Morning sunlight spilled through the great windows of the Vaelith Estate, cutting across the black marble floor and the faint golden dust that hung in the air like glitter from a dream. The world outside was peaceful again. Birds returned to sing, and for the first time in weeks, the scent of war no longer lingered in the breeze.
Eryndor stood before the mirror, rolling the sleeves of his black undershirt up to his forearms. The plain black trench coat fell neatly over his frame, his pants and shoes tailored precisely for movement. The look was simple—minimalist—but the calm power in his posture made him appear regal without trying.
Beside him, Lyanna adjusted her silver earrings, her long hair tied loosely to one side, dressed in soft white and light blue—an image of balance next to his darkness.
"You really don't plan to dress like nobility when meeting the main family?" she asked, a teasing smile curving her lips.
Eryndor smirked faintly, checking the smooth slide of his coat. "If they're as strong as Aldric says, I doubt they'll care about clothes. Strength speaks louder than fashion."
Lyanna chuckled, stepping close enough that her breath brushed his neck. "Just remember, we're meeting your bloodline. Try not to punch anyone on sight."
He laughed quietly. "No promises."
They walked side by side down the grand staircase, where Lord Aldric Vaelith waited.
He was tall, broad-shouldered, wearing a long gray coat with gold insignias embroidered at the cuffs. His silver hair was swept back neatly, and the deep lines of his face carried the weight of command—of a man who had lived through too many wars and buried too many comrades.
"You two look well," Aldric said with a grin, eyeing them. "Eryndor, I take it you slept soundly?"
Eryndor nodded. "Soundly enough to dream of being hit by another world-class monster."
Aldric barked a laugh. "Then you're truly ready."
As they stepped outside, the Vaelith carriages awaited—each pulled by beasts resembling sleek, horned stallions made of condensed ether. Their coats shimmered faintly with hues of blue and violet, a mark of high-level magic breeding.
Lyanna squeezed Eryndor's hand. "You nervous?"
"Not really," he replied, glancing at the horizon. "More curious. If my grandfather really left a legacy worth remembering, I want to see what that means."
Hours later, their carriage crossed through a vast marble gate guarded by statues that seemed alive. The Nasarik Main Estate was unlike anything Eryndor had seen—it wasn't merely a home but a city in itself, surrounded by levitating spires, glowing sigils, and towers suspended by invisible force.
The family crest—a twin storm spiraling around a radiant sun—adorned the sky like a celestial seal.
Aldric's tone became more formal as they entered the inner sanctum.
"The Nasarik family was founded over fifteen thousand years ago," he began. "Born from the union of a celestial entity and a human martial god. Your grandfather—Ravien Nasarik—was the last living direct descendant of the celestial bloodline. He left this world… because he chose to guard another."
Eryndor frowned. "Guard another?"
Aldric nodded solemnly. "The Earth you were born on. He sealed the last gateway of the Void there. But it cost him his life."
Lyanna looked at Eryndor softly. "So that's why you were… different, even as a child."
"Not different," Aldric corrected. "Chosen."
As they entered the great hall, six figures stood waiting—each radiating an aura that made the air itself bow.
First stood Lord Altheon Nasarik, the Patriarch, whose eyes shimmered with constellations. His aura was calm, absolute—an ocean of power contained within human form.
Beside him, Lady Seraphine Nasarik, his wife, her presence felt like a melody of light and wind.
Then the others:
Raegor Nasarik, the Sword Sovereign — Master of Astral Blades. Vaelis Nasarik, the Storm Queen — whose command over weather was said to rival divine forces. Kairen Nasarik, the Soulsmith — a man who could craft weapons from consciousness itself. Elyra Nasarik, youngest, the keeper of the Celestial Archives.
Each of them greeted Aldric and Lyanna warmly. But when Eryndor stepped forward, silence settled.
Altheon's gaze lingered on him—scrutinizing, searching, yet oddly gentle.
"So… you are Ravien's grandson," he said finally, voice deep and resonant. "Your energy carries the same imbalance… storm and stillness. His blood runs true."
Eryndor met his gaze. "He was my grandfather, yes. But I want to understand why he died. Why protect a world so far from here?"
Altheon folded his hands behind his back. "Because the gods demanded it."
Altheon motioned for everyone to sit. The marble table before them shimmered with a faint aurora light, and an ethereal map appeared—a galaxy twisting with stars and fractured worlds.
"The gods," he began, "are not divinities in the religious sense. They are origin entities—beings who arose from the very concept of existence itself. Creation, Destruction, Balance, Void, Time, and Chaos. Each birthed civilizations, and each despised the other for shaping the universe differently."
Lyanna's eyes widened. "Then… the wars—"
"Yes," Altheon said softly. "The Great Fracture was their war. It split the cosmos, birthing multiverses. The Nasarik line was created to maintain equilibrium between them—our ancestors were the mediators between divine and mortal, martial and magical."
Vaelis added, her tone sharp but elegant, "Your grandfather, Ravien, was a half-celestial tasked with guarding the Earth Realm, a neutral plane. When the Void threatened it, he used his life to seal the breach, scattering his essence. That essence—his blood—manifested in you, Eryndor."
Eryndor absorbed the words silently. The air around him rippled faintly; his aura flared, reacting instinctively.
"So my power… isn't mine alone."
"No," Altheon said with a proud smile. "It's the culmination of generations—the storm that remembers the stars."
Aldric leaned forward. "Now that you know this much, you must understand the structure of our house."
Altheon gestured, and three sigils appeared in midair—each representing a different branch.
"The Main Branch, ours, carries the celestial core and governs balance between worlds.
The Second Branch—your father's line—represents martial progression and mortal integration. They are the bridge between humanity and divinity.
And the Third Branch…" His tone darkened slightly. "They are the broken link."
Eryndor frowned. "Broken?"
Vaelis' gaze hardened. "The Third Branch sought power through the forbidden art of Void Symbiosis—fusing divine energy with the essence of nothingness. They believed they could surpass the gods themselves. Instead, they created monsters—aberrations that corrupted entire worlds. It took the combined effort of all branches to contain them."
Altheon nodded. "Their last known head—Zerath Nasarik—was exiled beyond the astral rift. But rumors persist… that he still lives. Watching. Waiting."
Lyanna grasped Eryndor's hand under the table. "So that's why… the world keeps being attacked by things beyond comprehension."
Aldric's expression was grim. "Exactly. The Titans, the Calamity Beasts, all trace back to failed experiments of the Third Branch. Their legacy continues to poison creation."
Elyra spoke next, her voice melodic, her eyes glowing faintly as she summoned holographic runes in the air.
"There are nine recognized martial tiers in our lineage, each reflecting both physical and metaphysical mastery."
She listed them carefully:
Novice – Awakening of Mana Flow Adept – Control of Dual Affinities Master – Formation of Internal Realm Grandmaster – Materialization of Aura Constructs Saint – Martial-Magic Integration Sovereign – Reality Manipulation Through Combat Archon – Cosmic Domain Projection Paragon – Creation of Dimensional Laws Mythic Ascendant – A being capable of birthing universes within themselves
Eryndor listened silently, then asked, "Where do I stand?"
Aldric looked at him proudly. "You've already reached early Sovereign-tier in both martial and magical fields, with potential that leans toward Archon. Your storm affinity allows you to rewrite natural laws temporarily. And your fusion of martial flow and wind energy—that's something even Ravien never mastered."
Lyanna smiled faintly. "He's being humble. He's already broken physical records most Sovereigns dream of."
Seraphine chuckled softly. "He reminds me of Ravien indeed."
As the discussions continued, a sudden tremor ran through the hall.
The great aurora lights flickered, and a deep, ancient resonance echoed through the marble floor.
Kairen's expression darkened. "The astral seal… shifted."
Eryndor felt a chill crawl up his spine. "What does that mean?"
Altheon rose slowly. "It means… the Third Branch has moved again. The Void is stirring."
Aldric clenched his fists. "So soon?"
Altheon turned to Eryndor. "You are the bridge between mortal and divine, the storm reborn. The world will call upon you again… but this time, it won't just be monsters. It will be blood against blood."
Eryndor's gaze hardened, his voice steady but low.
"Then I'll do what my grandfather did. But I'll end it differently."
"How so?" Vaelis asked.
He met her eyes, lightning flashing faintly in his irises.
"I'll save what's left—and destroy what isn't."
Later that night, as the stars shimmered across the Nasarik Domain, Eryndor stood outside the balcony overlooking the endless void of constellations. Lyanna joined him, resting her head on his shoulder.
"So… what will you do now?" she whispered.
He smiled faintly. "Train harder. Learn faster. And be ready for when the storm returns."
Lyanna's hand moved over her stomach, a soft glow reflecting in her eyes. "Then we'll face it together."
Eryndor looked at her, his expression softening—storm meeting serenity.
"Together," he said quietly.
Lightning cracked across the distant sky—not as a warning, but as an oath.
Next Chapter Preview:
"The Call of the Celestial War" — Eryndor begins training under the Main Family's guidance, meeting the Ancestor Spirits of the Nasarik line, while shadows from the Third Branch prepare their long-awaited return.