Rivet could still recall the exact words Rodrics had spat at him that day. They were sharp and unforgiving, carved into his memory like a blade against bone. He had told him he was useless—a disgrace. A direct descendant of the prestigious Thorne bloodline, reduced to such a pitiful, broken state. Not only had he lost to an Abyssal-ranked beast, but also to a person who had no name, no family, and no allegiance. A ghost.
'That day still burns,' Rivet thought bitterly.
Rivet never desired responsibility. He had no ambitions to claim the seat of the Thorne Head. That title, that burden, had never appealed to him. And yet… the weight of expectation crushed him still. Forced to chase after a legacy he never wanted.
He could only imagine how Rodrics and perhaps the rest of his siblings viewed him now. Disdain, hatred—feelings he was certain they bore against him. His very presence felt like a stain upon the Thorne name.
