The Valeheart Estate loomed like a fortress of black marble and silver trim, a monument to both beauty and intimidation. High banners embroidered with the family crest—a crowned raven clutching a silver sword—hung from the spires, fluttering in the mountain wind. The sprawling courtyards were paved in polished obsidian, reflecting the torchlight like liquid darkness.
Edran stepped through the grand archway, his boots clicking against the stone. The scent of pine from the distant slopes mixed with the metallic tang of qi saturating the air. Even without trying, the estate radiated authority. Every servant he passed lowered their head in respect, but their eyes flickered—too quick to be mere politeness, too sharp to be without meaning. Word of his performance in the tournament had reached home before he had.
Home.
The word tasted foreign.
He moved with measured steps, not rushing, not dragging his feet. Each pace was calculated, the way one might walk into a court where a single misstep could turn the air to ice.
---
The training ground came into view first. Lord Kaelen Valeheart, his father, was there—alone, spear in hand, moving through a set of flowing drills. Every strike of the spearhead cracked the air like thunder. The invisible pressure of a Spirit Severing Realm expert spilled into the surroundings, bending the torch flames sideways.
Kaelen's dark hair was streaked with silver, his eyes sharp as a hawk's, dissecting every flaw in whatever they landed upon. He didn't stop when Edran appeared.
"You've grown stronger," Kaelen said without looking up, spinning the spear in a tight arc before slamming the butt into the stone floor with a crack. "But strength invites attention, and attention invites enemies. Do not mistake applause for loyalty."
No "welcome home." No congratulations. Just a reminder wrapped in a warning.
Edran inclined his head slightly. "I understand, Father."
A faint hum stirred the air between them. For a split second, Edran thought he saw it—a coil of faint golden qi curling lazily around Kaelen's spear before vanishing. It might have been a trick of the light. Or not.
---
The moonlit pavilion lay beyond, where Lady Seliora Valeheart trained in her own way. She stood in a circle of falling petals, their descent unnaturally slow. Each one shimmered faintly before vanishing midair—illusions wrapped in killing intent. Seliora's beauty was as cold as carved jade, her gaze distant even when it rested upon him.
"You drew eyes to yourself at the Academy," she said softly, her voice like silk hiding steel. "The wrong kind of eyes."
"I'll manage."
One brow arched delicately. "Confidence is admirable. Recklessness is fatal."
The petals slowed, then stopped entirely, frozen in the air around her like stars in an unmoving sky. For the briefest heartbeat, the frozen petals cast shadows—long, curved shapes reminiscent of scales. Edran blinked, and they were gone.
---
It was Serenya, his elder sister, who found him next. She was waiting by the long corridor leading to the family's private wing, leaning against the balustrade. The soft glow of the moon outlined her hair in silver.
"You're back," she said, and this time the words carried warmth.
"Not much changes here," he replied, stopping beside her.
Her lips curved in a small smile. "Enough changes where it matters. I saw your matches. Impressive." She paused, studying him. "But impressive often means dangerous, Edran. You know how this house works."
He met her eyes, steady. "I know."
Serenya glanced down the hallway toward the shadows that swallowed its end. "Not all eyes watching you wish you well. Some are already calculating what your rise means for them."
"I can handle that."
"I'm sure you can," she said with quiet certainty. "Still, be careful. And… congratulations, little brother."
For a moment, the cold air between the Valeheart walls seemed to soften.
---
The softness didn't last.
Darius, his eldest brother, crossed paths with him near the grand stairs. His eyes, dark as wet stone, held no warmth—only a thin layer of politeness stretched over something sharper.
"You've been busy," Darius said, his tone neutral but his gaze dissecting. "It seems luck favors you in battle."
Edran didn't slow his pace. "Luck favors the prepared."
A small smirk touched Darius's lips, but he said nothing more.
Kaelric, another of his brothers, was less restrained. "You make quite the spectacle at the Academy," he said, his voice carrying mock admiration. "Must feel good, being the center of attention for once."
"It's a distraction," Edran replied evenly. "Nothing more."
Kaelric chuckled. "We'll see if it stays that way."
Then there was Lirien, his younger sister. Bright-eyed and unguarded, she smiled when she saw him. "I heard Father and Mother talking about you last night. Something about… dragons—"
"Lirien," Serenya's voice cut in from behind them, sharper than usual. "Don't repeat everything you overhear."
Lirien pouted. "I was just saying—"
"Not here."
Edran glanced at Serenya. Her eyes told him all he needed to know: We'll talk later. Alone.
---
His quarters were the same as he'd left them—clean, precise, almost too perfect, as though someone had scrubbed away any trace of personal touch. He shut the door and sat on the edge of the bed, the silence pressing in around him.
The day's interactions replayed in his mind, each one fitting into a larger pattern. His father's warning. His mother's cold gaze. Serenya's concern. His brothers' thinly veiled hostility. And Lirien's slip of the tongue.
Dragons.
He looked toward the lacquered chest in the corner, where a faint hum of qi whispered to his senses. He didn't open it. Some truths were better kept buried—for now.
---
Far away, in the shadowed council chamber deep within the estate, two figures sat across from each other.
"He's grown faster than expected," Seliora said, her voice calm but laced with a thread of something unreadable.
Kaelen leaned back in his seat, fingers drumming against the armrest. "Faster… and differently. His qi is not the same as before. There's a depth now, a coiling restraint."
Seliora's eyes flickered with faint light. "The old records speak of it. A bloodline that sleeps until awakened by combat, pressure, or fate. The Dragon Vein."
"And if it is?" Kaelen's voice was a quiet challenge.
"Then we are sitting on both a treasure and a danger," Seliora replied. "One that others would kill to claim."
Kaelen's gaze turned toward the darkness beyond the chamber's window. "If the boy truly carries it… then we'll need to decide whether to shield him from the world—or from the family."
The wind outside howled, rattling the glass. Somewhere in the halls above, Edran lay awake, staring at the ceiling, unaware of the full weight of the storm already gathering around him.