The Duke's office was a cathedral of order and intellect. Rows of books lined the tall walls, sunlight filtering through ornate windows patterned with frost motifs — the Darknorth sigil of old. A faint scent of ink, wax, and old parchment lingered in the air, blending with the distant hum of mana crystals embedded in the walls.
I stood before the wide mahogany desk where Duke Avish Darknorth sat — my uncle, and one of the most powerful men in the Veytharic Empire. His sharp silver eyes rose from a stack of documents to fix on me.
"Rishi," he began, his voice calm but weighty. "I've gone through the awakening reports. There's something… irregular about your results."
"Ah," I said with a polite smile. "You mean fascinatingly unique?"
He didn't smile back. "You formed two cores."
"Yes," I admitted, straightening. "One for aura, one for mana."
He leaned back slightly, steepling his fingers. "That in itself is extraordinary. But I notice you did not form an Aether Core, as every noble line heir is expected to. Care to explain?"
Ah, yes. The part where I make it sound intentional instead of borderline suicidal.
"I wanted to experiment," I said lightly. "The fusion between aura and mana seemed… forced. So, I chose to cultivate them separately."
The Duke raised an eyebrow. "Experimentation?"
"Yes. To see how they develop when allowed to evolve independently. I believe separating the paths may uncover new potential."
A long silence followed. The kind nobles use when deciding whether to scold or admire you.
Finally, he exhaled slowly. "You do realize the elders will not approve of this."
I shrugged. "They've never approved of anything remotely interesting."
His tone deepened, grave but not unkind. "This will create problems, Rishi. For your position in the family — especially your standing as a potential heir."
I smiled faintly. "That's fine, uncle. I don't want to be the heir."
The scratching of his quill paused. For a heartbeat, even the mana crystals seemed to dim.
"You… don't want to?"
"No," I said simply. "I want to live freely — train, grow, explore. Titles and responsibilities only cage that."
The Duke's gaze sharpened, as if weighing whether I was being foolish or wise beyond my years.
"You understand what you're saying, don't you?" he asked slowly. "The position of heir is not just an honor — it's duty, legacy, protection of our bloodline."
"Yes," I said, "and that's precisely why I don't want it. I'd rather protect the family in my own way, even if I'm not sitting in the Duke's chair."
He studied me in silence, then sighed softly, a hint of weary fondness passing through his otherwise cold demeanor.
"You are too much like your father," he said. "Always chasing freedom, always defying the norm. I suppose the Darknorth blood runs stubborn."
I chuckled softly. "It must be genetic."
He smirked slightly but soon composed himself. "Still, this decision will anger the elders. You will be called reckless — even ungrateful."
I smiled with exaggerated innocence. "That's fine. I'll tell them I inherited it from you."
He actually chuckled — just once — before shaking his head. "You'll be the death of me someday, boy."
But inside my head, I wasn't smiling.
Although till now my uncle has been rather good, I thought, power makes even brothers fight. I've read enough books — and seen enough betrayals — to know affection means little when inheritance is on the table.
That's why I said it clearly: I don't want to be heir. No power, no competition, no reason for him to scheme behind my back.
Not that he's that kind of man… but still, better safe than skewered at a family banquet.
As I stood to leave, an idea struck me — the next phase of my cunning plan for "self-improvement," also known as "escaping the palace."
"Uncle," I said, pausing at the door.
He glanced up. "Yes?"
"I'd like permission for outdoor training."
His brows knit slightly. "Outdoor training?"
"Yes," I said quickly, layering on the sincerity. "The awakening has changed a lot within me. I'd like to stabilize my aura and mana control through real-world exposure. Meditation rooms are nice, but they don't prepare you for actual combat or, you know… sudden death."
His stare could have melted steel. "You have an instructor."
"Yes," I said flatly. "A sadistic instructor who tried to feed me to dogs."
The corner of his mouth twitched. "I recall that report."
"Then you understand my trauma," I said gravely. "Outdoor training is therapy. Healing. Growth."
"Running away from dogs?"
"Facing my fears," I corrected.
For a long moment, the Duke just looked at me — the kind of look that said, I know you're full of nonsense, but I admire your commitment to it.
Finally, he sighed. "Very well. You may go. But take your protector with you — and a few knights. And, Rishi…"
"Yes, uncle?"
"No setting forests on fire this time."
I straightened indignantly. "That was an accident! And technically, it was just a bush."
"It was a two-century-old mana oak," he replied dryly.
"…Semantics," I muttered under my breath.
As I exited the office, I let out a long breath. "Well," I murmured, "that went better than expected. I still have my freedom, my life, and permission to escape the gilded cage."
Lira, who'd been waiting outside the door like a silent shadow, raised a brow. "So, the Duke allowed it?"
"Of course," I said proudly. "I am a master negotiator."
"Really?"
"Well," I amended, "I begged with dignity."
She sighed softly. "Then I assume we'll be leaving soon."
"Yes," I said, already grinning. "Pack light, Lira. We're going on a training trip — a noble, honorable, not-at-all reckless expedition."
She gave me a long stare. "You mean another headache for the Duke?"
I smirked. "Details, my dear maid. Details."
As we walked down the sunlit corridor, the mark on my little finger — the twin-headed serpent — pulsed faintly, as if amused.
"Oh no," I whispered, glaring at it. "Don't you start laughing too. You're part of this mess now."
The mark glowed again, like it was agreeing.
And thus began my next great adventure — authorized chaos.