Sunlight spilled through the wooden shutters in slanted bands, gilding the room in warmth. A breeze drifted in, soft and slow, carrying the scent of wildflowers and something bitter—herbs, salves. Healing things.

  Everything was too still.

  Veylan lay against Liora’s chest, swaddled in silk, his small body tucked beneath her chin. She hummed a lullaby—low, tuneless, but soothing in its rhythm. Her breath rose and fell like tides. Her heartbeat pulsed steady against his ear.

  It should’ve comforted him.

  He didn’t want comfort.

  Just one day since his return, and already he loathed this fragile shell. His limbs twitched weakly. Fingers barely curled. He couldn’t sit up, couldn’t even lift his own head. When he tried to speak, all that came was a sharp, thin cry. Powerless. Helpless.

  His mind was sharp. Clearer than it had ever been.

  But this body was a cage.

  He closed his eyes. Rage simmered beneath the surface, slow and cold. He had no ties to this world. No love for it. But he needed it. Somewhere in its depths—this land, these clans—there was strength. Enough, maybe, to twist fate. Enough to spit in death’s face.

  If it existed, he would find it.

  Whatever it took.

  A laugh stirred the silence.

  “Staring again,” said a familiar voice. Deep, amused. “Always thinking, this one.”

  Rhen stood at the bedside, arms crossed, a smile tugging at his mouth.

  Liora glanced up and laughed softly, brushing Veylan’s hair back with gentle fingers. “Maybe he’ll grow into a scholar.”

  “In the Lei Clan?” Rhen snorted. “No. He’ll be strong. Stronger than any of them.”

  Veylan stared up at their faces. So full of warmth. Of pride.

  They were in love with a future he didn’t believe in.

  Strong. Yes. That much, they had right. But not for them. Not for honour, or legacy, or clan.

  He needed strength for one thing only.

  Liora leaned down and kissed his forehead. “Whatever he becomes, he’s ours.”

  She held him tighter, cradling him as if nothing else in the world mattered.

  For a heartbeat, the moment felt real. A family. Whole.

  But Veylan felt nothing.

  Then—three sharp knocks.

  Not loud. But final.

  Liora froze.

  Rhen’s jaw tensed.

  The door slid open.

  A man stepped in, his robes the deep, muted blue of Lei Clan retainers. His posture was rigid. His face unreadable. Without a word, he unrolled a scroll.

  “Lei Rhen,” he said flatly. “You are summoned. By order of Chief Varian. The child is to be brought as well.”

  Silence.

  Veylan felt it instantly. The shift.

  Liora’s arms, once soft and warm, turned stiff around him. Rhen’s breathing slowed, deliberate. The golden hush of morning—the breeze, the scent of wildflowers—was gone. In its place, a brittle tension crept in, thin and sharp as a blade.

  “No,” Liora said, clutching Veylan closer. Her voice trembled, but her grip did not. “He’s barely a day old. There’s no reason—”

  “The summons is not a request,” the messenger cut in. His tone was polished stone, devoid of life.

  Liora’s eyes narrowed. Rage bled through her features, tight and controlled. “I don’t care what Varian wants. Veylan will not—”

  “We will go,” Rhen said, low.

  Liora turned to him. “Rhen—”

  His eyes met hers. Steady. Distant. “Refusing will only make it worse.”

  The air between them held. Still. Cracking beneath the weight of words unspoken.

  Then a sigh. Quiet. Drawn from somewhere deeper.

  Unnoticed until now, Sage Mier stood at the edge of the room, half-shadowed in the doorway. His robes were slightly wrinkled, his greying hair pulled back hastily. He glanced at his son in Liora’s arms, lips parting as if to speak—but no words came. Only breath. He shook his head, almost imperceptibly.

  Veylan watched. He didn’t understand the full shape of this moment, not yet. But he could feel the edge of it. Something was wrong. His mother’s hands trembled. His father stood too still. And the man in blue—he only waited.

  A door had opened. He didn't know what lay beyond it.

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  But whatever it was, it was already reaching for him.

  ?? — ? — ??

  The ancestral hall of the Lei Clan rose like a monument to old power.

  Wooden pillars loomed on either side, etched with the tales of forefathers—victories carved in lacquered relief. Incense burned slow from dragon-shaped braziers, casting coils of smoke into the rafters. In the breeze that slipped through carved lattice windows, golden-threaded banners stirred, rustling like whispers from another time.

  Clansmen stood in a loose semicircle, their robes muted, their expressions murkier still. Murmurs rippled. Tension gathered.

  Then Rhen stepped into the hall.

  Silence followed him.

  Eyes turned, reading him like a scroll. He was no stranger here—only a relic now, judged in silence. Beside him, Liora held Veylan close, her arms too tight, her shoulders too rigid.

  At the far end of the hall, lounging like a man enthroned, sat Chief Varian.

  His robe was crisp white, untouched by the heat. His dark hair hung in neat braids threaded with silver. His face was carved smooth as jade—expressionless, save for the glint of satisfaction in his eyes.

  “So,” Varian said, voice light, “you came, Brother.”

  A warm tone, but the words landed heavy.

  Rhen bowed his head, just enough. “You summoned me.”

  “And you answered. You always do.” Varian’s gaze drifted—to Liora, to the child in her arms. He lingered there, uninvited. “You even brought your… family.”

  Liora’s fingers curled tighter around Veylan. She said nothing. Her silence was louder than words.

  A few clansmen let out muffled laughs. Others looked away.

  Varian smiled, slow and thin. He gestured with the ease of a man performing for an audience. “I was feeling nostalgic. It’s been too long since the clan saw you like this. Here, among us. Once, you were the jewel of our generation. The one who would lead us forward.”

  He let the silence stretch. Then:

  “Now look at you.”

  Rhen said nothing.

  “Tell me,” Varian murmured, “do you regret it?”

  No need to explain what it was. Everyone knew. The question had teeth, honed over years of unspoken grudge.

  Rhen’s jaw shifted. His face did not.

  Varian clicked his tongue. “You had everything—power, legacy, the clan’s future in your hands. But instead, you chose…” He glanced at Liora. Smirked. “Love.”

  The word dripped from his lips like rot.

  Liora’s back straightened. Her mouth opened, but Rhen touched her wrist—lightly. Enough.

  Varian saw it. He laughed softly, eyes gleaming. “Still so well-behaved.”

  Then his gaze dropped, resting on the swaddled infant in her arms.

  “And now, you’ve brought us something new to consider.”

  The air shifted. Murmurs spread like fire in dry grass.

  Veylan could feel it. The weight of eyes. The heat of curiosity, veiled judgment. He didn't care for their rituals or games—but the moment clung to him like oil.

  Varian leaned forward, studying Veylan with too much interest.

  “Tell me, Rhen,” he said, “does he even deserve to carry our name?”

  A sharp breath from Liora. She nearly spoke—but Rhen didn’t flinch.

  He didn’t need to. The question hung heavy enough.

  The hall went still.

  Then Varian chuckled again, low and rich. “Ah, forgive me. It’s rude to cast such doubts, isn’t it?” His voice was all charm, smooth as lacquer. “But time reveals all truths.”

  He turned to the crowd now, slow and deliberate. “I only wonder—will this child prove himself worthy of the name Lei?”

  That was enough.

  Liora’s voice snapped through the quiet: “How dare you—”

  But Varian raised a hand. His expression turned mock-wounded. “Please. I mean no insult. I simply believe in tradition.”

  He looked around, catching the subtle nods of a few elders. Others gave nothing—but they did not object.

  “After all,” he said, smiling faintly, “surely none among us would oppose something so deeply rooted in our customs.”

  Liora’s breath grew heavy. Controlled. But only just.

  She saw the trap being laid, delicate as silk. Veylan, warm and silent in her arms, could feel her pulse racing beneath her skin. He didn’t know what it all meant—not fully—but something had shifted. Something irreversible.

  The hall held its breath. Even the air had weight.

  Liora did not move. Her grip around her boy remained steady, but her voice—when it came—was flint striking stone.

  “You speak of tradition,” she said, calm but edged. “Then honour it. Veylan carries Lei blood. And yet you question his right to exist?”

  Varian sighed, all weary patience. “Not question, dear sister. Only wonder. We all know strength defines our place in this clan. It is the old way.” His eyes turned, lazy and sharp. “And yet… what can be expected of a boy born from a man who abandoned his path?”

  Rhen’s fists curled. Silent, but the movement did not go unnoticed.

  A few hushed laughs rippled through the onlookers, laced with poison.

  Liora’s eyes flashed. “You mock my husband. You mock my son. And you do it wrapped in ceremony.”

  “Empty words?” Varian feigned surprise. “Surely you don’t think the name alone is enough to earn a place among us. Not after all this time.”

  She opened her mouth—but Varian raised a hand.

  “Enough,” he said, with theatrical softness. “Let us not dance around the truth. Since you believe so fiercely in your son’s right… then let tradition decide.”

  Gasps whispered across the room.

  Rhen stepped forward, voice low and wary. “What are you suggesting?”

  Varian leaned back, smiling like a man who had already won. “The ceremonial test, of course. As all children of the Lei Clan take upon their thirteenth year.” He tapped a finger against the armrest. “It decides who rises… and who is left behind.”

  His gaze dropped to the infant in Liora’s arms. “Let my dear nephew take it. If he is one of us, he will prove it.”

  The silence that followed was heavier than any shout.

  Rhen’s hand trembled. He hid it by folding both arms behind his back. His voice, when it came, was like iron beneath velvet. “The test defines status. Not birthright. Are you suggesting my son must earn the right to exist?”

  “No, no,” Varian said smoothly. “Not to exist. Only to belong.”

  His smile twisted. “You see, others who fail… they remain. They simply fall. But a child who was never meant to be here—he must earn what others are born into.”

  Liora’s shoulders stiffened. “What do you mean?”

  “If he fails,” Varian said, voice rising just enough to echo off the pillars, “he will be exiled.”

  The word struck like thunder.

  For a moment, the hall was still. Even the banners seemed to stop moving.

  Liora’s heart slammed against her ribs. She turned to Rhen—expecting him to speak, to object, to do something. But his lips were pressed thin. His eyes unreadable.

  “You can’t be serious,” she breathed.

  Varian didn’t blink. “Why not? If he’s truly one of us, he will pass.”

  The gathered clansmen stirred. Not one stepped forward to speak against it.

  Veylan remained quiet, nestled in warmth, watching with eyes that felt too old for his face. He didn’t cry. Didn’t move. But even without understanding every word, he saw the lines closing around him. A choice made without his voice.

  Liora’s breath caught. Her fingers clenched tight enough to leave bruises in her palms. This was a trap. She knew that. But refusal would only confirm what they whispered behind their smiles:

  She fears the truth.

  Even his mother knows he’s weak.

  Rhen’s child can’t possibly carry the name.

  She looked down at Veylan. The world around her faded, just for a heartbeat.

  When she looked up, the fire was back in her eyes.

  “Fine,” she said, each syllable like a blade unsheathed.

  Rhen inhaled, sharp and sudden.

  Liora turned to Varian. “Veylan will take the test. And he will not fail.”

  Triumph bloomed behind Varian’s eyes. His smirk deepened. “Good.”

  And just like that, it was done.

  The hall seemed colder. The murmurs behind them louder. And still, no one spoke in their defence.

  In her arms, Veylan stirred. One small hand curled against the folds of cloth, clutching nothing. His mother had just gambled his future to silence their scorn.

  But to him, their scorn was meaningless.

  He only wondered what this path would demand of him next.

  And what he’d become to survive it.

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  Destiny Reckoning. It’s set in the same universe, and you definitely don’t want to miss it, because the stories will eventually crossover.