[Kael's Perspective]
The silence of the hall echoed like an ancient lament. Kael remained motionless, seated on the cold floor of Eryndor Manor's underground library, surrounded by the remnants of memory. Fragments of war, distorted images of a traitor, crests set aflame… and the symbol of the serpent coiled around the sun of House Virelios—now seared forever into his mind.
Each vision struck like an invisible blow. These were not mere memories—they were forgotten truths, concealed for millennia, now pulsing within his soul. The war had not been just a clash between kingdoms. It had been a silent extermination of truth, of legacy, of all that House Virelios stood for.
"They didn't just destroy us. They erased us," he thought, fists clenched. "And they did the same to House Eryndor… because we were connected. Because there was something greater."
The revelation was both a burden and a spark. What had once been a struggle for survival had now become an ancestral calling.
Kael rose, eyes downcast, muscles tense. He walked to the ruined courtyard behind the manor, where the wind carried the scent of shattered stone and forgotten memories. There, amid tall grass and moss-covered roots, lay the remains of his father's statue.
[Statue of Theron Eryndor]
The statue had once been imposing—carved from black marble with fine chiseled details, it depicted Theron Eryndor in ceremonial armor, his cape billowing in the wind, a sword planted before him, hands steady on its hilt. His sculpted eyes gazed at the horizon with serenity and conviction, as if he had already seen the worst of the world and still believed in justice.
Stories said Theron Eryndor had pacified the valley of the twelve fiefdoms, saved an entire army from a magical siege, and refused a royal title to remain loyal to the people. His name was sacred among the lesser houses, and his downfall had marked the beginning of House Eryndor's ruin.
Now, all that remained was the shattered bust, half the face still visible beneath cracks. The statue's severed hand rested beside Kael, a subtle reminder that even the greatest could be reduced to rubble.
Kael knelt and reached out, placing his palm on the broken stone of his father's hand.
He took a deep breath.
Closed his eyes.
And swore.
"By the blood that brought me here…"
"I will restore the glory of what was forgotten."
"Let the serpent rise. Let the world remember."
The wind howled. And for a moment, the clouds parted, revealing a clear sky and the full moon. The light touched Kael's hand, and something within him awakened.
A surge of energy coursed through his body.
Like an ancient gear turning once more.
...
[Lyara's Perspective]
The quill trembled slightly in her hand—not from lack of steadiness, but from the weight of the words she needed to choose. Seated in her father's old study—now restored with refurbished furniture, cleaned shelves, and linen curtains swaying gently in the breeze—Lyara stared at the parchment sealed with the faded crest of House Eryndor.
The candles around her cast dancing shadows over the stacked books, as if silently observing the moment that would seal the house's future.
"If I choose the wrong words, I'll be ignored. If I sound weak, I'll be dismissed. And if I sound proud… they'll crush us."
She closed her eyes for a moment. Inhaled.
Then, she wrote:
"To those who once marched beside House Eryndor,
The name I write may seem forgotten today, but it still carries the same blood and the same flame that once illuminated the battlefields at your side.
We are the children of the fall—but we did not fall in silence.
We call upon our old allies to hear us one last time.
The heir of the bloodline has awakened. And with him, long-buried truths have risen.
If honor still lives in your crest, you will know that ignoring this call means condemning what little balance remains among the Houses.
When the time comes, we will not ask for your knees—only your memory.
Lyara Eryndor."
She sealed the letter with red wax and her father's old ring. The crest was incomplete, but still recognizable.
"If even half of them still have a heart… there's hope."
She stood, straight as a commander before war, and handed the letter to a handpicked messenger—one of the few knights who still secretly bore the Eryndor oath.
...
[Elene's Perspective]
The breeze drifting through the tower window felt different that night.
Elene sat alone, studying an ancient grimoire filled with elemental inscriptions. The language of the wind was subtle, difficult to grasp—each word had to be felt more than read. She had spent weeks deciphering fragments. But now, something had changed. The letters glowed faintly in silver-blue beneath her fingertips.
Suddenly, the air around her grew light, ethereal, and a whisper invaded her thoughts:
"You called for me, daughter of the forgotten breeze?"
She shot to her feet, heart racing, eyes wide. The grimoire's pages rustled on their own, and a spiral of wind formed before her.
From it emerged a translucent figure—a slender being with skin pale as clouds, hair floating like mist, and bright blue eyes like distant lightning. Its wings seemed woven from feathers and wind, and its voice echoed like rustling leaves.
"I am Sylharel, son of the Old Stream, an intermediary spirit of the Whispering Air. For your peaceful soul and sincere invocation, I offer myself to you."
"You're… a true spirit?" Elene asked hesitantly.
"I am memory of the ancient winds. And in you, I see the echo of a long-lost lineage. Do you accept the pact?"
Elene took a deep breath. Her heart pounded like war drums. She had never felt so alive. So connected.
"I accept."
In the next instant, a seal of light formed beneath her feet. The wind swirled around the spirit and merged with Elene's body for a brief moment. She felt warmth in her lungs, lightness in her arms, and tears spilled uncontrollably.
"Then I shall be your voice. And you shall be my anchor. Speak, and I will answer."
Elene fell to her knees, smiling through tears.
"Father… you would have called this a sign…"
...
[Kael's Perspective]
Later that night, after his oath before the statue and a brief rest, Kael felt different. Something had ignited within him. He meditated in silence atop the hill near the forest, where an improvised training ground was taking shape.
The aura in his body flowed with greater vigor. But now, there was something else—a ring of energy slowly rotating at his core. The First Mana Ring.
He felt faster, stronger, more attuned to the world. When he opened his eyes, everything was sharper. He could sense the vibration of branches, the rustling of grass, and the presence of something approaching from the forest…
Monsters.
Three lupine beasts with dark fur and crimson eyes burst from the trees.
"Perfect for testing this new body…" Kael murmured, drawing his training sword, now wreathed in aura.
The fight was quick but brutal.
He dodged with pinpoint precision. His feet no longer sank into the earth—he glided. When he unleashed his cutting technique, the blade shone with aura and mana—a primitive fusion.
"First Ring Slash."
An arc of blue energy sliced through the air, cutting down two monsters in one stroke. The third lunged with insane speed, but Kael pivoted and drove his sword into the creature's blind spot with perfect accuracy.
His hands trembled afterward—not from fear.
"Now I know… what I can become."
...
[Under the Moonlight]
On the hill where Kael had slain the beasts, blood was already seeping into the earth. The young man stood panting, hands still shaking, the sword vibrating in his grip as if alive.
The wind blew silently around him. But he was not alone.
From the shadows of twisted trees, two silver eyes watched.
High in the branches, a slender figure clad in green rune-embroidered robes closed the scroll where she had recorded the battle.
"So… the heir is real."
"And his soul carries more than raw power. There is resonance…" the elf whispered before vanishing into the leaves.
Her destination was not Vancor. It was older. And quieter. She would fly that very night to the north—where the Elven Forest of Nymethar awaited answers.
[Sir Osric's Perspective]
"How could I have doubted?"
Sir Osric watched Kael from afar, unseen. He had witnessed the battle against the crimson-eyed monsters. The way Kael wielded aura and mana so instinctively was… unnatural. But not amateurish.
In the boy's movements, he saw the shadow of one who had once commanded legions.
"The bloodline does not lie. Blood, even dormant, carries its own memory."
But what unsettled him most was not Kael's skill.
It was the look in his eyes after the fight.
There was something ancestral there—something Osric couldn't name. Something that inspired both respect and dread.
[Vancor's Reaction]
In the heart of Korveth, the dimly lit hall of House Vancor was thick with smoke and intrigue.
The rumor of House Eryndor's heir had finally reached them.
"He's alive. And he's already formed the First Ring."
"Impossible. He was a cripple."
"The forest speaks. And the echoes arrived faster than we thought."
"Then it's time to accelerate everything."
Lord Halric Vancor, seated on a throne of black stone, lifted his gaze.
"Destroy what alliances remain. Divide the commoners with promises. And as for the boy… send someone who can test him."
"Someone discreet?"
"No." Halric smiled. "Someone legendary. The South will tremble before the North blooms."
As he spoke, a shadowy figure emerged from the extinguished fireplace—a woman draped in darkness, her eyes hidden beneath a hood, her movements too fluid for a mere servant.
She bowed silently, with a slight nod.
She was already inside Eryndor Manor.
...
[Under the Moonlight]
In the restored tower of Eryndor Fortress, Lyara and Elene climbed the steps to meet Kael as he returned, exhausted, from the field. His steps were firmer now, but his eyes—his eyes had changed. There was light and weight in them, hope and pain, fire and ice.
Kael paused in the courtyard.
The moonlight pierced the clouds perfectly that night.
Then, without warning, the sky silently tore apart.
Thick clouds parted like curtains, revealing a golden dawn that should not have been there—not at this time of year. From the center of the light, a silhouette descended—majestic, soundless.
A dragon.
Not a living creature, but an ethereal being of pure golden energy. Its eyes gleamed with intelligence. Its presence stilled even the wind.
The Eryndor family instinctively knelt. Elene wept without knowing why. Lyara swallowed hard, as if witnessing the rebirth of an era. Osric fell to his knees, trembling.
The dragon hovered above the tower.
Then, it roared.
But its roar was not sound. It was a word.
"RAEM-THAAL."
Kael collapsed to his knees. He felt the name carve itself into his heart.
"Is that… me?" he whispered. "Am I the one who…" He clenched his fist. "…will defy oblivion?"
The dragon vanished in an instant, like dust in the wind.
On the ground, etched in light, remained the symbol of House Eryndor—complete.
A new crest, restored: a golden dragon encircled by swords, halos, and stars.
...
[Epilogue – Voices of Time]
In a forgotten temple deep in the Frozen Peaks, an old priest scribbled frantically, eyes wide.
"The Northern Seal is broken."
"He has awakened…"
The quill fell from his hands.
And the bells—bells that had not rung for centuries—began to toll on their own.
End of Volume 1.
...Continues in Volume 2 - Path of the Chosen