swift movement, severed the prisoner's head. Blood spurted, some of it on Raizel's face and clothes.
"But remember, my son," Lord Valthorr whispered, bending down so that his face was level with Raizel's. "Pride without strength is a path to death. You may refuse this test, but I assure you, the world out there will not give you the same choice."
Lord Valthorr stood up straight again and faced the guests. "I hereby declare Raizel Valthorr my rightful heir! Anyone who opposes him opposes me!"
The guests knelt one by one—some sincerely, most out of fear.
The blood of the captive was still warm on Raizel's face. He did not wipe it away, leaving it there as a reminder. His eyes met those of a young girl in the corner of the room—the daughter of one of the lords. She looked at him with a mixture of fear and... admiration?
*They think I dare defy my father*, Raizel thought. *They do not know that this is only cold calculation. Not courage, but strategy.*
Because Raizel knew one thing for sure during his ten years in this world: Lord Valthorr valued strength and intelligence above all else. Blind obedience was for followers, not heirs.
"Starting tomorrow," Lord Valthorr announced, "Raizel will begin training directly under my guidance. Prepare yourself, my child. What you have been through so far is only the beginning."
Raizel bowed, hiding the gleam of horror in his eyes. Direct training with Lord Valthorr was notoriously gruesome. More than a few retainers returned as corpses—or worse, as mindless undead.
"Thank you, Father," he said in a calm voice. "I will not disappoint you."
Lord Valthorr smiled—a smile that never reached his eyes. "Oh, I knew you would not disappoint, Raizel. You will be the best... or you will be nothing."
---
That night, after a tense ceremony and feast, Raizel returned to his chambers, his mind reeling. The blood of the captives had been washed from his face, but its sticky sensation still lingered on his skin.
He walked to the window, gazing out at the ever-bleak landscape of the Eastern Realm. In the distance, purple lightning occasionally flashed across the misty mountains. Flying monsters looked like black dots in the night sky.
The door to his chambers opened slowly, without a knock. Only one person dared to enter without permission.
"I thought you were going to die today," said a young girl with long black hair. His only surviving half-sister besides himself—Lilith Valthorr, Lord Valthorr's beloved daughter by his deceased first wife.
Lilith was fifteen years old, five years Raizel's senior. Her skin was pale as the moon, her eyes bloodshot—a typical Valthorr. Unlike their other half-siblings, Lilith was loved by Lord Valthorr despite not being chosen as heir.
"Disappointed?" Raizel asked without turning around.
Lilith chuckled, a melodious sound that always made Raizel's hair stand on end. "Not really. You're far more interesting than Mordred. He's too... conventional."
"Did you kill him?" Raizel asked directly, finally turning to look at his half-brother.
Lilith tilted her head, smiling enigmatically. "Get to the point, huh? That's what I like about you, little brother." She walked over to Raizel. "No, it wasn't me. Though I wouldn't mind if it was me."
"Then who?"
"Father, of course." Lilith sat on the edge of Raizel's bed. "Mordred is getting ambitious. He thinks the position of heir is his for sure. He's starting to make plans behind Father's back."
Raizel frowned. "And I don't?"
"You're different." Lilith studied Raizel with a curious gaze. "You always hide what you're thinking. Even Father feels challenged by you. You're more like Father than any of his other children."
The words were like a slap in the face to Raizel. *More like Lord Valthorr*. His worst nightmare.
"What do you want, Lilith?" Raizel asked, looking out the window again.
Lilith got up and walked over to Raizel. "An alliance."
Raizel raised an eyebrow. "An alliance?"
"You're the heir, I'm the beloved daughter. Together, we can protect ourselves from Father's enemies... and from Father himself, if necessary."
Raizel eyed his half-sister suspiciously. Lilith was notoriously cunning and manipulative, even among the intrigue-filled Valthorr family.
"Why should I trust you? You could be after the heir."
Lilith laughed. "Oh, little brother. I have no interest in being heir. Too much responsibility, too many people who want to kill you." She touched Raizel's cheek gently. "I prefer to be a power in the shadows. And you, with your intelligence, would be the perfect shadow for me to protect."
Raizel did not answer. He knew Lilith's offer had ulterior motives. But he also knew that without allies, he would not last long as Lord Valthorr's heir.
"How can you protect me?" Raizel asked finally.
Lilith smiled, and for the first time, Raizel saw a dangerous glint in his half-sister's eyes. The shadows around them seemed to move, responding to her emotions.
"There are many things you do not know about me, little brother," Lilith whispered. "Father taught me... a special art that he did not teach his other children."
"Forbidden magic?"
"More than that." Lilith raised her hand, and shadows from the corners of the room shifted, forming ghastly shapes before returning to normal. "I can be your eyes and ears. Nothing happens in this palace without my knowledge."
Raizel paused, considering her offer. An alliance with Lilith could be a double-edged sword—both protection and threat.
"What do you want in return?" Raizel asked, ever the pragmatist.
"Simple." Lilith smiled. "When you become Lord Valthorr, let me continue to pursue my... hobbies without interference. And once in a while, perhaps, I will request some... subjects for my experiments."
Raizel felt a chill run down his spine. Lilith's 'hobby' was no secret among the courtiers—horrific experiments with the bodies and souls of living creatures.
"How do I know you won't betray me?" Raizel asked, looking his half-sister straight in the eye.
Lilith held out her hand. "A blood pact. Even in our family, blood ties are still respected."
Raizel hesitated for a moment, but logic took over. He needed an ally, and Lilith, while dangerous, at least had predictable motives.
He held out his hand, and Lilith pulled a small dagger from the sleeve of her dress. With a swift movement, she cut their palms together.
"With our blood as witness," Lilith whispered in the ancient tongue, "this bond is formed. Betrayal means destruction."
Their blood mingled, and Raizel felt a strange sensation—like a cold electric current running from his hand through his body. For a moment, he could feel Lilith's presence in his mind, and he was sure she felt the same.
"Now we are connected, little brother," Lilith smiled contentedly, releasing Raizel's hand. "From now on, there will be no secrets between us."
Raizel wasn't sure if he had just made a brilliant decision or a fatal mistake. All he knew was that his world had just become a whole lot more complex.
"Rest, Raizel," Lilith walked to the door. "Tomorrow, training with Father will begin. You will need all the strength you have."
After Lilith left, Raizel looked out the window again. The darkness outside seemed to beckon, tempting him to dive into it.
*Who am I really?* The question echoed in his mind again. *Am I still the same person from my previous life? Or have I become something else—something dark?*
The wound on his hand from the blood pact with Lilith had now closed, leaving behind a faint trace in the form of an ancient rune—a symbol of an undeniable bond.
In the distance, purple lightning flashed more intensely, as if the sky itself was responding to the turmoil within Raizel.
*I will survive*, he resolved himself. *I will survive, and I will find my own path—not Valthorr's, not my old life's, but my own path.*
In the corner of the room, a pair of red eyes watched silently, hidden in the shadows—Lord Valthorr, watching his son's every move and word. A faint smile formed on his scarred face. *Perfect*, he thought. *This boy is truly perfect.*