Dawn came softly over the Vaelith Estate. Gold light spilled through the tall windows, and the quiet hum of preparation filled the halls. The servants had already begun polishing the carriages, while birds perched along the marble balustrades, as if aware that today would echo through generations.
Eryndor stood before the mirror in his chamber, adjusting the collar of his black trench coat. The fabric was sleek and fitted, the shoulders sharp, the lines simple but commanding. Beneath it, a plain black undershirt, matching pants, and black Nike shoes that hugged his steps like extensions of his will.
It wasn't noble attire—it was him: functional, balanced, ready for whatever came.
Lyanna, beside him, slipped her fingers through his arm. She wore a soft silver dress that shimmered faintly like moonlight, the faint aura of her dual affinity visible to those who could sense mana. Her smile carried calm strength—the kind that grounded him more than any storm ever could.
"You clean up well," she teased softly, her tone warm.
He looked at her reflection and smiled faintly. "You're the reason I have to."
By the time they reached the courtyard, Lord Aldric Vaelith was already waiting. His attire was formal, trimmed with blue and silver sigils of their house, his expression serious but proud.
"Remember," Aldric said, as he opened the carriage door for them. "Do not bow to power—recognize it, respect it, but never bow. You carry the blood of Nasarik and Vaelith both. That makes you more than guests—you are inheritance made flesh."
Eryndor nodded, expression calm but his eyes steady. "Understood."
The ride was quiet. The world beyond the estate shifted as they traveled north—the air growing dense with energy, reality itself seeming to shimmer. Mountains bent in unnatural arcs, rivers flowed against gravity, and the trees whispered as though conscious.
Lyanna glanced outside, gripping Eryndor's arm. "This place… it feels alive."
Aldric's gaze didn't waver. "Because it is. The Main House sits at the center of a dimensional fold. The ancestors shaped this land using the power of Soul Weaving. Every stone here remembers its maker."
When the gates came into view, even Eryndor paused.
The Main Family Estate wasn't a building—it was a realm. Colossal towers floated amidst suspended clouds, waterfalls cascading upward, flowing into luminous rings of energy. At the center stood the Sanctum of Veiled Eternity, an obsidian citadel crowned by starlight.
As the carriage stopped, the guards knelt—each one radiating strength enough to rival generals.
"Welcome, Lord Aldric of the Second Branch," one of them intoned, his voice echoing like thunder across marble. "And welcome, Eryndor Nasarik… descendant of the lost heir."
Inside, the great hall opened like a cathedral of power.
Six figures awaited them.
High Lord Seraphion Nasarik – The current head of the main family. His silver-white hair shimmered faintly, his presence both regal and suffocating. His aura pulsed with cosmic calm, the kind that could bend gravity.
Lady Velthara Nasarik – His wife. Eyes golden as dawn, aura warm but immeasurable, she was rumored to be able to heal souls as easily as mend flesh.
Ardenis Nasarik – Their eldest son, cloaked in pure flame, expression unreadable, rumored to command "Solar Martiality," a style that burns through reality itself.
Seloren Nasarik – The second son, quiet, his body wreathed in translucent sigils. A reality warper, able to create miniature realms.
Erelyn Nasarik – Their daughter, graceful yet deadly. Her power flowed with music and illusion—every note from her could paralyze armies.
Kaelen Nasarik – The youngest, a swordsman whose presence was still, yet his blade cut through sound itself.
The six turned as Aldric, Eryndor, and Lyanna approached.
"Brother," Seraphion said, voice echoing softly. "It's been many decades."
Aldric inclined his head. "It has. I bring my son… and his wife."
Seraphion's silver gaze shifted to Eryndor. "So this is the child of the mortal world. The storm reborn."
Eryndor met his gaze without flinching. "If that's what I am, then I'll accept it."
A pause. Then Seraphion smiled faintly. "Good. The blood hasn't weakened after all."
They sat. Wine was poured, and light hovered over the table like liquid glass.
Seraphion leaned back, studying Eryndor. "Do you know why your grandfather came to the mortal plane?"
Eryndor shook his head. "Only that he fell protecting something."
Velthara's expression softened. "He was protecting you."
Eryndor froze.
Seraphion continued. "Your grandfather—Vaenor Nasarik—was the Guardian of the Tempest Heart, an ancient martial core that bridges divine magic and mortal reality. It was meant to be sealed in this realm, away from the gods who sought it. But when one of the Third Branch betrayed us, the seal broke. Vaenor descended to the mortal world to recover it—and to ensure his bloodline survived in case he failed."
Lyanna's eyes widened. "So… Eryndor's parents…"
Velthara nodded slowly. "They were his direct descendants. Your father was Rynel Nasarik, the last living heir of the Tempest Line. He and your mother—Selira of the Aether Vein—hid among mortals, hoping to protect you as an infant. But the same shadow that killed Vaenor found them. They perished sealing the fragment of that power within you, child."
The hall grew quiet.
Eryndor's fists clenched slightly in his lap. "Then everything I am—my storm, my strength—wasn't just chance."
Seraphion's gaze softened, a faint glimmer of pride beneath the centuries of restraint. "No, boy. It was heritage. You are the synthesis of two bloodlines—Tempest and Aether. That's why your energy bends the laws of nature. You weren't meant to fight monsters. You were meant to fight gods."
Aldric exhaled quietly beside him. "And that's why your grandfather died—to give you that chance."
Eryndor looked down at his hands—hands that had held back storms, slain titans, shielded lives. For the first time, he saw the veins of lightning beneath his skin not as random, but as inheritance.
Lyanna rested her hand on his arm, grounding him.
Seraphion rose, the room bowing under the sheer pressure of his energy. "The Nasarik blood is awakening once more. You, Eryndor Nasarik, are the bridge between the heavens and the storm. But know this—your return has stirred something. The Third Branch will not stay silent."
He turned toward Aldric. "You should both rest here tonight. Tomorrow… we speak of the Heart of Tempest and the one who still hunts for it."
Eryndor stood slowly, looking up at the head of his family. His tone was calm, but the storm in his voice rumbled low and certain.
"Then tomorrow, I'll learn everything—and decide how to end what they started."
Seraphion's lips curved faintly, almost proud.
"That's the voice of a Nasarik."
That night, as the moons rose over the floating towers, Lyanna and Eryndor stood on the balcony of their guest quarters, gazing down at the shimmering city of light.
"Your bloodline is… incredible," she murmured. "You were born from gods, Eryndor."
He turned to her, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "Then I'll live as a man—and protect you as both."
The wind stirred, carrying his words through the night.
Tomorrow, the truth of the Third Branch would rise from the shadows—
and the storm would finally know its origin.