The house was buzzing with life, the kind of orchestrated energy that comes with a noble celebration. Servants moved gracefully, placing decorations, lighting candles, and arranging flowers.
The banquet hall gleamed under dozens of chandeliers. Invitations had gone out to nobles, dukes, and royalty alike. Everyone important, or at least those who thought themselves important, was expected tonight.
Guests began arriving, low-ranking nobles first, followed by heirs from marquis houses. They bowed to the Duke and Duchess, exchanged polite smiles, whispered greetings, and slowly settled into their discussions.
Conversations flowed, delicate, calculated, and yet somehow empty of real emotion.
Soon, the guards announced the arrival of the dukes and their heirs. Duke Leopold Ravenscar and his son Julian entered first, followed by Duke Frederick Ashbourne with his children, Theodore and Vivienne.
Polite greetings were exchanged, small talk about the empire, and minor nods to each other's achievements.
Then the Imperial family arrived: Emperor Darian Auraldane with Crown Prince Lucian and Crown Princess Evelyne. The hall fell into reverent silence. Nobles bowed, whispers paused, and for a moment, the weight of the empire itself seemed to rest on their shoulders.
And yet, through all the pomp and ceremony, one question lingered in every mind: where was he?
The heir of the Ravenshade family, the young master himself, was missing. Murmurs rippled through the hall.
The Duke's face tightened with unease. A butler was summoned, and a frantic search of the mansion began.
Room after room, corridor after corridor, yet no trace of him was found. His personal quarters were empty, not a hint of his presence.
Finally, the Duke summoned Adrian's personal butler. The man arrived, calm as always, holding a file in his hands.
"Your Grace," he said quietly. "The young master asked me to deliver this."
Hands trembling slightly, the Duke opened the file.
Inside were documents that made every face in the room pale.
Adrian Kaelthorn was no longer the heir. He had removed the Ravenshade name from all official records.
He had signed an engagement nullification agreement with Princess Evelyne's signature bold and clear.
A stunned silence fell over the hall. Whispers rose, almost in disbelief, as the news spread further via notifications on every phone in the room.
Media outlets exploded with speculation: "Heir of the Ravenshade Dukedom Leaves Family, Cancels Engagement".
His parents were ashen. His sister's face, pale as porcelain, betrayed a flicker of emotion she hadn't shown in years. None of them could comprehend it.
The boy they had overlooked, mocked, and dismissed had taken control of his own destiny in a single stroke.
Princess Evelyne's reaction was perhaps the most telling. She had expected humiliation, compliance, a chance to assert her dominance over him.
She had prepared her own nullification papers, imagining the scene where he would be forced to sign them in front of everyone.
Yet here he was; he had done it before she could even act.
Her chest tightened. Her heart ached, though she didn't understand why.
She had wanted to break him, to humiliate him, and yet somehow, in the process, she felt broken herself.
The other nobles, too, were in shock. Many had mocked him at gatherings, dismissed him at dinners, and ignored him at balls.
His own sister had called him weak, his fiancée had treated him with cold indifference, and his parents had never once acknowledged the pain he bore. Yet now, he had vanished, completely unshackled.
The banquet ended abruptly. Conversations ceased. Guests departed in a blur of confusion and whispers, speculation, and rumor trailing behind them.
Calls and messages to Adrian were met with silence; his number was blocked. Attempts to locate him failed. The empire was alive with gossip, all asking the same question: Where is Adrian Kaelthorn?
Meanwhile, Adrian was nowhere near the chaos.
He had slipped into the night, into the crowd, unnoticed. In a quiet corner away from the eyes of servants and surveillance, he changed into commoner clothes, pulling a simple mask over his face.
The artifact altered his appearance for three hours, a perfect disguise for the young man who had once been ignored, mocked, and underestimated.
Hours later, he arrived at the Ashbourne Dukedom territory, booking a room at a quiet inn.
The streets had been busy, full of lantern-lit bustle and the hum of nobles preparing for the celebrations, yet he moved like a shadow, blending in seamlessly.
Once the door to his room clicked shut behind him, he removed the mask and sat on the bed.
Silence enveloped him.
There was still a year before the academy exams, and a whole lifetime to prepare.
In the solitude of the small room, Adrian's thoughts wandered through the memories of his past lives: pain, betrayal, loss, and the bitter truth of helplessness.
His mother had died of cancer. His sister had been bullied to the point of despair, and he had been powerless to protect her.
His own weakness had cost her life. Rage, agony, and a hollow sense of failure gnawed at him.
No more.
He would never again allow weakness to dictate his life. He had one goal: to become the strongest. Everything else, family, love, approval, irrelevant, a distraction.
His body ached to move, to train, to push the limits, and so he allowed himself a rare, small smile. The path ahead would be long, but it was finally his.
The next morning, he rose before dawn. Breakfast was quick, mechanical, nothing to savor. The world awaited, and Adrian had work to do.
He walked toward the house he had purchased the night before, a small but well-equipped six-room building with a kitchen, bath, basement, training room, and a gym. Here, no one could disturb him, and here he would forge the foundation of his future.
After familiarizing himself with the house, he donned his black training clothes and white mask. His identity would remain hidden, at least for now. Every step was deliberate. Every action is calculated.
He reached the mercenary branch and registered under a new alias: Dominus.
The receptionist handed him an identification card, and he moved silently through the building, observing the other mercenaries who talked, drank, and trained.
None of them suspected that the boy they saw was the same heir who had made the empire's elite gasp just hours before.
Outside, the streets were alive with morning bustle. Adrian inhaled deeply, feeling the cool air fill his lungs.
Each step toward his training house felt like a declaration, a reclamation of the life he had been denied.
The city, the empire, the noblest, they were all behind him now. His eyes gleamed with anticipation, hunger, and a quiet promise:
The world would remember the name Adrian Kaelthorn.