When Ryner finally awoke, soft golden light filtered through a tall lattice window, washing the chamber in warmth. The silk sheets beneath him were smooth as water, yet the faint scent of medicine lingered in the air.
His body felt heavy, as if each limb were forged from iron. The pain of torn meridians still whispered beneath his skin, but his mind—his will—was sharp and unwavering.
Before him stood **Hannas Alostrio**, the Patriarch himself.
The man's aura, though restrained, still pressed faintly upon the room like the presence of a mountain. Elders and wives lined the walls, their faces taut with expectation, curiosity, or concealed hostility. The entire clan had gathered to witness what came next.
"Ryner," Hannas said, his voice calm, but beneath it, pride and unease warred like opposing storms.
"You have earned your right. Three wishes—within my power. Speak what you demand."
The words echoed through the chamber, carrying the weight of law.
---
### **The First Demand**
Ryner sat up slowly, his silver eyes meeting his father's. The moment their gazes locked, silence fell.
When he spoke, his voice was steady, deliberate—measured like a blade's edge.
"My first demand… is a pendant from the treasury. An old one. Forgotten by most. It reveals its power only in true danger."
The crowd blinked. Then, a ripple of confusion spread.
"A pendant?" one elder whispered.
"He doesn't even know what it does!" hissed another.
"After all that glory—he asks for a trinket?"
But Hannas's brows furrowed slightly. The faintest flicker of recognition flashed across his eyes.
*That pendant… he knows of it? How could he possibly…?*
Moments later, a servant entered, bearing a small velvet box. Within it lay a pendant of black crystal, dull and unadorned, set in a silver frame worn smooth with time.
It looked ordinary—yet the air around it bent faintly, as if light itself hesitated to touch it.
Ryner rose, his steps slow but sure, and accepted the relic. He turned—not to the patriarch, not to the crowd—but to the woman standing quietly in the corner.
**Alia.**
Her eyes trembled as he approached.
Ryner's voice softened, carrying warmth that had no place in that cold hall.
"For her," he said simply.
Before anyone could speak, he clasped the pendant around her neck.
A stunned silence blanketed the chamber.
"This is her shield," Ryner continued, his tone calm but resolute. "Her safeguard. Her life. As long as she lives… I will not fall into despair again."
Alia froze, her hands rising to touch the cold crystal resting over her heart. Tears filled her eyes before she could stop them.
For the first time in years, she didn't bow her head.
Hannas's expression darkened—not with anger, but something deeper, heavier. *He protects her before himself… even before me.*
---
### **The Second Demand**
The patriarch's voice, when it came again, was rougher, quieter.
"And your second demand?"
Ryner's gaze returned to him, calm and unwavering.
"I want **five percent of the annual net profit from the main branch of the Alostrio family only**—one year's worth, delivered at once, in a storage ring."
The silence shattered.
"Five percent?!"
"That's madness!"
"Even the treasury would strain under that!"
The roar of outrage and disbelief filled the hall. Elders leapt to their feet, their faces crimson.
"Patriarch! That sum could fund an army!"
"He dares demand what even direct heirs are denied—!"
Hannas raised a single hand.
Instantly, silence fell.
His eyes, sharp as tempered steel, never left Ryner's face.
"You understand what you ask for?" he said slowly. "That amount equals what even a war chest would not hold."
Ryner's answer came like the calm before lightning.
"I do. And I also know you can afford it."
Murmurs rose again, tinged with both admiration and fear.
A long pause followed. Then Hannas exhaled and nodded.
"…Granted."
A moment later, a golden storage ring appeared before Ryner, gleaming with the weight of the main branch's fortune.
The boy accepted it with both hands and bowed lightly—not in gratitude, but acknowledgment.
---
### **The Final Demand**
The tension in the air thickened as Hannas spoke once more.
"And your final demand?"
This time, Ryner did not hesitate.
"I want **a manor and a commercial property in the central capital**, near the Imperial Academy," he declared.
"Both registered under my name alone—no oversight, no familial claim."
The hall went utterly still.
Even the most seasoned elders paled as realization dawned.
He wasn't seeking comfort.
He was building independence.
He was *cutting the chain*.
Whispers rose like rustling blades.
"He's separating from the clan…"
"He intends to live in the capital—alone?"
"He's drawing a line against the patriarch himself…"
Hannas's expression was unreadable. Beneath the mask of calm, the flicker of something raw—perhaps pride, perhaps sorrow—passed through his eyes.
Ryner stood straight, voice unwavering.
"I will not be shackled to the main branch. I will build with my own hands. But the clan will acknowledge my right to stand."
The declaration struck like thunder.
For a long, breathless moment, Hannas said nothing.
Then, finally, he spoke, voice low and resonant:
"…So be it."
---
### **Aftermath**
That night, under a waning moon, Ryner walked beside his mother through the quiet gardens. The manor's lights shimmered faintly on the water, and the pendant around Alia's neck glowed with soft, rhythmic light.
She touched it, feeling the strange warmth pulsing beneath her fingers.
"Ryner… why this pendant? Of all things, why something so plain?"
Ryner smiled faintly, eyes distant.
"Because it's not plain, Mother. It holds a spirit older than this clan—a guardian that awakens when the wearer's life is truly threatened."
Alia stopped walking, realization dawning.
"You… you knew."
He turned his gaze toward the stars.
"I promised you would live freely, no matter what comes."
She said nothing more, for her tears told him enough.
---
### **The Thrones Above**
Far beyond the mortal sky, within the shimmering veils of the **Crown Thrones**, the five figures watched the boy's silhouette fade into the night.
Luis giggled softly, her voice like a silver chime.
"Rune, Ming, Lucas… look at him. He's not surviving anymore. He's already *playing the game of kings.*"
Rune leaned back, eyes half-lidded, a faint smirk curving his lips.
"He knows where to cut, where to build, and whom to protect first. Strategy born not from greed, but conviction."
He turned slightly, his gaze piercing through worlds.
"A true Crown is being born."
And from the darkness below, the pendant on Alia's chest pulsed once—like a heartbeat in the night.