The wind had changed.
Even within the high halls of the Draythorne estate, where thick stone walls kept most of the world out, a subtle tension lingered—quiet and unspoken, but real.
Servants walked with more caution.
Guards whispered behind polished helms.
And in the grand council chamber, where firelight licked the marble columns, the six elder Draythornes stood around a war-table—not in battle formation, but in contemplation.
"Dreadmaw is dead," Sylvaine said, voice flat.
Frostelle's expression was unreadable, but her fingers twitched ever so slightly atop the table. "No knight reported that kill."
"No mercenary either," added Zephyra, pacing near the arched windows.
Flare leaned on one elbow, golden eyes narrowed. "Then who?"
The silence was telling.
Only Thorne, half-shrouded in living shadows, offered a whisper of a reply.
"…Kaelion."
A beat passed.
Flare didn't laugh. She didn't scold. She simply stared at the miniature model of the Wastes on the table—where a black figurine marked the Dreadmaw's known territory. Now removed.
Zephyra scoffed. "He's not ready for a Tier-4. Not alone."
"He's not the same as before," Magnar rumbled.
Sylvaine shook her head. "Even if it's true, why hide it?"
Flare finally spoke.
"Because he's training in silence. Because he doesn't want to prove it to us."
She turned slowly toward the door, voice quiet.
"Because he doesn't care what we think anymore."
---
Across the estate, Kaelion stood in the shallows of the garden fountain, steam rising from the water as it swirled around his ankles.
The battle wounds from Dreadmaw had healed, but the ache in his limbs was real. His system had locked further combat trials until his Core Integration reached 30%.
> [Corebreaker System Notice:]
[Combat Sync Level: Acceptable.]
[Upgrade Path: Available at 30% Primordial Charge.]
He exhaled slowly, hands folded behind his back.
He'd thought killing Dreadmaw would satisfy something inside him.
But it hadn't.
Because power wasn't the goal.
Freedom was.
He didn't want to impress his family. He didn't even want to surpass them for revenge.
He wanted to stand alone—unbothered, untouched, untethered.
But fate had a way of drawing attention to things that tried too hard to stay hidden.
---
She arrived at sundown.
He felt her before he saw her—an intense, searing heat in the air, like standing too close to a forge.
A flame without smoke.
A presence that licked across his skin, tasting his Core.
Kael turned his head slowly.
A woman stood by the arch of the garden wall, arms folded, hair burning red-gold like live embers. She was tall. Poised. Not beautiful in the way noble girls were—but dangerous in the way warriors should be.
Velra of the Flameborne—one of the famed dragonkin clans. A third-year at the Celestial Academy. And already whispered about as the next Fire General of the South.
"You're Kaelion," she said. "The forgotten son."
He said nothing.
"I saw the corpse," she added, stepping into the fountain without hesitation. Water hissed against her boots. "You killed Dreadmaw. Alone."
Still, Kael didn't answer.
She watched him, eyes blazing with curiosity.
"I came because I want to fight you."
His head tilted slightly. "Why?"
"Because I don't like what I don't understand."
Kaelion's lips curved—barely.
"Then prepare to be confused for a long time."