Chapter 10 — Ashes of Morning
Snow still fell after the battle had ended.
It drifted gently through the clearing, burying the blood and broken weapons beneath a quiet white veil. The air was thick with iron, burnt fur, and something sinister like the echo of rage that refused to die.
Auron sat in the snow, his breath shallow. His hands were shaking. His body was coated in blood, though he could no longer tell how much of it was his. The golden light in his bracelet had dimmed to a faint, pulsing ember.
He didn't dare move. He was afraid that if he did… the thing inside him might wake again.
Lucian sat across from him, clutching his bleeding arm, watching Auron with eyes that were half awe, half fear. "you were equal footing with him," he whispered. "You stood against Asad. That's impossible."
Auron said nothing. He could still feel the weight of Asad's last words the quiet promise in that monstrous voice. Grow stronger, boy. When next we meet…
The lion's emblem pulsed once more beneath his skin. Soft. Slow. Like a heartbeat that wasn't his own.
He exhaled. "That wasn't me," he muttered, barely loud enough for Lucian to hear. "Something else took over."
Lucian frowned, his voice trembling. "What do you mean?"
Auron didn't answer. He looked down at his hands instead
small, trembling, raw from gripping his dagger too tight. There was no strength left in them now, only the hollow ache of exhaustion.
When the bracelet's light had erupted, he hadn't been in control. His body had moved on its own, his vision drowning in gold.
It had felt less like he was fighting and more like he was watching someone else move through him.
It wasn't power that frightened him.
It was knowing that, for those moments, he hadn't been the master of it . He had been the vessel.
The wind carried the sound of horns again. Closer this time. Then the ground trembled with hooves and armor.
Lucian looked up sharply, hope flashing across his pale face. "That's them! My family's knights!"
Within moments, shapes broke through the treeline
rows of riders in gleaming steel, banners bearing the silver gryphon of House Arvel snapping in the cold wind.
The knights fanned out, weapons drawn, scanning the destruction. The instant they saw Lucian, the tension shattered.
"Young Lord Lucian!" one of them cried, dismounting and running to his side. "By the gods, we thought you dead!"
Lucian managed a weak smile. "Almost was," he muttered.
More knights poured in, their torches cutting through the snowfall.
They gaped at the carnage - the slavers' bodies, the charred beastmen, the ruined earth that looked like a crater. Then their eyes found Auron.
One boy stood amid it all ,alone, small, and utterly still, his shadow stretching long in the firelight.
The lion-emblem bracelet gleamed faintly on his wrist. The knights froze, uncertain whether to see him as savior or threat.
Their commander, a man with a scar running across his jaw, stepped forward. "Who is this boy?" he demanded.
Lucian pushed himself upright, grimacing through the pain. "He saved me," he said. "If not for him, Asad Al and the Dire Wolves would've—" His voice broke off. "me and him brought down ashen- that dirty traitor."
The commander looked Auron over with suspicion. "A child doesn't kill wolf borns and men. Not like this."
"I didn't kill them all," Auron said quietly. His voice was steady, too steady for his age. "Some ran. Most… didn't have the chance."
The commander frowned. "Name?"
"Auron Andler," he replied, eyes fixed on the snow. "No house. No banner."
The man turned to Lucian. "Vicd-Lord Arvel will want to see this boy. Both of you."
Lucian nodded, then slumped forward. The knights caught him before he fell.
Auron moved to help, but two of the armored men stepped in front of him, hands on their hilts. He stopped.
He didn't blame them. He still reeked of blood and burnt mana. To them, he must have looked less like a savior and more like a feral animal that had just learned to stand upright.
"Don't touch him!" Lucian croaked from behind the knights. "He's with me!"
That seemed to settle it atleast for now. The knights hesitated, then reluctantly stepped back. Auron said nothing.
He simply followed as they lifted Lucian onto a horse and began the long march through the forest.
Hours passed. The storm had begun to fade, leaving the world bathed in gray morning light.
The trees thinned, and in the distance, walls rose from the mist—pale stone etched with blue sigils, towers crowned with silver flags. The Arvel Estate.
Auron had never seen anything like it. The walls seemed alive, humming faintly with mana. The air was cleaner here, sharper, like even the wind respected the bloodlines that ruled within.
As they passed through the gates, servants and guards rushed out, whispers rippling through the courtyard.
"Young Lord Lucian has returned!" "Who's that boy with him?" "He's filthy… gods, is that blood?"
Auron ignored them. His focus stayed fixed on the unconscious Lucian being carried toward the main hall.
Soon, he was stopped by two armored guards. "Wait here," one said, voice clipped and cold. "The Vice - Lord will summon you."
Auron stood motionless as they disappeared through the tall oak doors. He didn't shiver, though the wind was cold enough to bite through his torn shirt.
His eyes wandered to the faint reflection of himself in a fountain nearby and he saw a boy of age eleven, scarred, hollow-eyed, carrying a blade that wasn't meant for children.
He didn't belong here. But belonging wasn't something he sought anymore.
When the guards returned, they escorted him through gilded halls that smelled faintly of mana incense. Every step echoed too loud. Tapestries of old battles lined the walls heroes and monsters, saints and kings.
At the end of a long corridor stood a great door carved with the sigil of the twin gryphons. The guards pushed it open.
vice lord Adonai Arvel sat upon a raised dais, dressed in silver armor that gleamed beneath the chandeliers. His eyes cold, gray, and sharp. landed on Auron the moment he entered.
Lucian stood nearby, arm bandaged, posture stiff.
For a long while, no one spoke.
Then Lord Arvel said, "You saved my nephew."
Auron met his gaze. "We saved each other."
The lord's lips curved slightly, not quite a smile. "A fair answer. My knights tell me you fought a Dire Wolf warband and lived. That you bear no crest, no name. Is that true?"
"Yes."
"Then tell me this what do you want, Auron Andler?"
The question caught him off guard. For a heartbeat, he didn't know. Then the words came, quiet but unwavering.
"Strength."
Arvel's expression didn't change. "Strength for what purpose?"
Auron's jaw tightened. "To be strong enough, that i am never insignificant, i want the world to acknowledge my existence."
The silence that followed was heavy. Then Lord Arvel nodded slowly. "Then you'll stay here. As my nephew's companion. Train at the Royal Academy under this house's name. Learn discipline. Learn restraint. If you can do that then one day, you may have strength."
auron had no plans to serve no household yet he-
bowed slightly. "I'll earn it."
"i hope you do," Arvel said. "And, boy remember this. Power without control is just another chain."
The words sank into Auron's mind like a brand.
That night, the moon hung pale over the Arvel estate. Auron sat by the window of his guest room, staring at the frost-laced gardens below. The world here was quiet, distant, too polished to feel real.
He looked down at his hands again. The blood was gone, but he could still feel it there. Still see the flash of gold beneath his skin.
He touched the lion bracelet gently. Its pulse had slowed, calm now, almost human.
"Whatever you are," he whispered, "I'll master you. Not the other way around."
The night wind carried no answer - only the faint echo of a lion's roar, fading somewhere deep inside him.