The wheels of the plane screeched against the tarmac as the aircraft slowed to a halt. Passengers unbuckled, stretching stiff limbs, but Draven remained still for a moment longer. His eyes, sharp and unreadable, lingered on the land beyond the window.
Nine years. Nine years since he had last stepped foot in the city that had once
belonged to his bloodline.
He rose, collected the single black case at his feet, and walked out. The terminal smelled of perfume, sweat, and jet fuel, but beneath it all was something else—memory.
Outside, the world was both familiar and foreign.
Towers had risen where gardens once bloomed, merchants hawked louder than he remembered, and the air felt heavier, as though the city itself had grown fat while the Ashbournes rotted in its shadow.
A driver in uniform bowed low as Draven approached. "Welcome home, Master Draven."
He said nothing, only slid into the car's back seat. The hum of the engine filled the silence as the vehicle carried him through winding streets. His gaze shifted from neon lights to crumbling ruins, until finally, the car stopped before what remained of the Ashbourne estate.
The mansion of his youth was now a corpse. The once-proud pillars lay cracked, ivy strangled the stone, and black scars still marred the walls from the fire that had devoured his parents.
Draven stepped out, boots crunching against gravel and ash, and walked through the ruins.
As his fingers brushed the charred remains of the staircase, memory struck him like a blade.
He was sixteen again, smoke stinging his lungs, standing in the courtyard with Nora clutching his sleeve, her cheeks streaked with soot and tears.
"Don't go, Draven," she begged, her voice breaking. "Please… don't leave me too. We can face it together."
Draven's throat burned, but his voice came out hard, forged from fear and desperation.
"If I stay, I'll die here with them, Nora. I'll be no use to you. I have to leave."
Her head shook violently, her tears falling. "You're all I have left! I don't care if we suffer—we suffer together. Don't run from me."
He turned away, jaw tight, but every word tore at him. "If I stay, we both get crushed. If I leave, I can come back stronger."
"Stronger?" she spat through her tears. "Stronger for who, if I'm gone by then?!"
His eyes softened, wet despite his resolve. "For you. Always for you. I swear, I'll return. And when I do… I'll never let anyone take us down again."
Her face twisted in grief and fury. "Mom wouldn't have left me. Dad wouldn't have left me. But you—" Her voice cracked, sharp as glass. "I hate you!"
The words cut deeper than any blade. He froze, but could not take them back. And when her grip slipped from his sleeve, it felt like tearing his own heart out.
And then he was gone, swallowed by the night.
The memory dissolved. Draven exhaled, long and heavy, before turning back toward the waiting car.
"Take me to the manor."
The gates of the Ashbourne secondary estate—still standing, still whole—swung open as the car approached. Unlike the ruins, this mansion was alive, tended, its windows glowing warmly against the dusk.
Three figures stood waiting on the front steps.
Gideon, silver-haired, his posture as straight as ever, bowed deeply.
Beside him stood Lady Seraphine, draped in midnight velvet, her eyes wise and unyielding—the very image of Ashbourne grace.
And then—Nora.
No longer the weeping child, but a woman forged by hardship. Midnight-dark hair framed her face, storm-gray eyes burned with unspoken fire. She was strength and defiance incarnate.
Her gaze cut into him like a blade. "So. You finally returned."
Draven's throat tightened, but he held her stare. "I told you I would."
She gave a sharp, bitter laugh. "Nine years too late."
Seraphine touched her shoulder gently. "Hush, child. He has come home—that is enough for now."
She stepped forward, cupping Draven's face in her hands as though to prove he was real. "My brother's son… welcome back."
The words nearly broke him. He bowed his head, whispering,
"I should have been here."
"No," she said firmly.
"You did what you had to. And because of that, I raised Nora strong enough to hold the name until you returned. You are Ashbourne blood. And you are not alone."
That night, they dined together for the first time in nearly a decade. The long table glittered with crystal and gold, but the air was heavy with unspoken words.
It was Nora who broke the silence.
"Tell me, Draven. What brought you back? Guilt? Or did you finally tire of hiding while we bore the weight you abandoned?"
His fork paused midair. "I came back because this is my home. Because I swore I would."
"A vow nine years late," she spat.
Seraphine's voice cut through, calm yet unyielding.
"Enough. You are both Ashbournes. Do not waste this reunion with bitterness."
But Nora leaned forward, her eyes burning.
"Do you know what it was like? Every whisper, every smirk. The fallen Ashbourne girl, raised by her aunt because her brother fled. I carried that shame alone."
Draven's jaw tightened. "Do you think I didn't suffer? Every night, Nora, I carried the weight of what I left behind. I left to survive—not to forget."
Her lips trembled, though anger still framed her face. "And what about me? Did you think surviving meant nothing to the ones you left?"
For a moment, her voice cracked, and Draven saw the hurt beneath her fury.
His own voice softened. "I thought of you every day. Hated myself every day. But I swear now—I will not leave you again. Not until the Ashbourne name is restored. Not until those who destroyed us are ashes beneath our feet."
The table fell silent.
Finally, Seraphine placed her hand over both their arms, binding them with her touch. "You are stronger together. And together, you will reclaim what was lost."
Nora said nothing, but for the first time, she did not turn away.
Gideon's voice rose from the shadows, steady as stone. "Your parents would be proud to see their children at this table again. Proud that the Ashbournes endure."
Draven lifted his glass, voice low but resolute. "To endurance. To the Ashbournes."
Nora hesitated, then raised hers. "To the Ashbournes."
The crystal rang as they drank, sealing an unspoken vow.
Later that night, Draven stood alone on the balcony, the city sprawling before him. His fingers traced the scars hidden beneath his
shirt.And another memory came—not of fire, but of blood.
He remembered hunger, sleeping in alleys, running until his body broke. He remembered the mercenaries who had found him, the brutal training that turned boys into killers. He remembered endless battlefields, where survival was a lesson written in blood.
He remembered comrades who fell, enemies who never saw him coming, and the endless weight of scars no one could see.
Each fight had sharpened him. Each loss had carved away the boy until only the man remained.
The boy who ran was gone. The man who returned was forged in fire and steel.
And now the city would remember his name.