———
In the deepest, most heavily warded chamber of the Duke's wing, far from the commotion caused by his youngest son, Valerius stood before his most guarded secret. Suspended within a crystalline orb etched with silver runes was a heart. It was massive, larger than a man's head, and it pulsed with a slow, rhythmic, volcanic light. Deep crimson and scaled, it was the Dragon's Heart.
It had been still for years, a dormant relic of a past he desperately wished to forget. But tonight, as chaos had erupted between his heirs, it had begun to beat. A low, resonant *thrum* filled the silent room, each pulse echoing like a distant war drum.
Valerius's stern face, usually a mask of impenetrable ice, was fractured by a flicker of something raw—a mixture of longing and visceral hatred. He reached a hand towards the crystal, his fingers stopping just short of its shimmering surface.
"He stirs it, Lyra," he whispered, his voice a gravelly echo in the chamber. "Your son… he awakens his inheritance. What would you have me do? Let this… curse consume my house?"
The heart beat once, powerfully, as if in answer. The Duke snatched his hand back, his expression hardening once more into cold resolve.
———
The royal healer had done their work. The gash on Kael's shoulder was now a faint pink line, and the crushing weakness had receded, replaced by a familiar, brittle frailty. He was clean, dressed in simple but presentable clothes, standing before the main entrance as a black carriage, emblazoned with the Valerius crest, pulled by two steeds that shimmered with barely-contained lightning, drew up.
The journey to the Duke's private study was spent in absolute silence. The Duke's personal attendant, a man with eyes like chips of flint, did not speak a word. The only sound was the rhythmic clatter of hooves on cobblestone and the low hum of the carriage's enchantments. Kael used the time to fortify his mind, building mental walls against the impending confrontation.
He was led not to the grand study, but to a smaller, more personal chamber. Duke Valerius stood with his back to the door, gazing into a fire that gave no heat, its flames a magical, perpetual blue.
The door clicked shut, leaving them alone. The silence that followed was a physical weight, thick and suffocating, stretching for what felt like an eternity. It was a test, and Kael refused to break.
Finally, the Duke spoke, his voice low and devoid of any parental warmth, cutting through the quiet like a shard of glass.
"What did you hope to achieve with your recklessness?"
Kael met the question head-on, his own voice steady, fueled by the memory of Elara's fallen form. "I was merely laying claim to what is mine. Even if I knew it would make me bleed."
"Reckless," the Duke spat the word, a sharp, dismissive sound. He finally turned, his grey eyes—so like Kael's—burning with cold fire.
"At least I did not die for nothing," Kael countered, the words hanging in the air like a challenge. It was a reminder of his own brush with death, a death the Duke would have likely welcomed.
A muscle twitched in the Duke's jaw. For a fleeting second, Kael saw something else in his father's eyes—not anger, but a flicker of grim assessment, as if reevaluating a piece on a game board that had just moved unexpectedly.
Without another word, the Duke flicked his wrist. A shimmer of mana coalesced in the air, solidifying into a single, cream-colored envelope, sealed with dark red wax. It floated across the room and hovered in front of Kael.
"If that is truly what you want," the Duke said, his tone flat and final, "then take it. If not, then continue to be the waste of space you have been until now."
The dismissal was clear. The audience was over.
Confusion warred with defiance within Kael. He took the letter, the parchment feeling strangely warm and heavy in his hand. He gave a short, stiff bow and left the room, the Duke's gaze burning into his back.
Once in the corridor, away from that oppressive presence, he broke the seal with a trembling thumb. The handwriting inside was elegant and flowing, a script he had only seen in faded memories.
My dearest Kael,
If you are reading this, then you have chosen to stand. Your path will not be an easy one. The world sees you as broken, but they are blind. You are the key.
You must go to the Academy. But do not simply attend. You must conquer the Aethelgard Circle. It is not a test of power, but of profound understanding. Those few who have unlocked its secrets have been forever changed, granted the 'Aethelgard's Insight'—a revelation into the foundational laws of magic itself.
Only with this Insight will you come to understand your true nature and claim the destiny I have left for you. The blood of dragons does not flow for naught, my son.
With all my love,
Your Mother, Lyra
Kael's breath hitched. The blood of dragons. The words echoed the primal power he had felt surging during his fury. This was no mere letter; it was a compass. The Aethelgard Circle wasn't just a goal; it was the master key to the architecture of this world, the very thing he needed to become the ultimate Demolition Architect.
He stood in the dim corridor, the letter clutched tightly in his hand. The Duke's gambit had been to present him with an impossible task, a final, humiliating failure.
But Kael saw it for what it truly was: his mother's first and final lesson. He looked up, his eyes narrowed with a terrifying new resolve. He would tear the Aethelgard Circle apart, brick by magical brick, and from its ruins, he would build his own destiny.